Abby tried to open her eyes, blinking through the burning sensation she felt, coughing up a lung. She realized that her eyes were open, but the smoke in the room was thick and black and everything was too hot. The air literally pressing down on her.
The shop was burning.
And her fucking flat was burning with it.
Abby rolled out of bed, hitting the ground in a moment of quick thinking, crawling toward the open door to her bedroom. She saw flames licking up the walls, she saw exposed boards and peeling paint. She saw a blurred nightmare clash of images and she doesn't even know how she managed to get out of the building.
Sirens blared. Lights and water lit up the night.
"Miss? Miss?" a policeman was saying. "Are you alright?"
She looked back, tears in her eyes trying to get the particles out of her eyes while she watched her 'clean start' go up in smoke. And then she looked down to her left arm. Abby shook her head. "I don't think so."
The officer took her by the (good) arm and gently lead her to the ambulance where a paramedic was getting out of the back. He was a solid bloke with golden blonde hair and a genuinely caring smile as he took over.
"Looks to be a second degree," the officer said.
"Yes, sir," the medic replied. "I do know how to do my job," he added pointedly. "This way, love, come on. It's just the shock. Let me get you a blanket."
"Th-That's my shop," Abby said, but she felt numb. Well, except for her arm, and her lungs which ached.
Sam tugged the ugly orange blanket around her shoulders, sitting her on the bed. "What sort of shop was it, love?" he asked, holding out her arm to carefully disinfect it. He touched her gingerly with his gloved hands. "Allergies?"
"Tattoo," Abby replied, feeling it was a stupid question. For hell's sake, look at her arms. Well, not the one arm. That was never going to be quite right again. "No allergies." Her next breath was a hacking fit of coughs. "Sorry."
Sam turned, reaching for an oxygen mask, flicking it on. "Breath into that, love," he said. "Tattoo shop. Should've guessed. I'm going to put some gel on this. It'll sting, but it'll cool the burn and numb it up." He pulled out the pack. "Sorry about your ink. This will blister."
"Don't matter anymore, does it," Abby muttered into the mask, not really to the nice paramedic, more to herself. Her lip wobbled. Sister dead, shop gone. Life in the gutter. "Ain't nothing matters anymore."
"ABBY!" a distressed voice screamed. Positively screamed. "Abby! Where the bloody hell is she? Who the fuck are you? Huntsman? Pathetic. Abby, girl with purple hair, about this high. Where is she?"
Abby turned at the sound of her name, brows furrowed together. Her chest, oh it hurt. "Who-"
"Abby!" Spencer said, hair a mess and in his pyjamas and housecoat though he wore them like a suit. He climbed into the back of the ambulance, smelling of smoke and burning. He clutched her face, kissing her forehead hard.
"Spencer," she choked out, coughing again, lip wobbling. "How-ah, um, how're you 'ere?"
Sam turned away from wrapping her arm to push the face mask back against Abby's mouth and nose. He scowled at Spencer in the process.
"Was doing my rounds," Spencer said. "Caught it on the cameras."
She blinked up at him with tears in her eyes, her hand reaching out to clutch his shirt, trying to talk and keep her mask on at the same time. "Dunno what 'appened. Everythin' was normal when I went to sleep."
"What happened is someone decided to put your flat up in flames," Spencer said with fury on his face. "And let me say when I find out who - there will be hell to pay."
"I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that, sir," Sam said, placing the closure on Abby's arm.
"Everythin' hurts," Abby whimpered, watching Sam work. She didn't even want to move her fingers and she was pretty sure part of her hair was singed. "Spence-"
Spencer hugged her carefully, kissing her head. "Don't worry, I brought the car."
"Sir, she's going to hospital," the medic said.
Spencer glared. "She may have acute smoke inhalation, a second degree burn and emotional shock. She requires oxygen, of which I happen to have a tank thanks to an experiment in mental capacity exploration, potentially steroids and antibiotics to ward off infections, which I suggest you give to her now. As for the burn, watch for infection, treat with salve - I'll make my own, thank you very much, and the emotional shock - well, I think I can take care of that myself." Spencer's teeth click.
"Dun' like 'ospitals," Abby choked out, fingers twisted in Spencer's shirt harder. She sniffled, her eyes flickering the blaze where she used to live. "Car, please."
Sam sighed, turning to prepare a quick shot of antiobotics and passed Spencer two pills for Abby to take. He tried to slip Abby a card to a woman's shelter, but Spencer lifted her up, ugly orange blanket and all, carrying her towards the car. He tucked her into the front seat, tucking her smoky hair away from her face.
"There we are," he murmured softly. He rounded the car to get inside. He buckled his seatbelt. "They'll track you down in a few days. Try to get a statement."
