Prize of War: Part Three

One of Ganzorig’s concubines shook Jun awake, helping him out of the bed from amongst the dozen other men and passing him his clothes. Dawn was just breaking. “He’s asking for you,” the slender Asian said. “You can take him his breakfast.” The man handed the half-dressed warrior a plate of warm Khuushuur.

Taking a moment to grumble quietly, Jun finishes dressing and takes the food. The early morning air is crisp, and there is still frost on the blades of grass; he is glad he’s added a fur-lined coat to his clothing. All the non-Chinese concubines are jealous of his silk undergarments, after Jun had let them all try them on, and they had seen how warm the beautiful, soft material is.

Staring resolutely ahead, Jun does his best to ignore the snickers and crude remarks of the warriors who have activities outside their tents, walking briskly to Ganzorig’s tent. Opening the flap, he offers the plate of food to the seated general.

It had been more than a week since Ganzorig’s poisoning, and the general was much stronger now. He was sitting up in bed, drinking a cup of mare’s milk.

The Mongolian general takes the Khuushuur from Jun in the traditional way, supporting his elbow with his left hand. He offered Jun the mare’s milk, smiling.

In his time with his new people, Jun has gotten more used to their food and customs. He accepts the milk, holding his elbow in a similar way. He does a cursory inspection for floating hairs before taking a gulp. Mare’s milk is very sweet, tasting almost of honey, and had made him gag the first few times he had tasted it. He still can’t bring himself to drink airag, but being drunk around these men hardly seems a good idea, anyway. He sits on a heap of fabric at the side of Ganzorig’s bed, leaning against the bed comfortably.

Ganzorig held the dumplings in his big palms, warming his hands with them before eating them. When he was done eating, his hand slid off the side of the bed to squeeze Jun’s muscular upper arm affectionately. His hands were still quite warm.

“I have something for you, little General.”

Making a small grimace of distaste, sure that some grease has been wiped on his clothing, Jun half-turns to look at his master. He is a little wary of what Ganzorig might have to offer him. “Oh?” he asks, politely neutral.

Ganzorig pulled a sheathed sword out from the blankets. It was a little smaller than most Mongolian swords, though not much lighter. He puts it into Jun’s arms. “Only what you asked for.”

Jun laughs softly, pleasantly surprised. Standing, he takes the gift with a small bow. “Thank you,” he murmurs, touched. Stepping back from the bed and unsheathing the blade, Jun executes an intricate dance with the sword, testing its balance and how comfortable it is in his hand. Finished, he ties the sheath around his waist and slides the weapon into it. “Now your concubines will have another reason to be jealous of me…though I doubt most of them would want a sword. Your men will not be concerned?”

“I know that you will never harm me. My men may not understand, but they will not disobey me.” Ganzorig watched Jun handle the sword with pleasure. “If you do not wish to keep the sword in the concubine yurt, you may leave it here.” the General passed Jun the last Khuushuur. “And I have one more thing for you. However, this thing you may only have with me or one of my men with you.”

Taking the greasy dumpling and popping it in his mouth, Jun chews for a moment, then swallows. “How do you know I will never harm you?” he asks, raising an eyebrow thoughtfully. “I do not think the concubines will mind my having a sword, I am not sure why I said that. Perhaps because I was thinking about how much they admire my silks.” Jun frowns slightly; he might, possibly, have guessed what the first present would be. Now, he has no idea. “I understand,” he nods.

“You are a clever man; you know hurting me would end in your death. And you respect the wishes of your Prince, no matter how you disagree with them.” Ganzorig whistles, “Batzorig!” and his horse ventures into the tent, leading a dun mare, attached by a rope around their necks. “Sarangerel.” he says, holding out his hand for the second mare. “She has no rider. She is patient and she will teach you to ride one of our horses.”

Trying to hide his concern—the Mongol horses have, to a one, been cantankerous, stubborn and prone to biting and kicking. Much like their riders, he thinks, suppressing a smile. “Yes,” he agrees, “that is exactly why. Thank you, again. This is a fine gift.” He cautiously approaches the short, stocky horse, offering a hand for the mare to sniff. Horses in his country, even warhorses, are treasured for their even dispositions and loyalty to their riders. Every moment with them is not a test.

Sarangerel sniffed Jun’s palm, snuffling and lipping a bit. She watched the foreigner with dark, intelligent eyes. Batzorig huffed impatiently.

“She has taught children to ride.” Ganzorig chuckled, seeing the concern in Jun’s eyes. “She has been ridden for many years. If you were one of my children, you would have been given a horse at three, and before that, you would have ridden sheep.” he stroked the man’s dark, coarse hair idly.

Smiling at Ganzorig’s mare, Jun unties his new mount, letting Batzorig loose. Holding the rope lightly, Jun strokes Sarangerel’s velvety nose, deciding to ignore Ganzorig’s comments, and the hand on his head. “Thank you,” he repeats, watching the mare closely for signs that she may strike, flee, or bite.

Sarangerel leaned into his hand, guiding it up to her ear and scratching herself on him, rubbing vigorously. Ganzorig laughed.

Momentarily confused—Jun has not had much experience with horses when he is not riding—the young general scratches softly on the mare’s shaggy ear. He slowly works his hand over more of her face, neck and shoulders, his fingers sinking into her thick winter coat. He’s obviously smitten.

Ganzorig smiles as he watches his little General scratch and love the horse. Jun’s people have so little affection for their horses. They’re merely a form of transport to them, whereas for Ganzorig’s people, they’re part of the family. They are a man’s pride, like his children and his wives. Jun had obviously never learned to scratch a horse. It was like not learning how to walk! Ganzorig could hardly fathom it.

“Would you like to ride? I’m well enough.”

Jun quickly assesses Ganzorig—while the larger man is still clearly not fully recovered, he does look better. “Alright,” Jun replies, only a little hesitantly. “Your horse has wandered away, though.”

The big general whistles again and his mare reluctantly presses through the tent flap, ignoring Jun and Sarangerel completely as she goes to rest her nose against Ganzorig’s chest. He pulls himself out of bed –completely naked- using her mane, and guides her to his clothes, neatly laid out for him by one of his wives or concubines. He leans against Batzorig as he dresses.

Jun is a little surprised by Ganzorig’s nakedness, and he delicately glances away while the warlord dresses. “…are you sure you are well enough?” he asks, stroking Sarangerel’s powerful neck. He is not yet aware just how much more comfortable the Mongols are on horseback than on their own two legs.

