There was a long silence in the office afterwards. Toreth lined pencils up on the desk and listened to the blood humming in his ears. Could he wait until this evening, or was he going to have to add another ten minutes to an already over-long coffee break?
"I would have left, you know," Sara said after a while. "If you'd asked."
He swept the pencils up and dropped them into the holder. "Did you want to?"
"Not really, no. That's a great voice you've got for that."
"I can use it for leaving messages for you, if you like."
"Um. Does he do it often?"
"First time." It was oddly disturbing. Exciting to think of Warrick doing it, but so unexpected that he felt unbalanced. He hated unpredictability.
"I thought so. I mean, I can't imagine him doing it at all. I'd never have believed you, if you'd told me. So what brought it on now?"
"Do you remember the address you found for me? The sex gear shop?"
She nodded. "You went, then? What's it like?"
"It's an amazing place. You should go, just to have a look. I'll take you there sometime. I bought him . . . well, it's like a wardrobe, with chains. Wrists and ankles. It's antique, as well. Cost a fucking fortune. I remembered your rule, though, about presents."
"You didn't tell me about it before." She sounded surprised and almost offended.
He thought about it for a minute. Why hadn't he told her? Since she'd found the place she'd have liked to hear about it. He shrugged, at her and at himself. "Nothing
to
tell before. They only delivered it the day before yesterday. That's why I took the afternoon off."
"Does he like it?"
He laughed. "Just a bit. We tried it out last night and he went into orbit." And so did I. "He's never done it before."
"But I thought you had chains already? I mean, I've seen them."
"Not quite like this. It holds him just off the ground, away from the wall. He's got no support at all, unless I take his weight."
She winced.
"Yeah, I think so, too. I prefer the comfortable part. You should see the bruises on his wrists."
"Didn't sound to be hampering him much. Did he even want to know if you were on your own?"
"No. He just asked if I had time to talk."
Sara shook her head. "Jesus, it's a good job you like him."
He blinked at her, nonplussed. "
Like
him?"
"You'd never get rid of him, if you didn't. I wouldn't let go of anyone if they could get me so worked up just thinking about the night before that I had to call them at work and masturbate over the comm. If they tried to finish it, I'd be round with a tranquilliser gun and all the chains I had." Sara stood up and picked up his mug. "I've got work to do." She grinned at him. "And so have you. Are you going to be busy?"
"Am I . . . no. No, I don't think so." He grinned back — no, probably more of a smirk. "I'd hate to make any promises I couldn't keep."
After she'd left, he sat back and thought for a while about what she'd said. Half of him liked the sound of it, wished he could believe it was true, and the other half, in the cold light of day, wanted to run from the idea that it might be. That they could be so, so . . .
Tranquilliser gun and chains.
So he opened a case file, and didn't think about it again.
After the second shower of the morning — he was going to end up wrinkled — Warrick went out to shop for baking ingredients. There wasn't any reason for a mass baking, other than that it was something relaxing, time consuming and didn't require too much concentration. The jet lag wasn't entirely a cover story.
He could take some of the savoury things round to Toreth's tonight, to save them the distraction of a takeaway, and the rest he could take in to work tomorrow. They always received a flatteringly warm reception. Maybe he'd drop in on Dilly on campus. He added a lemon cake to the list, because she liked them.
Back at the flat he set to work. Mixing things by hand proved to be a little painful, but the electric hand mixer hurt, too, so he gave up and took a couple of painkillers. He hadn't wanted to, because he liked to feel the aftermath of a good night, but it wasn't usually this bad.
Maybe he'd have to pad the manacles more after all. It would be a shame, but he couldn't end up looking like this every time.
With the cushion of the painkillers, the project proceeded smoothly, and he managed to reduce the number of times he thought about last night to about ten an hour. How long would it take to reach the status of just another session? He was torn between wanting it to stay special, and the irresistible idea that it could be like that again. He wasn't optimistic enough to aim for 'often', still less 'always', but 'again' he could just about manage to believe.