"Sure," Abby agreed, leaning her head back. She was tired. Nothing felt real anymore, maybe it never did. Dreams melding into nightmares. "Why'd he pass me that card?"
"Because he assumed I was an abuser. Possibly the one who started the fire," Spencer said, voice quick like Sherlock's deductions. "Stupid though, setting a fire. Fires are uncontrollable, too many unknown variables."
"You didn't star' it." Although for a moment, the thought had seemed plausible. She sighed, wincing as her chest ached. "You don' make rounds in jimjams. How'd you hear abou' - I only just go' out."
Spencer flicked his eyes to the side. Abby was clever, he liked clever. He let himself smile slightly.
"Homeless network," he replied.
"You've a network of homeless people?" Abby breathed, watching him drive until her eyes ached too much and she had to close them. She couldn't sleep, though. Couldn't stop her mind from imagining what happened to her home. "They bin watchin' me?"
"They were.. father's. I have you on their watch out list, but only if anything strange happens," Spencer replied. "It's more of an 'if they happen to notice', Anna will get a nice reward for the heads up tonight. Better if she and her kid can tell me more about what happened."
"Spence, don'," Abby started, shaking her head. She wanted to tell him not to get involved, that he was over his head, but so was she. "Don' wan' you to ge' 'urt."
Spencer's laugh was a bit too high pitched to be normal. It was full of nervousness.
"Dear god, you have no idea," he said. "Bran's home again, and he's going to throw a shit fit - jealous bastard. I went and brought him back home, Abs. God, am I a fuck up or what?"
"Could've le' me go to the 'ops-ops-ospital," Abby stammered, peeling her eyes open to look at him. She furrowed her brows, puzzling over his manic state. "Cause you trouble. Always. I'm the fuck up, no' you."
"Aren't," Spencer said, brows lowering again. "Hospitals kill people."
"People kill people." Abby sighed, leaning her head back. She sniffled again, not wanting to blubber on but still... in shock. "Everythin'. It's all gone. Wha' will I do now?"
"Stay with me," Spencer said, as though it wasn't a question. Brandon would throw a major strop, might even try to leave, but with their test results in the wings, they had clung pretty tight to each other.
Not that Brandon had stopped drinking. But Spencer forced him to let him have control there too. He wasn't sure if it was working. The first time, he tried matching Brandon drink for drink. He got sick, and after that, he had to reevaluate the control.
"You'll stay with me," Spencer said.
"Are you askin'?" Abby said, her voice going tense.
Spencer pulled up outside of Baker Street. He closed his eyes remind himself that Abby wasn't the one calling him Master and thanking him with kisses. "Yes," he said. "As I said, there's a flat downstairs, as well as a studio-"
"I'll consider it," Abby whispered, letting her head fall back. She felt like she was on the verge of a black out, spots and darkness edging her vision. "Thanks. For comin' after me."
Spencer sighed, turning off the car. Abby needed the oxygen mask, so he assumed his bedroom would likely become a makeshift hospital again. He lifted her up, cradled to his chest. She was, remarkably small as she clung to him. It took a little work to get into the flat, and he was panting a bit as he got to the stairs, but he headed through the den, wondering if Bran had made it home yet.
Brandon's blond hair stuck out of Spencer's blankets like a beacon in the darkness, white and reflective, even though his head was hidden under the pillows. He'd sprawled out on his cousin's bed, waiting for him to get home. They hadn't- not since that last time, not until they knew what the results were. Maybe not even then. Either way, Bran had been tired when his shift ended and he'd passed clean out.
"Fuck," Spencer swore under his breath. "Fuck, fuck." He carried Abby back out into the den, searching for the oxygen and a cannula. Years ago, oxygen bars had been all the rage. They'd come back around and Spencer had decided to see how it affected his mind. He slipped it onto her face.
"It's 'kay, I'm comfy here," Abby told him, leaning back on the cushions. She needed a blanket, even though she was sure she wasn't supposed to be this fuckin' cold, and it was probably the shock making her so. She coughed again, a little too loudly.
Spencer dragged down the old quilt over her. "It's a good couch," he said softly. "I've slept here loads of times. Let me get you some water so you can take the rest of this medicine and I've got some pain killers. I'm sure your arm is killing you."
"Yeah, hurts a bunch," Abby agreed, adjusting the blanket so she was warm. She should have showered, got the smell of smoke off of her, but she just couldn't. Too tired. Too weak. Too unwilling.
Spencer returned with the promised medicines and water. "Sit up a bit, here hang on," he murmured. "We'll get you a bath in the morning. I'll need to call Dad for some more painkillers. Good ones."