“Riding will be easier than walking.” Ganzorig explained, “Batzorig will take care of me.” He pulled on his sheepskin coat and pulled himself onto her back. He nudged her and they stepped forward as one. He waited for Jun to mount.

Looking skeptical, Jun watches Ganzorig mount. Indeed, as soon as the warlord is on horseback, he does seem healthier. Jun eyes his mare’s complete lack of tack, knowing there is no way he could control a horse the way Ganzorig is.

Ganzorig takes a moment to realize what Jun needs. “There’s a bridle by the door.” he pointed to a pile of what looked like random scraps of leather.

Quite perplexed, Jun stares at the heap of leather strings roughly knotted together. Picking up the tangle, he turns it this way and that, trying to figure out how it is supposed to work. Periodically, Sarangerel nudges him, trying to help. Increasingly frustrated and not wanting to look foolish or ignorant, Jun begins undoing knots to start fresh with a length of leather.

Ganzorig chuckled, offering a hand to take the bridle. He quickly sorts it out, putting it on Sarangerel’s face and patting her cheek. He gives the reins to Jun. “You can practice when we get back.” Batzorig walked forward and left the tent.

Sarangerel gives a horsy sigh, tossing her head as if noting how silly her new rider is.

Laughing softly at himself, Jun is now faced with the problem of mounting without the aid of stirrups. Although the mare is short, Jun is none too tall himself. Finally, he leads Sarangerel to the bed, positioning the mare beside it. Standing on the bed, he’s able to scramble onto the willing horse’s back. Tugging the reins, he turns her toward the tent’s flap, ducking against her neck as she pushes through and they rejoin Ganzorig and Batzorig.

Ganzorig smiles at his little concubine. Batzorig took off through the camp at a trot, weaving through tents, men, fires, horses and livestock.

Jun soon gives up trying to control his mount, noticing that she is mostly following Batzorig, anyway. Sarangerel seems to have decided her rider is some sort of hopeless imbecile who needs to be cared for. Jun is surprised by the size of the camp; it is even larger than he would have guessed. He settles back and enjoys the ride, laughing as Batzorig stops to bite or nuzzle several enemy or friend horses as she passes, quite unhindered by Ganzorig, who is doing much the same with people he sees. In fact, Ganzorig seems to be allowing his mount to choose their speed and direction, with very little input. It is a very strange style of riding to Jun.

Once they’re free of the camp, Batzorig pauses unwillingly to wait for Jun and Sarangerel. Ganzorig looks back to Jun. “Is she taking care of you?” he chuckled.

Frowning a little at Ganzorig’s patronizing tone, Jun cannot help but smile back. “Yes, I think she is,” he admits, patting the mare’s sturdy neck. He stares out across the vast steppe, imagining riding and riding until he is home again. With a sigh, he turns Sarangerel to face a different direction.

Ganzorig pushes Batzorig to move and she takes off at a canter across the wide-open grassland. He enjoys being out of his tent. He finds staying inside stifling. Being on horseback feels much more like home.

Jun cannot help but smile as he watches Ganzorig ride; the warlord’s delight at being mounted is clear as he bounces along on Sarangerel’s back after the other rider, allowing his mare to guide them.

They rode together for perhaps an hour before Ganzorig slowed Batzorig so the horses were side by side.

“What do you miss most?”

Surprised, Jun relaxes his grip on the reins (making Sarangerel snort appreciatively). “About home, you mean?”

“Yes. Your city. Your people.” Ganzorig kept his eyes on the horizon as he asked, stroking Batzorig’s mane.

“I…I do not know. The food, perhaps,” Jun says, trying to sound frivolous and not show how much the question had rattled him. He turns to face the horizon, as well. “What about you? Why are you attacking my country? You do not seem to care about gold or worldly possessions, you have told me that yourself. What do you hope to gain?”

“All the men in this camp come from different tribes. Did you know that? We fought, killed each other and were paid to do so by your people. Under me, my people fight under one banner. We’re one people. Before me, it was centuries of your people pitting my people against each other.” Ganzorig said, eyes dark. “That’s why I burn the cities and wipe the land clean of them. I want there to be no memory of them when I am through.”

Unable to think of a response to this, Jun sits quietly on his horse for some time. "Then why keep me?" he asks.

"Though I despise what your people have done to mine, I still find you beautiful." Ganzorig looked Jun up and down.

Blushing a little under the warlord's penetrating gaze, Jun digs his heels into his mare's sides, urging her faster. He needs to move, to think on what Ganzorig has said. He is aware that his people have been keeping the Mongols under control, but he had always thought of them as primitive savages, who needed benevolent guidance to not overrun the world. He had never seen them as people.

Ganzorig allowed Jun to ride ahead, slowing Batzorig's urge to race the other mare and patting her. He kept pace behind Jun quietly.

Finally, Jun reins in his mare, halting and waiting for Ganzorig to catch up with them. "I cannot say that I disagree with my people's ways, because they are still my people...but I can see why you would be angry." Turning to face the massive camp, with fires just beginning to glow in the twilight, he murmurs, "and this is very impressive."

"Impressive? The camp, or what we've done?" Ganzorig stopped his mare right next to Jun's. Batzorig took this opportunity to bite Sarangerel's neck.

"Both. There are not many men who could bring such fierce people together under one banner." Jun is forced to grab his mare's mane as Sarangerel dances sideways to avoid Batzorig's teeth.

Ganzorig nods, watching the campfires with Jun silently. After a moment, he asks, "Are you ready to ride back?"

Jun nods, deep in thought.

They let the horses canter back. They both know where they're going and soon they find themselves weaving through the camp, noisy and busy with all the men eating, drinking and talking. The horses stop outside Ganzorig's tent and the warlord dismounts.

A moment later, Jun slides off Sarangerel, with rather less grace than Ganzorig. He is quite sore, being unused to riding without a saddle, and a little out of the practice of riding at all.

"Where would you rather sleep?" Ganzorig asks him.
Jun considers the question for a moment, then looks at the ground. "With you," he admits. "The concubines never let me sleep," he adds quickly.

"Even though I snore?" Ganzorig laughed.

"As long as I fall asleep before you, it is not a problem. What do we do with the horses?"

"Let them loose. They'll graze with the herd." Ganzorig patted Batzorig on her flank, sending her off. He lifted the tent flap for Jun.

Sarangerel follows Batzorig, playfully kicking up her heels at the other mare, as the two horses trot off to join their friends.

Jun ducks under the flap, breathing in the deep, rich smells of the tent: fabric, leather, sweat, horse, tea, smoke...he certainly has fewer responsibilities here, he reflects.