Still, he did get the memory under control to the extent that when he heard the door to the flat open, he was mildly annoyed that Toreth had changed his mind about being able to get away. He was unlikely to accept a desire to make gingerbread as a legitimate excuse for not wanting sex.
So it was a relief as well as a disappointment when Dillian called, "It's me!" And then, "Do I smell lemon cake?"
"I'm in here, and yes, you do."
He heard the door close, and her voice coming down the hall. "God, you're a mind-reader. I called at SimTech and they said you were jet-lagged, so I thought I'd come round." She came into the kitchen, stopped in the doorway, and inhaled deeply. "Mmm. And on the way over I remembered the last time you were lagged you made me a lemon cake and I was really hoping you'd do it again."
"It's on the rack — don't touch it."
"I know, I know." She came and looked over his shoulder. "Oh, not gingerbread as well. With real crystal stem ginger?"
"Naturally. What else?" He glared at her, mock-affronted.
"I feel spoiled. Are you going to ice the cake? Can I lick the bowl out?"
He laughed, thinking about all the times when they were children. "Yes, of course. Do you remember 'helping' Jen, when she made them?"
"Yes I do! We always used to fight over the bowl."
"So she'd make us sit on opposite sides of the table and take turns until it was gone." He floured the board and started rolling out the gingerbread.
"And
you
used to kick me when she wasn't watching so I'd jump and not get a proper finger full."
"I don't remember that."
"Well, you did. I used to have bruises. You could be so mean. I bet you don't even remember that you pulled my hair once, trying to get the first go, and she was so cross she rinsed the bowl out, right in front of us, and we didn't get anything."
"Actually, yes, I do." He offered her a piece of dough. "Sorry."
"Good. So you should be." She leaned on the counter top, nibbling the dough, and watched him pressing the gingerbread into the tin. "You know, it's grossly unfair that you got
all
the cooking genes. You'd think there'd be enough left over to let me boil an egg without — "
She stopped so abruptly that he looked round. "What's the matter?" he asked.
"Keir, what happened to your hands?"
He should have thought, because the problem had occupied him in one way or another almost all morning, but the flour was hiding the worst of it.
Shaking his sleeves down had no effect, as he'd rolled them up tight to keep them clean. "It's nothing."
"The hell it is. Wash your hands."
"Dilly — "
"Wash your hands. Show me."
Reluctantly he did it, and her eyes widened as she saw the bruises emerging.
"Was it him?"
"Yes. Or rather, it was
us
."
She took his wet hands gently, turning them over, studying the damage as carefully as Toreth had done the night before. Then she released him. "I want to know how it happened."
He picked up a tea towel and dried his hands. "I very much doubt that. It's just a few bruises, nothing to get excited about."
"Don't try that tone with me — I'm not one of your employees. I want to know
exactly
how it happened."
"Trust me, you don't."
"Why? Because of what I'll think of him? What did he do?"
"Drop it, Dilly. Please."
"No. Not this time. I'm not giving up, so you might as well tell me now."
He briefly considered telling her that sometimes she sounded exactly like Jen. Except that he knew that, once she'd made her mind up, she could be even more stubborn. "All right. I'll show you." He raised his hand at her expression. "It's really much easier. In the bedroom."
She followed him, close behind, as if she was afraid he might try to run. That was more Toreth's trick, although in this situation he could see the appeal.
She looked around, frowning when she saw the cabinet. "Is that new?"
"Yes."
He took the key out of the box and put it in the lock. He glanced at her, tempted to ask if she was sure, but he knew an implacable Dilly when he saw one. Maybe this would even reassure her, in a strange way. It was furniture, and you couldn't get much more safe and respectable than nice antique furniture.
Besides which, short of throwing her out of the flat, he didn't see an alternative. So he turned the key, opened the doors, stepped aside.