A bit of the water splashed on her throat, causing her to shiver, but she choked down the pills as best she could. It hurt to swallow, it hurt to breathe. It hurt to live. Abby's dark eyes were grateful when she smiled at him, though. "I really appreciate it, Spence. Didn't know when I'd see you." She leaned back, coughing. "Didn't wan' it to be like this."
"Me neither, Abby," Spencer said, laying her back down as he perched on the coffee table. He stroked her forehead. "I'm sorry I wasn't in touch sooner. I should've been."
Abby shrugged. She's missed him, but trying to keep the store afloat had taken up so much of her time. "Works both ways."
"I'll warn you, Abs," Spencer said, face pinched. "Bran's decided to be my sub. Whatever that means. He's got himself into his own trouble. We're still waiting for test results, but right now, we have a small truce, Please don't run if he throws a tantrum," He laid his hand back over her head. "I can't lose you both."
"Can't run. Running takes breathin', and I ain't breathin' shit right now," Abby tried to choke, only the small gasps and pained coughs in her words were a bitter reminder of how true it was. She closed her eyes, squeezing his leg with her dirty little hand. "Ain't goin' ta run. No' goin' ta lose us."
Spencer leaned forward to leave a kiss on her head.
"Sleep," he commanded gently. He was calm outside, but inside, he wanted to tear London apart. Unfortunately there was a battlefield in his bed, and he had to brace himself at the battlements.
He rinsed the worst of the smoke off of him, grabbing a fresh pair of underwear as he exited the lav. Brandon's hair still shone in the darkness. He crawled on the bed.
"Brandon," he murmured.
"Better be important," Brandon grumbled, his eyes still closed. "Was havin' the most fuckin' fantastic dream."
"Reality's a cold hard bitch," Spencer said. "And you're in my bed. We've got a guest for a little while. You'll behave."
"What'd the tramp do now?" Brandon muttered, rolling over to look at Spencer. The edges of his mouth hinted at saliva dried from him drooling on the pillow. "Manage to get herself stabbed again?"
"Her flat and studio are burned," Spencer said, slipping under the covers. "Tweaker Anna tipped me off. She's lost everything Brandon, let her have the sofa."
The knowledge wedged in Bran's heart was eating him alive but he pretended to be put out, anyway. He flopped back to the other side, sniffing disdainfully. "Tevs. At least Finch wasn't working there. She's safe."
"Finch is always safe," Spencer said, snuggling up against Brandon's back. "She's the safest girl in London," he murmured against Brandon's neck. "Still don't get why you don't tell her how you feel."
"Tell who?" Bran asked, hugging Spencer's arms when they wrapped around his waist. "I don't feel nothin' for nobody."
"Finch," Spencer sighed, squeezing Brandon just a bit. "Nevermind," he said, kissing the back of Bran's neck. "Mine now."
"Yeah, yeah. Fuckin' tired, is what I am," Brandon replied, skin tingling where Spencer kissed him. "I actually had to work while you were out playin' white knight." He squeezed Spencer's hand. "Don't get hurt, Spence."
"I can take care of myself, Brandon," Spencer murmured warmly. "Take care of myself, you, and Abby too. Go sleep, berk."
"Yeah, yeah, goodnight baby cousin," Brandon sneered. He didn't mean it, though. It actually made him feel a little better, that Spencer might have someone else. Something, someone, healthy.
***
Brandon took a long draw off his cigarette from the back stoop of the cafe's kitchen. The phone in his hand was ringing, and his hands were shaking. Smoking helped. Smoking was a bad habit to start, but it helped. He closed his eyes, waiting for his mother to answer.
"Brandon?" Freya's bright voice came over the line. "Hi, baby!" She giggled. "Shh, shh- Hush - Hi, sweetheart."
"Hey, Mumzies," Brandon said, wishing he could be more cheerful for her. God, he was ten seconds from dropping the damn phone. He cleared his throat. "Where you at?"
"Mm, Paris, love. I took a holiday with your father," Freya said, shushing Ford again, and stepping out into the den of the suite. "We're at the hotel right now. Is everything alright?"
"Yeah, no. Um, nope. But-" Brandon's voice cracked badly, reminding him of embarrassing puberty conversations he'd had with her. "I don't know how-"
"Brandon," Freya said softly. "Honey, I've stepped out. Do I need to lift a plane? I'm certain there's somewhere here we can borrow a private and I can be there."
"I have H.I.V.," Brandon spit out, leaning his head on the brick of the building, closing his eyes. A tear slipped down his cheek. He took in a deep breath. "So I dunno, d'you need a plane?"