Ganzorig followed Jun into the tent, going back to his bed and sitting on the edge, unbuttoning his long lambskin coat.

Placing the complicated skein of leather that makes up Sarangerel's bridle back where he had found it, Jun sits lightly on the edge of the bed, some distance from Ganzorig.

Ganzorig pulled off his coat, leaving it on the edge of his bed. "I did have one more thing for you."

Laughing softly, Jun turns to the warlord. "Is this some sort of festival?" he asks.

"We had a very good battle a few weeks ago. I meant to give it to you earlier." he dug through the furs on his bed (where he seemed to keep everything) and came up with a round black bottle. He handed it to Jun.

Jun takes the bottle, reading the graceful Chinese characters on the side. "Rice wine! Thank you." The young general had not been aware that Ganzorig had noticed his distaste for airag. He tries not to think about where the warlord had gotten the drink.

Ganzorig grinned, clapping him on the back. "Now you'll have something to drink besides mare's milk."

Jun gasps a little at the force of Ganzorig's hand on his back, but he smiles back at the warlord. "Do you treat all of your...I mean, your concubines...this well?" Jun has tried very hard to make it clear that he is separate from the concubines.

"I bring things back often." he laughed, "Why did you think their tent was so lavish?" He didn't mind if Jun thought of himself as something other than a concubine. He certainly was different than those weak, slender men.

"True." After a moment's consideration, Jun fixes Ganzorig with a careful stare. "What is the price of these gifts?"

"You're already paying the price." Ganzorig assured him, fingers weaving into Jun's coarse hair. For some reason, the man's hair delighted him.

"Yes, I suppose I am," Jun says, wryly. However, he has to admit that the hand in his hair does feel good, and he closes his eyes, leaning into Ganzorig's hand. Just a little.

Ganzorig leaned in closer, kissing Jun's ear.

Jun tenses, but leans against Ganzorig's side to steady himself.

"Dinner." Ganzorig murmured.

"My ear?" Jun murmurs, confused. His mind is feeling a little foggy from the pleasant sensation of Ganzorig's warm, wet mouth.

Ganzorig chuckled. "You can make Khuushuur now, can't you?"

"Ahh...oh, yes. The concubines taught me."

"Make some for me."

(then we went and made Khuushuur, which are delicious. You should all eat them. Eat them now!!)

A Light Man in a Dark Place

It begins with running, sweating, panting. His idea of love and his idea of the hunt, the chase, are very similar. Oh, God, I had hoped I would never see him again. His hand is on the back of my neck, tangled deep in my hair, so I can't move. (Even if I wanted to). His knee is between my legs, grinding, almost to the rhythm of his over-quick heartbeat. It hurts, his face is so close to mine, his eyes, his mouth, his nostrils open wide with rage and triumph. His face is all I can see. His scent..I had hardly seen his face before. I hadn't wanted to. Not ever. I remember with my whole body, my hips moving to meet his grinding knee, and we both scream.

He screams like a jungle cat, one I've never seen, but heard every night in this terrible place. He's on his knees, dragged straight out in front of him by laughing monsters. Men I've known for months, spent every hour with. I never met them before today. This savage on the ground in front of me, I understand better. There's a hand on the back of my neck, tangled deep in my hair, not one strand different than it is now. "Fuck him," he says, pushing me down so I'm bent over his broad, dark back, like I never will be again. I pray to God and all the Saints that I will somehow get hard, somehow be able to convince them. Hating myself, this prayer.

We enter each other. My cock fills his already bleeding ass, his force offering. His knife enters my chest, creating an opening. Time collides with itself, our eyes lock, and I die at long last. I thank him with my last breath. This is all it took, after all this time. If only I had stayed and let him finish me, I could have been dust by now.

In the end it didn't matter. I woke, if that's what it is, in his arms. His mouth and arms were covered in my blood, his hair matted with it, his eyes wild with it. He watched me wake, this terrible, beautiful god-child. I couldn't believe how young he was...had been...

"You're mine," he said, with the certainty of death, the knowledge of God. And I was: and I have been.

He held me, and I cried, and prayed, and screamed. He showed as little comprehension as a statue, but he didn't move. Didn't push me away. Didn't kill me again.

Finally, perhaps to quiet the unbearable sounds filling my mouth, spilling up out of me, he kissed me, my blood filling my mouth and silencing me. He smiled, bitter and full of teeth as a cactus, and pushed me into the position he wanted. Kneeling, arms dragged out in front of me. I knew what he wanted, what he would take. And I wanted it.

I knew that it would finally make me complete.

I didn't move.

Mihai

Officer Georges Dupres is walking his rounds, whistling quietly to himself. His thoughts are nothing near as calm as he appears. He's thinking about gypsies, gypsies overrunning his city, murdering and thieving without end.

Just as he's thinking of this horror, he sees a young gypsy man playing the fiddle on a street corner. He has a few people watching as they pass, but no one stops.

Georges sees him, one hand automatically clutching his nightstick. "You there. Gypsy! Move along!" His other hand moves to his pistol, also unawares.

Mihai, the roma, raises an eyebrow. He doesn't stop playing when he responds. "Are you going to shoot me?"

"Stop that infernal racket when you address me. And you will call me 'sir'. Don't make me ask you again." Georges glares at the bystanders until they leave, so he and Mihai are alone.

He let his bow go to his side. "Yes sir." he said, deadpan, eyes narrowed.

Georges smiles, his cock hardening a little. "Better. Have you taken any money from these good people?"

"I haven't -taken- a cent. I earn my money." Mihai said darkly. He knew what was coming.

"By playing your heathen music? The day one of you earns your money through decent work, the angels will descend to earth and sing merry hymns. Until then...give me the money."

"My music is just fine. People enjoy it." the boy started to put away his violin, turning his back on the officer.

"Don't you turn your back on me, scum." His voice is a deadly whisper. "Come with me."

He shouldered his case, turning to face the taller man, his whole body stiff with anger and fear. "I've done nothing wrong, gadje." he spat.

"That remains to be seen," he growls. "What did you call me?" He sticks his hands in his pockets, pouring some chloroform onto a handkerchief. "Are you resisting me?"

"I called you a gadje." he told the other, taking a step back. "And I am resisting as I would resist any thief trying to steal from me."

Georges steps forward, reaching around Mihai's head, clapping the chloroformed handkerchief over the gypsy's mouth.

Mihai struggled briefly, then crumpled against the other man, unconscious.