She stared for a long moment, then put her hand up to her mouth, her face ashen. She stepped back, away from the open door until she bumped into the edge of the bed. "Oh, my God."
"Dilly, it's just — "
"I know what it is. I can see what it
is
." Her colour returned as she continued, anger creeping into her voice. "I've got some imagination — not that it takes much. I know what chains look like, and I know what those things are for." She looked between him and the cabinet. "That's how you got the bruises. You wouldn't be able to reach the floor. You'd have all your weight on your wrists."
"Yes." She'd always had excellent spatial perception. A natural structural engineer.
"Oh, God. Keir, it — it must hurt. It must be — " She shook her head.
Well, he was tempted to say, that is rather the point. "You already know what we do. I told you at Mother's house."
"No. You didn't make it sound like this.
He
didn't, although God knows I should expect
him
to lie."
"Toreth? When the hell did you talk to Toreth about it?"
"It was . . . it doesn't matter. He said it was a game."
"It is."
"No. This isn't what games are. You don't hurt people you're supposed to love. It's — it's
wrong
." She sounded furious now. "And I don't believe that you want this. I won't. It's — " She bit back the words, whatever they were going to be. "Close the doors!"
"Dilly — "
"Close the fucking doors! I don't want to see it any more."
She'd gone pale again, her hands clenched, and the brief, treacherous thought crossed his mind that Toreth would love to see her like this. It appalled and amused him in equal amounts. He closed the cabinet up, put the key away, and went across to her. She had her arms folded across her chest, and she was still staring at the cabinet.
"Dilly?" He touched her shoulder and was immeasurably relieved when she didn't flinch. "Dilly, I'm sorry you're upset. And I'm very sorry if knowing about it changes how you think of me. If it makes you — "
"No!" She looked round. "Don't be silly. I'm
worried
. No, not worried. Worried was before. I'm afraid for you."
"There's no need to be." The assurance felt useless, even as he said it. Showing her the cabinet had been a terrible mistake.
"No need?" She stared at him. "You know what he is. You told me you were being careful with him. You told me it was safe. You promised it was."
Unspoken: you lied to me. There wasn't much he could say to any of that, but clearly she could see that her words weren't making any impression.
"Keir, listen to me. He could do whatever he wanted to you." She sounded like an adult speaking to a child who deliberately refused to understand something terribly obvious. "When you're . . . like that. He could
kill
you and you couldn't stop him. You couldn't do
anything
to stop him."
The words carried a terrible, illicit thrill. "If he wanted to kill me, I couldn't stop him anyway." He was amazed by how calm he sounded. "Any time I'm alone with him is just as dangerous. He's stronger than I am, and he's been trained how to do it. But it's not going to happen."
She swallowed, looking ill. "How can you stand there and say that?"
"It's true. Look, it's been nearly three years and — "
"I meant what he does — his job. How can you say 'he's been trained' and not
care
? How can you even let him touch you?"
"You sound like Tar."
She didn't smile. "I owe him an apology."
"Dilly, I fuck Toreth, not his job."
"I bet you wouldn't say that if you'd seen what he does to people."
And, for that, he couldn't answer her. He couldn't tell the truth and he couldn't bear to lie. So he stood next to her until the silence answered her for him and she sat down abruptly on the bed.
She said something, too quietly for him to hear.
"I'm sorry?"
"I said, did you enjoy it?"
"No. It made me sick." That he could be truthful about.
"Good. I'm glad." She looked up, questioning. "But you had to know what it was like?"
He nodded, hoping she wouldn't want to know any more. "We're getting off the topic."
"No, we're not. He is the topic. This is all him. You're different since you met him. We didn't used to have secrets. We were — " She thumped the bed angrily. "We were close. We were always close. And now we're just friends, and God, I
hate
him."
She sounded on the verge of tears and he desperately wanted to hug her and tell her everything was going to be all right. All that held him back was the fear that she wouldn't let him. That she would push him away because of what he'd shown her.