Freya breath hitched. She put her hand over her mouth, her eyes watered.
"Oh, sweetheart," she half-sobbed. "Oh, sweetie. Yes, yes, I'll be there. A few hours. Did- something happen, love?" she continued, heading back into the bedroom of the hotel room, shaking her head with fear in her dark eyes. Plane, she mouthed to Sherrinford. Ford frowned, obviously concerned, and turned to his laptop to make arrangements.
"Yeah, my ex-fuck-buddy was a crack head," Bran laughed nervously. "And your son has the brains of a gnat. But that's probably not the same as what you're asking." He tugged at his white-blond hair, feeling the thin skin over his shaved temples. "I'm sorry, Mum. Guess it's too late for rehab now."
"Brandon," Freya sighed. "Honey, it's not the best news, but this isn't the end of the world. It can be managed. We will manage it. And for god's sake, stay in London. I love you, darling. You're the best thing I've ever done, you know that, right?"
"I know. I love you, too, Mumzie," Brandon breathed, his chest tight. He blinked away his tears, swiping his hand over his cheeks. "Be safe. See you in a while."
"See you soon, sweetheart," Freya said, hanging up. Her face crumpled as she looked at her child's biological father. "Oh dear God.." she breathed, fat tears rolling down his face.
"What's he done now?" Ford asked, holding his arms open to his lover.
Freya shook her head running into his embrace. "He's tested positive for H.I.V," she whispered. "We need a plane immediately. I need to get home."
"Of course, mon poulet," Ford purred soothingly. He stroked big hands over her little back, holding her tightly. "We'll go back straight away."
Freya nodded, sniffling with wide worried eyes. "My baby, my poor baby boy," she whimpered.
"We'll take care of him," Ford promised, holding her delicate face between his hands. He made sure she was looking at him, even with his disheveled hair and the love-bite blooming on his throat. "We'll call the harpy, she'll meet us in the city, and we'll go see him. He's going to be fine, mon poulet, my little rooster."
Freya nodded, leaning up to kiss him. "We need to-to call Mary," she said, turning her head in his hands. "Mary."
"Brandon?" Freya's bright voice came over the line. "Hi, baby!" She giggled. "Shh, shh- Hush - Hi, sweetheart."
"Hey, Mumzies," Brandon said, wishing he could be more cheerful for her. God, he was ten seconds from dropping the damn phone. He cleared his throat. "Where you at?"
"Mm, Paris, love. I took a holiday with your father," Freya said, shushing Ford again, and stepping out into the den of the suite. "We're at the hotel right now. Is everything alright?"
"Yeah, no. Um, nope. But-" Brandon's voice cracked badly, reminding him of embarrassing puberty conversations he'd had with her. "I don't know how-"
"Brandon," Freya said softly. "Honey, I've stepped out. Do I need to lift a plane? I'm certain there's somewhere here we can borrow a private and I can be there."
"I have H.I.V.," Brandon spit out, leaning his head on the brick of the building, closing his eyes. A tear slipped down his cheek. He took in a deep breath. "So I dunno, d'you need a plane?"
Freya breath hitched. She put her hand over her mouth, her eyes watered.
"Oh, sweetheart," she half-sobbed. "Oh, sweetie. Yes, yes, I'll be there. A few hours. Did- something happen, love?" she continued, heading back into the bedroom of the hotel room, shaking her head with fear in her dark eyes. Plane, she mouthed to Sherrinford. Ford frowned, obviously concerned, and turned to his laptop to make arrangements.
"Yeah, my ex-fuck-buddy was a crack head," Bran laughed nervously. "And your son has the brains of a gnat. But that's probably not the same as what you're asking." He tugged at his white-blond hair, feeling the thin skin over his shaved temples. "I'm sorry, Mum. Guess it's too late for rehab now."
"Brandon," Freya sighed. "Honey, it's not the best news, but this isn't the end of the world. It can be managed. We will manage it. And for god's sake, stay in London. I love you, darling. You're the best thing I've ever done, you know that, right?"
"I know. I love you, too, Mumzie," Brandon breathed, his chest tight. He blinked away his tears, swiping his hand over his cheeks. "Be safe. See you in a while."
"See you soon, sweetheart," Freya said, hanging up. Her face crumpled as she looked at her child's biological father. "Oh dear God.." she breathed, fat tears rolling down his face.
"What's he done now?" Ford asked, holding his arms open to his lover.
Freya shook her head running into his embrace. "He's tested positive for H.I.V," she whispered. "We need a plane immediately. I need to get home."
"Of course, mon poulet," Ford purred soothingly. He stroked big hands over her little back, holding her tightly. "We'll go back straight away."