Georges throws the smaller man over his shoulder, carrying him to the station and tossing him in a cell. After securing his 'prisoner' with hand and leg shackles, he fetches a bucket of cold water, throwing it over Mihai.

Mihai gave a hoarse cry, jerking away from the water. He sat up as much as he could, looking up at the officer. "Monstre." he spat.

Georges slaps him across the mouth. "I warned you about speaking to me that way," he hisses.

"Let me go." he said, trying to make his voice sound stronger than he felt.

Georges puts a foot between Mihai's legs, putting a hint of pressure on his cock. "You. Will call me. Sir."

Mihai froze, mouth opening a little in pain. "Nnn.." he managed. "Sir." he corrected himself. He was really starting to become frightened now.

"Better. Now, where is the money you took?" He digs his foot in harder, enjoying himself, cock hard. Revenge, he thought, was sweeter than he had ever imagined in his darkest fantasies.

He winced, eyes wide. Mihai pulled a small bag from out of his shirt, tossing it on the floor. "That's all I have." he gasped with pain as the other put more pressure on his genitals.

Georges counts the money, not really paying attention. "Good..." he purrs. He moves his foot, kneeling in front of the bound boy. "Now. Tell me. What are you doing in my city?"

"Our caravan is traveling around here and I thought I'd make some money." he said breathlessly, closing his legs together tightly. "Sir." he added after a moment.

"Hmm. So there are more of you, of course. Vermin never travel alone. Where are the others? Why are you alone?"

"We're not vermin. I came into the city to busk. No one else is in the city." Mihai told him, starting to feel ill from the chloroform.

"I see. How long before you'll be missed?" He's kneeling very close to the boy, breathing in his face.

"They expect me back tonight." he lied. They were quite used to him staying out late and often not coming back to the next day.

"I don't believe you," he murmurs, placing a hand on Mihai's head, digging his nails in a little. "I don't think anyone will miss you for a very long time, and I think you'll tell me anything I want."

Mihai tried to pull his head further away from the other man, glaring at him. "They'll notice that I'm gone." he insisted.

"Eventually." He grabs a handful of Mihai's hair, shoving the gypsy's head back. "Now. I know that your people have signs, ways of passing information. You are going to tell them, tell them all, to STAY OUT OF PARIS!!!" The last is practically a scream--the station is empty for the night.

Mihai looked up at him with very wide eyes. This man was clearly losing his mind. "Yes sir." he said quietly. Maybe if he agreed, he'd be let go.

"...better yet..." he contemplates, "tell me. Tell me how to tell them. And if you lie...I'll kill them. Every gypsy I see will die, and their blood will be on your hands."

"I... I can't tell you. I'll put out the signs." he whispered.

Pressing Mihai's head against the wall, fingers tangled in his hair. He presses his forearm to the boy's throat. "No. You tell me."

Mihai met the other's eyes, clearly terrified. "I can't."

"What would they do to you? Think of that...and then think what I'll do." He leans in, Mihai's throat trapped between the arm and his head being driven into the wall. "This is nothing. I can hurt you beyond your wildest dreams."

"I know." Mihai winced. "Stop, please... I can't do anything to help you." he curled his legs up to his chest, trying to make himself a smaller target.

"Why not?" He lays a finger across one of Mihai's eyes, gently pressing. "You won't be half so...pretty..." (he says this as a curse) "...with only one eye."

Mihai's face twisted with anger and he spat at the officer. "Fuck you."

He presses a nail to the eye, putting pressure on now. His fingers are still in the boy's hair, forcing his head still. "How. Dare. You." He snarls, fingers clutching at Mihai's scalp.

Mihai screams with pain, arching his back, struggling as wildly as he can. "Stop! Please!"

Georges laughs, a terrible sound. "You see? Will you continue to defy me?"

"I can't tell you." he panted, shaking slightly. "There's nothing you can do to change my mind."

"I see." He produces a knife, flicking it open. He presses the point just below Mihai's eyebrow. "Isn't that...unfortunate?" he sneers.

"Please..." Mihai begged. "Don't do this."

Georges starts to cut, following the line of the boy's eyebrow almost to his nose.

Mihai cried out with pain, struggling again. "Stop!" he screamed with agony. "Please!" the boy's cries started getting fainter as he lost blood, the cuts pouring.

Georges stops, knife still poised. "Will you tell? Will you betray your wretched people to make it stop?"

He sobbed, blood and tears streaking his face. "No." his whole body was shaking.

It almost sounds as though Georges growls, "...good..." before continuing. He cuts downward now, from the eyebrow to beside the bottom of the nose, cutting back the same way under the eye. He pauses again before making the final cut, panting like a man in the throes of sex.

"Nnn..." the other swallowed hard, crying. "I... please..." he groaned, no longer able to make coherent sentences.

He makes the last cut. "I wonder if I can peel the whole thing. What do you think?"

"Please... just kill me." he begged, struggling weakly. He was almost ready to pass out.

"Why would I do that?" He sticks the point of the knife under the skin, until he has enough to grab and tug. "You still haven't told me what I want to know."

He screamed as the other grabbed it, thrashing wildly. Mihai's spasms helped rip the skin even quicker and he groans weakly, eyes fluttering to the back of his head.

Georges laughs again, releasing the boy to stroke his own cock through his pants, without realizing it. He tears the skin free at the moment of climax.

Mihai's head lolled against his chest, every limb limp. Blood was pouring down his face.

Georges takes the boy into his arms, pulling him into his lap. He falls asleep in this position.

Mihai's face is pressed against the other's chest, the pressure slowing the blood flow enough to keep him from bleeding to death.

The next morning, Javert came to work, expecting a normal welcome of a pile of paperwork. Instead, he found another officer asleep in a cell with a bloody prisoner. He opened the cell door, nudging the other policeman with his foot. "Dupres." he said sharply. "What is going on?"

Georges groans, rubbing his eyes and shoving Mihai aside. He recognizes Javert and salutes, trying to stand. "Inspector! Forgive me, I was interrogating this prisoner, I must have fallen asleep..." His pants are cum-stained.

"Interrogating?" Javert looks him up and down, not pleased. He has to look twice at Mihai before realizing he that he knew the boy. "...what did you do to him?" he snarled.

Georges shrugs. "What does it matter? He's just another gypsy." He takes Mihai's pulse. "Hmm. Still alive." He sounds almost disappointed.

"Get out of here, Dupres. Now." he snapped, picking up Mihai's limp body and carrying him out of the cell.