Freya nodded, sniffling with wide worried eyes. "My baby, my poor baby boy," she whimpered.
"We'll take care of him," Ford promised, holding her delicate face between his hands. He made sure she was looking at him, even with his disheveled hair and the love-bite blooming on his throat. "We'll call the harpy, she'll meet us in the city, and we'll go see him. He's going to be fine, mon poulet, my little rooster."
Freya nodded, leaning up to kiss him. "We need to-to call Mary," she said, turning her head in his hands. "Mary."
***
Spencer had tried to leave Brandon's "special" project, "new job" alone, but since he'd come back home, Spencer had been unable to let his 'sub' move about London without his eyes and ears on him at all times. Brandon and Abby. They were probably the second most two watched people in London.
But with Abby in the flat, they'd been unable to talk that morning. The morning the post came.
Spencer had found his mail on the kitchen table long after Brandon had left, including his test results. Negative, which was good. Obviously. Spencer had been a generally careful lover, never used drugs, aside from the occasional cigarette when dealing with a particularly difficult problem.
He burned toast for Abby, and retreated her wounds. He gave her the rest of the painkillers and encouraged her to rest. She would have to deal with the pain of losing everything. Everything. Spencer had passed by the building to see if anything had survived.
Feeling a cold dread in his bones, he decided to give up the ghost of pretending he didn't know about the cafe.
He caught sight of Brandon's pulled back hair.
"Bran?" he said, voice rising above the murmur of guests.
The white-haired boy had already retreated into the tiny kitchen, and the sounds of pans clanging together sang out from swinging doors. Spencer eyed the two women eating daintily prepared meals and pushed through the doors.
"Brandon?"
"Spencer? What are you doin' here?" Brandon asked, glaring at him with red-rimmed eyes. He pulled loaves of bread out of the rickety old oven Finch had given him to replace the even older oven the property had come with. "Tell your sister she's a damn slum lord, keeping me back here in these conditions."
"Half avoiding our new house guest, half intruding on your secrets," Spencer said, stepping out of the way to watch him work. "Finch set this up?"
"No, I set this up, your sister just provided the funds. And my salary," Brandon huffed, reading the tickets on the line to see what he was to prepare next. "Mostly your sister set this up, maybe. But I sure as hell helped."
"Mmnn," Spencer hummed, watching. "What time do you close? I didn't see any hours on the door. We've an appointment at four."
"Since when have we an appointment at four?" Brandon asked, looking up from his pots and pans. "I don't recall setting any appointments."
"You didn't. I did. We're expected by Angelina at Altière," Spencer said, tapping his foot. "You're usually home by four."
"What's an Alteer?" Brandon asked, mucking up the word on purpose. He raised his eyebrows. "You, I know we don't talk much, but what happens at home will not affect my work. You got it?" Brandon threatened with his spatula.
"Of course not. I'm prepared to wait," Spencer said. "But neither will your work affect your home life either. Altière is a surprise for you. I know our results came this morning, thus - the appointment."
"Celebrating are you?" Brandon asked, looking away. He swallowed. "Well, my dear little Dom, you'll be celebrating with your healthy sub. This one's a bit too grown up for you to toy with."
Spencer's face turned to scowl, the dread grew up his spine, tingling like pins and needles. "This isn't a celebration," he said, low and calm, despite his racing heart. He tapped the counter top with his fingertips, licked his lips. "Not good?"
"My mother is on her way back from Paris or New York or wherever the fuck old people go to shag," Brandon snapped, flipping the sandwich on the griddle, plating it with shoestring truffle-oil chips. "You could say not good."
Spencer's heart felt like it went up and down and fell somewhere along the bottom of his shoes. He stood with a strange cat-like stillness. "This wasn't dependent upon your results," he said, voice even softer in the loud kitchen. "My feelings are not dependent on your results, and this is not going to end simply because of- because of this." Spencer was faintly hissing now.
"You're a moron. I'm tainted goods, now," Brandon replied, leaning closer to him to keep the conversation between the two of them when the single waitress came in to pick up the waiting orders. "Spencer. You can't be risked that way. Your mum would have my head."
"My mum has no business in my pants," Spencer returned. "You were far from perfectly clean when I hauled your arse back home. I know what I'm about. I'll call Angelina, make it for pick up, and then we're calling your doctor for a follow-up."
"You drew blood last time," Brandon said, motioning to his cheek, but a part of him was curling in on itself, grateful that at least something was normal right now. "I cannot do that with you again, Spencer. You-" You matter. "You're just a kid."
"You aren't doing that. You will not do that," Spencer said, eyes flashing. "I apologize for the blood. I can learn to be more careful. Your mother never left mine when she was sick. I'm not about to be my father." He blinked, trying to hide the tears that wanted to come.
"Spence-" Brandon gritted his teeth. He put his hands down on the worktop, leaning forward, not looking at his flatmate. "You're not Sherlock, Spencer."
"I'm not," Spencer said. "You'll come home. Tonight. After your shift." He nodded, raising his chin. "We'll meet up with the parents." He stepped close, reaching for Brandon's cheek to turn his face. Brandon looked at the young boy with such pain in his eyes, sorrow that was nearly unspeakable.
"Yeah. Our mums are probably both coming," Brandon whispered. He gulped, licking his dry lips. "I'll be home. Tonight. Like you said."
"I love you," Spencer said. "The cafe is beautiful. You've done up well."
"It's not bad, is it? Not bad at all," Brandon agreed, not looking away. With a blink, though, the moment seemed to pass and Brandon became a little flustered. "Orders are going to be stacking up. See you tonight, Spencer."
Spencer stood on tiptoe and kissed Brandon's cheek. "Bye," he breathed, turning and pushing through the doors.
"Brandon?"
"Spencer? What are you doin' here?" Brandon asked, glaring at him with red-rimmed eyes. He pulled loaves of bread out of the rickety old oven Finch had given him to replace the even older oven the property had come with. "Tell your sister she's a damn slum lord, keeping me back here in these conditions."
"Half avoiding our new house guest, half intruding on your secrets," Spencer said, stepping out of the way to watch him work. "Finch set this up?"
"No, I set this up, your sister just provided the funds. And my salary," Brandon huffed, reading the tickets on the line to see what he was to prepare next. "Mostly your sister set this up, maybe. But I sure as hell helped."
"Mmnn," Spencer hummed, watching. "What time do you close? I didn't see any hours on the door. We've an appointment at four."
"Since when have we an appointment at four?" Brandon asked, looking up from his pots and pans. "I don't recall setting any appointments."
"You didn't. I did. We're expected by Angelina at Altière," Spencer said, tapping his foot. "You're usually home by four."
"What's an Alteer?" Brandon asked, mucking up the word on purpose. He raised his eyebrows. "You, I know we don't talk much, but what happens at home will not affect my work. You got it?" Brandon threatened with his spatula.
"Of course not. I'm prepared to wait," Spencer said. "But neither will your work affect your home life either. Altière is a surprise for you. I know our results came this morning, thus - the appointment."
"Celebrating are you?" Brandon asked, looking away. He swallowed. "Well, my dear little Dom, you'll be celebrating with your healthy sub. This one's a bit too grown up for you to toy with."
Spencer's face turned to scowl, the dread grew up his spine, tingling like pins and needles. "This isn't a celebration," he said, low and calm, despite his racing heart. He tapped the counter top with his fingertips, licked his lips. "Not good?"
"My mother is on her way back from Paris or New York or wherever the fuck old people go to shag," Brandon snapped, flipping the sandwich on the griddle, plating it with shoestring truffle-oil chips. "You could say not good."
Spencer's heart felt like it went up and down and fell somewhere along the bottom of his shoes. He stood with a strange cat-like stillness. "This wasn't dependent upon your results," he said, voice even softer in the loud kitchen. "My feelings are not dependent on your results, and this is not going to end simply because of- because of this." Spencer was faintly hissing now.
"You're a moron. I'm tainted goods, now," Brandon replied, leaning closer to him to keep the conversation between the two of them when the single waitress came in to pick up the waiting orders. "Spencer. You can't be risked that way. Your mum would have my head."
"My mum has no business in my pants," Spencer returned. "You were far from perfectly clean when I hauled your arse back home. I know what I'm about. I'll call Angelina, make it for pick up, and then we're calling your doctor for a follow-up."
"You drew blood last time," Brandon said, motioning to his cheek, but a part of him was curling in on itself, grateful that at least something was normal right now. "I cannot do that with you again, Spencer. You-" You matter. "You're just a kid."
"You aren't doing that. You will not do that," Spencer said, eyes flashing. "I apologize for the blood. I can learn to be more careful. Your mother never left mine when she was sick. I'm not about to be my father." He blinked, trying to hide the tears that wanted to come.
"Spence-" Brandon gritted his teeth. He put his hands down on the worktop, leaning forward, not looking at his flatmate. "You're not Sherlock, Spencer."
"I'm not," Spencer said. "You'll come home. Tonight. After your shift." He nodded, raising his chin. "We'll meet up with the parents." He stepped close, reaching for Brandon's cheek to turn his face. Brandon looked at the young boy with such pain in his eyes, sorrow that was nearly unspeakable.