Georges shrugs, confused. "Alright, sir."

Ferre awoke early in the morning to a heavy knocking on his door. It almost sounded as if someone was kicking at it.

Ferre stumbles to the door, rubbing his eyes. Opening it, he can't at first take in what he's seeing. "Inspector?" he murmurs, baffled, is there a problem?"

Inspector Javert entered without being asked in, brushing past Combeferre. "I need your help. He's in bad shape." he went to set Mihai down on the couch.

Combeferre bustles about. He's about to make a quiet protest about waiting to cover the couch so it doesn't get dirty, but he stops after taking a second look at the injured man. "Yes...I see...would you get my doctor's bag from my bed room?" he's wide awake now, bent over Mihai.

Javert rushes to get his bag, bringing it to his side. Mihai groans softly, only partly conscious.

Ferre quickly realizes that there's too much blood for him to properly examine the wound. "When did this happen?" he asks, even as he goes to his small bathroom to fetch a wet cloth. Luckily he had water on hand.

"Some time last night." Javert murmured, stroking Mihai's hair gently as they waited for Ferre's diagnosis. "I brought him here as soon as I could."

"Mmm..." Ferre murmurs, beginning to clear the blood away, as gently as he can. When he sees the chunk of missing flesh beneath the blood, he pales visibly. "Excuse me..." he groans, walking as quickly as he can with dignity to the bathroom. Retching sounds can be heard within.

Javert wasn't bothered by the gore; he'd seen worse before. He was surprised by the student's reaction. Mihai's eye fluttered open. "Nn?" he managed through gritted teeth.

After a minute the pale boy returns, dabbing his face with a cool cloth, once again professional. After getting over the initial shock of the injury, he's ready to proceed. "Now...could I ask you to sit off to the side? I'll let you know if I need you. Were you able to recover the...skin?" He doesn't mention his moment of weakness.

"No, I didn't notice it anywhere." Javert had a sudden morbid thought about the other policeman eating it. He moved away, letting Ferre work. The remnants of Mihai's damaged eyelid twitched as he tried to open his eye.

Combeferre opens his bag, removing a small bottle of laudanum. He opens it, sucking a few drops into an eye dropper. He moves to gently open Mihai's mouth. "...nothing to stitch..." he mutters to himself, "all that can be done is to...keep it clean and covered. Keep the patient comfortable..."

"How do we keep him from bleeding to death?" Javert asked, watching Mihai swallowing the drops of laudanum.

"I wouldn't worry about that. Head wounds appear to bleed profusely...a lot...but blood loss is minimal, from an overall bodily perspective." He replaces the laudanum, withdrawing a bottle of clear alcohol and a roll of bandage. "This is going to hurt. Be ready to hold him if he struggles."

Javert put a hand over Mihai's chest, gently, nodding to the young student. "I'm ready."

Combeferre thoroughly soaks a cloth in alcohol, pressing it to Mihai's wound.

Mihai cries, shuddering and trembling. Javert holds him down as gently as he can. The smaller gypsy let his keening die to a whimper, crying out of his unspoiled eye.

Combeferre is shaking a little, teeth gritted, trying to ignore his patient's distress. After disinfecting, he quickly and effectively bandages the wound, covering Mihai's eye.

Javert patted Combeferre's shoulder gently as the other finished up, trying to give him some support. Mihai groaned, finally passing out.

"There." Combeferre finishes, stepping back and drawing Javert with him. "We'll let him rest. What happened? ...and why did you come to -me-?"

"I'm sorry I had to come to you, Combeferre." Javert apologized. "I knew you could help him, and I assumed that you would help him. He's a gypsy... many doctors wouldn't have even looked at him." the inspector gave him a tired half-smile. "Thank you."

Ferre frowns, gazing at Mihai thoughtfully. "I saw only a man in need of help. To react, as a doctor, any other way is....morally inexcusable."

"If only all doctors thought the same." Javert nodded. "I'll move him to my flat as soon as it's safe to move him. I don't want to trouble you anymore than I have to."

"Not at all..." Ferre is still obviously troubled by Javert's revelation about his fellow doctors. "Please, sit down. You should be here when he wakes." He pauses, before asking in a low voice, "Is it because of his...race...that this was done to him?"

"Yes." Javert nodded. "It was... a fellow officer who did this to him."

"Excuse me..." Ferre's stomach lurches, and he again makes his way to the bathroom.

Javert followed him, kneeling next to him and rubbing his back slowly. He made sure all of the student's hair was out of his face as he retched.

Ferre reddens, not meeting Javert's eyes when he's finished. He pours himself a cup of water from his pitcher, slowly sipping it. "I'm...sorry you had to see that," he murmurs.

"I understand. You're still a student, you haven't dealt with a lot of wounds yet. I am sorry I had to bring him here." he murmured, still touching his back.

"Still...I should be better prepared. Would you like some tea?" He leans into the other man's touch without realizing it, glad for the contact.

"Yes, if you don't mind." Javert sighed. He watched Mihai sleep as Ferre started the tea. "You did a good job." he told the other man.

Ferre blushes appreciatively, setting water to boil before sitting in his living room. "I'm just glad I could help," he says, modestly.

Javert smiles. He finds himself liking this student's attitude more and more.

"Why...how could an officer of the law do such a thing? Was he..." he mimes drinking.

"No... he seems to be sexually aroused by acts of violence. I'm not sure if it's to people in general or just gypsies, but..." Javert sighed slightly. "It did bring him pleasure."

Ferre shudders. An image of Grantaire, bruised and bloody, enters his mind, but his conscious self isn't sure why. "Oh." he says, unsure how to respond.

"I'm sorry to put so much on you, Combeferre." Javert touched his arm lightly. "I know this is a lot to take in."

Ferre puts his slender, pale hand on Javert's large dark one. "No. It's important that I know. This...is my city, the people I'll be treating..." He frowns, not sure how to express himself.,

"You want to know." Javert nodded. "It's difficult to stay naive as a doctor. You see the worst parts of humanity. What people do to each other."

"...yes. As do you," he says, softly. "I want to understand. Is it possible?"

"Not always." he admitted. "Sometimes people are hurt for no purpose or reason that we can guess at. The world is a sadistic place." the dark man shrugged. "We just have to try and make it better."

He shivers, laying his head on the other's arm. "It's still so early in the day...so much has happened." He shivers, a tear running down his cheek.

Javert put an arm around him gently. "It's alright..." he murmured. "Nothing else has to happen today. I'll stay with you if you need me to."