"Yeah. Our mums are probably both coming," Brandon whispered. He gulped, licking his dry lips. "I'll be home. Tonight. Like you said."
"I love you," Spencer said. "The cafe is beautiful. You've done up well."
"It's not bad, is it? Not bad at all," Brandon agreed, not looking away. With a blink, though, the moment seemed to pass and Brandon became a little flustered. "Orders are going to be stacking up. See you tonight, Spencer."
Spencer stood on tiptoe and kissed Brandon's cheek. "Bye," he breathed, turning and pushing through the doors.
***
Spencer had apologized profusely to the owner of the leather store. He paid for the engraved collar and put the box in his leather tote. He'd wanted to give it to Brandon as a show that no matter what the results - which he had expected to be.. different - that he still wanted him. That Brandon was still desired.
Spencer considered going home, but remembered what waited for him there.
Abby.
Beautiful, burned, fragile girl.
He turned on his heel and headed for his older sister's flat. He needed her. She and Brandon had always been closer. Mary and Freya raising them together, with him more often with his dads. He understood Brandon's affinity for Spencer's sister.
He rang the buzzer on the old familiar flat. The door had recently been repainted.
Spencer scowled when Vance opened the door.
"Oh!" Vance said. "Finch, your brother." He tossed his head for Spencer to come in.
Finch was beaming until she caught a look at Spencer's face. The little copy-of-their-mother rushed to hug him close. "What's happened? You look wretched."
Spencer hugged her hard.
"Abby's building burned, Brandon's positive, and the parents are heading to London and I am not prepared for this," Brandon said all in a rush. He was proud he hadn't cried yet. Yet. "I need you - " He looked back. "You both. I need Moriarty. I need my sister."
"I'm not Moriarty, mate," Vance said. "That's your Mum."
"Slow down, Spence, I'm not following," Finch said. "Start at the beginning- what's going on with Abby? Is she hurt? Is she in a hospital, should we try to see her-"
"Abby's at Baker Street. Burnt a bit - arm mostly, but smoke inhalation. I used some of dad's kit to clean her up, got her bathed and back into bed," Spencer said, pulling her towards her sofa. This was a sofa sort of conversation. "But everything, everything is gone. I got a call from Anna, well, her son, but they let me know her building had gone up. Everything in flames."
"Fuck," Finch breathed, clutching at his arm. She looked to Vance, biting her lip, before her green eyes returned to Spencer. "I'm glad she's alright. Do they know how it started?"
Spencer turned to look at Vance, eyes narrowed.
Vance raised his hands. "I ain't got nothin' doin' with bitchy tatt'd tart," he said. "Arson innit my style neither."
Spencer's suspicious expression didn't melt.
"You know about her ties to criminal activity. I haven't any definitive evidence, but likely it was set by the McCannadys or one of their outer circle," he said, covering Finch's hand. "I want revenge," he said, eyes hard.
"It's not like you're going to be able to take out an entire family, Spence." His sister gripped his hand back, leaning her head on his shoulder, trying to comfort him even though she barely recognized the stern-faced man sitting next to her. "They'll keep coming for her, if they're willing to go this far."
"No, I promised I'd protect her," Spencer said. "Even if it means taking out the entire family."
"Moriartys would win," Vance suggested, heading for the lone recliner.
"I'm keeping her at Baker Street right now. In B, but with Brandon- I don't know how to handle them both," Spencer said. "I need to get her up and running. She's lost her shop. I need you to help me do for her what you did for Bran."
"Why should I? She got rid of me," Finch muttered, turning to sit up on the sofa, crossing her arms over her chest. Her lip pouted out. "I mean, I'm sorry about what happened to her, but she's technically competition now. And how did you know about Bran! That slag, he probably told you."
"Finch!" Spencer scowled, eyes going flinty with spark. "I know because I track him. I've up his surveillance since he came back home, and the cafe - well, bit obvious. You should help me because I'm me. I'm your brother. When do I ever ask you for anything?"
Vance coughed, looking askance.
"I'll consider it. Is she- Are you two a thing now?" Finch asked, looking out of the side of her eyes at him, sly. "I know it was very casual before. Is it less so now?"
Spencer fidgeted. "We haven't got the agreement I have - had.. with Bran if that's what you're asking," he said quietly. "I'm fond of her."
"You fancy her," Vance piped up, leaving Spencer to flush.
"Alright I fancy her," he spat. "But she's been high on pain killers and burnt and bloody lost everything. What am I supposed to do? I wanted more before that happened." He twisted his hands. "And then Bran went and came back, and now she's there, and I have no idea how to handle two potential relationships without losing them both."