Ferre glances at Mihai without realizing it, clearly uncomfortable with the wounded man's presence, though he would never say anything. "I...I would like that very much. Thank you. You're...not what I expected. But surely you have work, something more pressing to do?"

"I do... but Mihai is, well, sort of family. And I can't leave you here with him. You've done eno

Ferre grins. "I would be delighted to have your company for the day. I've heard of you, of course...incidentally, how did you find me?"

"Ah, I'm friends with Grantaire. I've met him here before." Javert explained.

"Oh, I see." He fetches the tea, setting it all on a tray with sugar, spoons and a bit of bread and cheese. "I'm afraid I don't have any milk...or buiscuts."

"That's fine." Javert helped himself to tea.

Ferre settles down again with his tea, clearly relieved to have the beverage. "Is he...from your clan?" the student asks, curious.

He frowned a little, then shook his head. "No, he's not, but we've met a few times before, and we all try to look out for each other."

"I'm...sorry." Ferre noticed the frown. "Did I say something wrong? You said...he was like family. I assumed...forgive me."

"No, it's alright. But I'd prefer if you didn't mention it to anyone. A man in my position can't be... anything but french."

"Of course. I'm...sorry that you must hide who you are." He gives the older man a gentle smile.

"I'm quite used to it, it's no bother. Thank you." he patted Ferre's hand gently.

"Hmm." Ferre sounds almost disapproving. "Still, it's extremely unfortunate. You should come to our meetings. My friends and I..." He cuts himself off, horrified. He had forgotten for a moment who he was speaking to.

"Meetings? Are these the same meetings Grantaire is often going to?"

He shakes his head, mouth shut, pale and trying not to tremble.

Javert sighed. "Believe me, I have my suspicions about these meetings, but for now I shall imagine that they are simply a gathering of friends. I owe you Mihai's life, and Grantaire and I are quite close." Javert said matter-of-factly.

Ferre nods, hardly moving. "Suspicions?" he asks, voice almost a squeak.

"I told you what I thought, and what I was going to do." Javert told him. "You're just digging the hole deeper, Combeferre." he couldn't help but smile. "Let's talk about something else, shall we?"

Ferre shudders, nodding again. For the first time in his life, he wishes he owned a gun. He wonders if it will become necessary to restrain the inspector. These thoughts are quite visible on his face.

Javert chuckled, watching this all pass across Combeferre's face. "Combeferre, I owe you the life of a friend. I'm not going to turn around and persecute you. As far as I know you've done nothing but meet friends for a few drinks. I see no need to learn any more than that." he said firmly.

The medical student smiles thinnly. "Alright. What can be done about the man who assaulted.." he gestures at Mihai.

"I'm not sure. Generally such brutality is overlooked when it comes to gypsies and other undesirables." Javert shrugged. "I have a higher rank, and could possibly get him demoted or even suspended from duty, but it would take time."

"...undesireables?"

"Do you have a better description?"

"I've....never heard that term, not in that context. Who else would be considered 'undesireable'?" He gives Javert a side-long look, "...drunks?"

He nodded. "And other people who are considered a disturbance to the peace." he didn't mention revolutionaries. He thought Ferre might do something rash if he did.

Ferre was no longer thinking about revolutionaries. "So, these people, these undesirables...justice has no context in their lives? They're expendable?"

"In the eyes of many people, yes. They're not wanted. No one wants to deal with them day after day, so... they deem it acceptable to deal with them in other ways."

"That's despicable. That's what's undesirable. Ugh." He gulps his tea angrily.

"I'm supposed to be keeping you in a good mood!" Javert chuckled. "Why don't we find a happier topic?"

Ferre grins gently. After a moment, he gives an almost flirtatious smile. "What would you propose, monsieur l'inspecteur?"

Javert wasn't sure how to take the flirtatious look. "Well, why don't you tell me about your studies?"

Ferre laughs. "Where to begin? And I would hardly call medical school a happy topic." His eyes say otherwise.

"You seem to enjoy it though." Javert encouraged him.

"Yes, I do. Ever since I was a boy, I only wanted to be a doctor. And Enjolras wanted to be..." his eyes widen. "...luckily my parents could afford it. And I have several substantial scholarships."

"Then you're getting to do what you've always wanted." Javert chuckled. "That's good."

"Is this what you wanted?" he asks, again a little flirtily. It's hard to say whether or not he intends in, or indeed notices.

"Well, as long as you're smiling." he laughed a little.

Ferre laughs. "I meant your career. What did you want to be as a child?"

"I suppose it's something I'd choose for myself now, but I didn't imagine this for myself as a boy." he shrugged.

Combeferre nods. "I understand. We have different needs, different desires than we did as children."

"Exactly." he chuckled.

Mihai started stirring, groaning and whimpering. He was soon struggling to sit up.

Combeferre is instantly on his feet, headed for Mihai. He grabs a candle, lighting it as he walks. Kneeling in front of the gypsy, he gingerly lays a hand on the other's knee. "You're safe. My name is Etienne Combeferre; Javert brought you to my flat."

"I can't open my eye." Mihai whispered, reaching up tentatively to touch his face.

Javert came to kneel next to Ferre.

"Francois?" Mihai looked as if he were about to cry. He felt the bandages on his face delicately.

"I'm here." Javert told him, taking his hand and drawing it away from his face.

Ferre turns away, pouring Mihai a cup of tea, giving them a moment alone.

Mihai nestled into Javert's chest, crying a little, but mostly just laying still, numbly. Javert stroked his hair awkwardly.

"Francois..." Ferre murmurs. He laughs a little, "...ironic." He assumes Javert won't hear.

Javert gives him a little smile over Mihai's shoulder.

Mihai shuddered, curling up against the older gypsy. "I can't really remember what happened..."

Ferre blushes, busying himself with bringing the tea to Mihai. "Does it hurt? Would you like more laudenum?" Mostly to himself, he adds, "I've heard that certain Indians who live on the vast interior plains of the New World can prepare birch bark as an analgesic..."

"More laudanum would help." he murmured. He looked towards 'ferre with his good eye. "Did I lose my eye?" he whispered.

"No, just the skin of your eyelid. That should heal, in time. I'm...sorry that there isn't more I can do." He almost thrusts the tea into the boy's hands. "I wouldn't try anything for a while, your system's had quite a shock." He drops a few drops of laudenum into the tea. "I'm sorry, I don't believe I heard your name..."

"Mihai." he murmured, taking the tea. "thank you for taking care of me."

Ferre laughs softly. "Of course. It's my job, or will be, once I finish school." He offers his hand. "I'm pleased to meet you."

Mihai takes the other's hand gently. "Same." he smiles stiffly.

Javert lays Mihai down on the couch again. "Ah, there's some blood on the couch, I'm sorry." he frowned.

"That's alright, it's to be expected."

Mihai kissed Javert's shoulder, the only part he could reach.

Ferre blushes. "Um. Do either of you need anything?"

"I think I'm going to sleep." Mihai murmured.

Javert's cheeks flush slightly when he realizes what Combeferre took from the kiss. "You rest." he told Mihai.

"Why don't you take my bed? It will be more comfortable." It's implied that Javert may join him, if he so chooses.

Javert carries Mihai to the bed, tucking him in carefully. He leaves him to join 'ferre when Mihai falls asleep.

"The pain doesn't seem to be bothering him."

Ferre hands him a piece of bread with cheese on it. "You should eat."

"Thank you." he took it, taking a bite.

"You're welcome. He shouldn't feel much of anything, while he's taking laudenum. I can give you some for him for later, if you'd like." Abruptly he blurts, "Are you two lovers?"

Javert laughed. "No! Not at all. I haven't seen Mihai since he was twelve."

The student blushes more violently than ever, muttering, "I do apologize!" After a moment he asks, "What was he doing alone? Where are his clan? They must be notified of this. Do you think they'll retaliate? I've never heard of gypsies...sorry...attacking people...this is coming out wrong. Why don't...your people...unite?"

"We don't want war." Javert raised an eyebrow. "I'll bet he was out busking or dancing for money. His clan's probably outside of the city. I... I don't know if they'll retaliate or not. If so, I'll probably become involved." he sighed.

"...on which side?" he whispered. "I'm sorry, I hadn't thought of that. War? Truly?"

"All I want is to keep everyone safe." Javert assured him. "I'll probably be helping them get the bastard out of the city without a fuss."

"The officer, you mean? Where would he go?"

Javert raised an eyebrow. "He'd be killed, or otherwise punished."

"You would...send one of your men to his death? What happened was monstrous, but violence...it won't change what's happened. He may have family relying on him, loved ones..."

"It'll be taken care of, Combeferre."

"No. I won't just let you brush me aside like that. I'm not a child. Murder is wrong! You're an inspector of the police, you know that!" He stands, moving toward Javert, arms crossed over his chest. "I cannot allow you to leave, not with that motive."

"It won't be my decision. Are you saying he should be allowed to do this to more children?" Javert growled a little.

"No. But punish him through the proper channels. Don't lead him off like...an animal to be slaughtered!" He's intimidated, but doesn't back down.

"Punish him through the proper channels? I can get him wrongfully fired or suspended, but I can't properly punish him for what he did." Javert said coldly.

"Arrest him. Throw him in jail."

"On what charge?"

"On what charge?" He's almost close enough to touch Javert, glaring up at the larger man. "On what charge? Slicing off half a boy's face! That's your job, isn't it? Or maybe you're afraid. Afraid of being found out for what you really are. It's comfortable in Paris, isn't it...inspector?" He almost spits the last word, panting and trembling, hands balled into fists.

"Yes it is comfortable in Paris. And I hope you realize that when he points out that the boy is a gypsy, no action will be seriously taken. He'll have done them a favour, getting Mihai off the streets." Javert spat back.

"I don't believe you." Combeferre says, flatly.

"You haven't seen what this city does to gypsies and other such undesirables. Like revolutionaries."

The boy's mouth falls open. "Wha--what?" The fight visibly leaves him.

"Shall we stop arguing now?"

"No. Not until you told me what...you meant...why?" He's pale and trembling.

"I know what you are, Combeferre. I know what Grantaire is. I'm not going to arrest you, I'm not going to hurt you. I know... how you feel. You ought to understand how unforgiving the world is."

"What do you...think you know?" He demands.

"You're a revolutionary. You meet often in a cafe, and you're led by a blond." Javert told him curtly

"How...how do you know? Why aren't you..,arresting us?" His knees buckle, and he'd fall if Javvy didn't catch him.

Javert scooped him up, setting him on the couch. "I've told you that before. I owe you. And Grantaire and I ... I couldn't betray him."

Ferre blushes, clinging to Javert. "I...I see. ...you have a very conflicted life. I'm sorry for what I said."

"Thank you." Javert let him cling, holding him gently.

"Mmmm...This is nice. Thank you." He yawns, eyes half closed.

"You're tired... you should sleep." he pulled Combeferre further into his lap to curl against his chest.

"You're so warm...and you smell good...Your shirt is covered in blood! Take it off, I'll get you a new one."

"Ah, alright..." he stripped off his coat and shirt, hat as well.

"Ah..." Ferre murmurs, staring at Javert's chest. He lays a gentle hand on the bare chest, stroking delicately.

Javert's face flushed a little, and he folded his clothes in his lap, a little awkwardly.

On impulse, his erection thinking for him, he takes one of Javert's nipples into his mouth.

"Mmnn.." Javert groaned a little, hand going to the back of Combeferre's head, stroking his hair. Javert could feel his pants getting tighter.

Ferre sucks harder, moaning, rocking against his pants. He leans his head back, nestling his head against the hand.

"Ah, Combeferre..." he pressed into the other's leg a little, fingers weaving through his hair. "Yes..."

The slender doctor reaches down between Javert's legs, unfastening the larger man's pants.

Javert groaned, hands sliding down Combeferre's back to the back of his pants, pulling the other close and kissing him roughly.

Ferre struggles loose, peering at the revealed cock. "God...it's so dark...and big...could I...?" He leans down, mouth "O"d already.

Javert gave a loud moan, hand guiding Combeferre's head down. He stroked the other's ear gently as he did. "Ahh..."

Halfway down, Ferre remembers that he's never done this before. He lowers his mouth over Javert's ripe, dark cock. He flicks the tip of his tongue over Javert's head.

Javert gasps, back arching. "Mmm...!" he groaned.

"Ah... Etienne..." he moaned, finding it suddenly appropriate to use the student's first name.

Encouraged, Ferre slides his mouth down, covering more. He gently cups the inspector's balls in one hand, stroking them.

"Ah-" he groaned, stroking the other's hair as he was sucked, head thrown back on the couch.

Next, he nibbles, ever so delicately, along the shaft. He gently knocks the balls together, rolling them in his hand. He pulls against the hand on his hair, enjoying the gentle restraint.

"Ah, Etienne..." he groaned, pulling gently on his hair. "Kom..."

Ferre moans around the cock, rocking on his knees, enjoying the pressure of his pants on his cock. He continues licking, nibbling and sucking, running one finger over each ball.

Javert's fingers curled more tightly in Ferre's hair, tugging. He was nearing orgasm, his muscles straining, fingers clenching in the other's hair and against his skin. "Ahh!"

Ferre laughs, unable to believe that he's actually doing this--with someone he just met today.

Javert manages to give him a look when he laughs, trying to figure out what's funny. It's difficult being on the edge of an orgasm, however, and the vibration of Ferre's laugh pushes him over the edge. The inspector comes in Combeferre's mouth, crying out.

Ferre's eyes widen with surprise when the cum hits his throat. He swallows reflexively, coughing a little. He licks his lips, gazing up at Javert, looking almost pleading.

Javert was panting, looking down at the other with a little shock. "Etienne..."

"I...I know!" He gasps, just as shocked. "Please..."

"Please...?" he pulled the other up by the wrists to straddle his lap.

Ferre fumbles with his pants, almost crying with desperate need.

Javert pushed him back on the couch, undoing his pants and pushing them down, pulled the other's hips up to his mouth. He took all of Ferre's throbbing erection in his mouth,

"Ah!" Ferre cries, tears running down his face. "Francois! God, yes!" He bucks, trying not to come immediately.

The dark man grazed his teeth very gently down Combeferre's shaft, moving up to the head.

Ferre groans nonsense, tears still flowing. "Yes, yes, yes..." he chants, thrusting his hips as much as he can in Javert's hands.

Javert licked one of his fingers, sliding a long digit inside the other man, sucking him hard.

Ferre screams in earnest, wanting to hold out, to keep feeling this, but his hips buck once more and he comes.

Javert swallows, removing his finger slowly. He's still a little breathless. "Was that... alright?"

"Ah, ah, ah..." He gasps, nodding shakily. "Yesssss..." he sobs, "oh, yes. What did you do right at the end?"

"I had a finger inside you." he touched his entrance again gently.

"Ah, god! I've read....I mean...I...I didn't know....it's so good." he sighs happily, curling up in Javert's lap.

"Was this your first?" Javert asked him, stroking his hair gently. He grabbed a blanket from the side of the couch, pulling it over their nude bodies.

"...yes..." he blushes.

"Ah... it was alright for you?" Javert kissed the top of his head.

Ferre laughs. "Can't you tell? Um...was I? I mean...was it ok?"

"It was very good." he murmured, smiling a little dreamily.

Ferre yawns, his jaw cracking. "What a day..."

"It's been exciting for you, hasnt it?" he grinned, kissing Ferre softly.

"Oh yes...I'm...I'm glad I...met...you." He blushes again, burying his face in Javert's chest, burrowing under the blanket.

"Me too." Javert murmured, petting the other's hair gently under the blanket. "You sleep, if you want."

Ferre wakes up several hours later, wriggling happily.

Javert was now deeply asleep, head lolled back against the couch, mouth open a little.

Ferre grins up at him, nuzzling his chest. He wiggles more, trying to get up without waking the other to check on Mihai.

"Mmm?" Javert groaned a little. "What time is it?" he murmured, hands going down to Combeferre's hips, stroking the bare skin.

"Ahhh..." Ferre sighs, hardening a little. "I don't know. I want to check on Mi--your friend." He blushes a little.

"Alright. ah... you might want to get dressed." he chuckled.

"Oh...yes..." He hunts for his clothes, tucking a stray lock of Javert's hair behind his ear. "There. You have such beautiful hair..." He walks to the bedroom, glancing back at his new lover periodically.

"My handsome student." Javert watched the other move about the room, enjoying his nakedness.

Ferre smiles, entering the room. "Mi...Mihai? Are you awake?" He whispers.

Mihai was sitting up on the bed. The bandages were off his face. "I'm awake." he murmured.

"Ah...hello. Did your bandages fall off? Do you want more laudenum?"

He nodded when the other asked if he wanted laudanum. "I took them off. I wanted to see."

Combeferre produces the laudenum, filling the dropper and giving it to Mihai. "Please...leave the bandages on?" He grabs the disinfectant and fresh bandages. "I'm sorry, this will hurt..."

"It's okay." he took the laudanum, draining it immediately.

Ferre pours alcohol on a cloth, dabbing gently at the wound.

Mihai hissed a bit. "Thanks."

Ferre nods brusquely, carefully wrapping the bandage. "Can you sleep more?"

"Not tired." he shook his head. "Can I have more laudanum?"

"Ah...not for a few hours. Does it really hurt?"

"It's getting better..." he shrugged a little. "I just want a little more."

"Ah...I'm not sure that's such a good idea. Three drops is more than sufficient for a few hours..." Ferre remarks, nervously.

Mihai nodded, closing his eyes again. Javert glanced at Combeferre, recognizing that Mihai was already becoming dependant on the laudanum.

Ferre glances at the inspector, confused. "Sleep..." he murmurs to Mihai, hoping to continue with Javert.

Mihai nods obediently. Javert follows Combeferre out to the other room, unable to help but admire his slender form as he watched the other walk in front of him.

When they're out of the room, door closed, Combeferre asks, quietly and innocently, "...what's wrong with him?"

"What do you mean?" Javert asked, confused. "He's a little dependant on the laudanum, that's all."

"Ah...what? Dependent? ...I don't understand..."

"He's becoming addicted." Javert said simply.

Combeferre laughs. "Laudenum isn't addictive, it's a miracle of modern medicine! He's simply frightened and in pain, and isn't sure what else to do."

Javert shrugged. "I've seen men beg for painkillers, as if they needed them to breathe."

"I suppose, if one overindulged...I've given him only clinical amounts." He sounds almost snooty, quite disbelieving. "Doesn't Monsieur trust my judgment?"

"That's not what I was saying, Etienne, not at all. Of course I trust you." Javert sat down on the couch where they made love last night. "But Mihai's family has struggled with addiction before."

Ferre sits beside the darker man. "...oh," he murmurs. "I didn't realize." He calms as quickly as he became excitable. "Please, tell me."

"There isn't much to say. But addiction has a habit of running in families." he pulled Combeferre closer. "I know you'll be careful when you're treating him, but make sure he can't get any on his own."

The young doctor's eyes widen. "I...I didn't realize...of course. Thank you. I shall be...vigilant. And more careful." Ferre nestles into his larger lover, clearly upset by this revelation.