"Greedy," Vance said, looking away, hands behind his head.
"Two months ago you were begging me to take another boyfriend. Was I going to be greedy, if I'd agreed?" Finch said, glaring at her boyfriend. She turned back to her brother, brushing his hair with her fingers. "Spence. What's happening with Bran? He's said yes, good and proper? He never liked Abby much, I know that."
"Entirely differ'nt situation," Vance huffed.
"Ignoring him," Spencer said, making eye contact with Finch. "Bran was hitting a low. I caught him out when I was working a lead and told him the bloke he was shagging was H.I.V. pos. He'd been off and on with the bloke and I was nosy and Bran was with him a lot, and he was just walking away and I just.. said anything to make him stop."
Spencer ruffled his curls, making them stand higher.
"He'd hate me for telling you the rest," he said. "Promise not to tease him?"
"I never tease Bran. It's always the other way 'round," Finch said, frowning at him. Her eyes turned worried. "Bran- he's not sick, is he?"
"He is," Spencer whispered. "He is, but he's called me 'Master', and I swore I'd take care of him, too, Finch." He reached into his bag, pulling out the collar. It was in a jewelry style box. "I went in for testing with him, moral support. I planned to give him that, no matter the results, but now I'm scared he's going to go back on everything. The parents are coming to London and they're going to take everything and mess it up."
"Oh, Spencer," Finch breathed, eyes watering. She sniffed. "I don't know what to say." She felt like crying. Her Brandon, her gorgeous, stupid Brandon had gone and done something irreversible. "I'm so, so sorry."
"Oh God, don't cry," Spencer said, pulling her to him. "Fuck, I've been trying my hardest not to fucking cry. I want him retested. I mean, what if they mixed up our samples?"
"I'm trying not to," Finch mumbled, sniffling hard. She leaned into him, using his shirt to wipe her eyes. "Definitely retest. And retest again! It can't be true. He's too good. He's always so careful, I know it."
"He's been reckless, especially drinking," he said, scooting over. "Look," he said opening the box. "Lamb leather, thin and soft. It'd hide just beneath his chef's jacket," he whispered. Nobody was stamped across the black leather.
"It's beautiful," Finch said, letting her fingers glide gently over the leather. "You boys are really into that, then? You boss him around and he takes it? I can't see Bran doing that for anyone."
"He takes a firm hand," Spencer murmured. "He needs it, really."
"He really needs you to put a collar on him?" Vance asked, snarl in his mouth. "Treat him like a thing to be owned?"
"What time is Mum getting in? I'll come over," Finch offered, ignoring her boyfriend's outburst until Spencer left. In which case she would have many questions. "Y'know, for moral support. I am your sister."
"Probably around the same time as Aunt Free. Between seven and eight, I think," he sighed. "I should go prepare Baker Street for the Mum-bomb."
"Yes, yes, you go. I'll get changed and come over. At the very least, someone should protect Brandon and Abby from Mum because you know she's going to kill someone over this. Probably literally," Finch sighed, patting him on the shoulder. "I love you, Spence. It's going to work out."
"Thanks, Finch," Spencer sighed, packing back up his things. He felt more confident with his sister on his side. He hugged and kissed her cheek. "Later then. Be safe."
"You too," Finch said, watching him escape before turning to her boyfriend with raised eyebrows. "Not into kinky things, then?"
"Define your kink," Vance said, arms crossed defensively. "Do I want a collar on my neck? Hell nah. Do I want to be cut or whipped or punish someone for being a bad girl? Fuck no. You don't own people. He's not taking lovers, he's collectin' 'em, like cattle."
Finch couldn't help the giggle that escaped, and she slapped her hand over her mouth in vain trying to prevent it. "I don't think anyone would call you a bad girl."
"Damn straight," Vance said, prowling from the chair to scoop her up. "Surveillance? I ain't disagreeing with him there. But leadin' on those two, ain't fair. They both need someone strong, to give them everythin'." He kissed her nose. "I thought you migh' need more'n me, since I'm not here often nuff. It's open and honest."
Finch cuddled into him, curling against his body. She hated these conversations. "I told you, I need you, not some poor substitution. I'll wait. I promised you I would."
"I know, bird," Vance said. "And I worked with your Mum to make sure we'd have more time. Compromise. Way it's done right." He kissed her soundly. She kissed back, enthusiastic after the last stint of time apart, her chest stinging with the knowledge that he might have to go again soon.
Why did her heart always seem to ache with him gone?
Finch was beaming until she caught a look at Spencer's face. The little copy-of-their-mother rushed to hug him close. "What's happened? You look wretched."
Spencer hugged her hard.
"Abby's building burned, Brandon's positive, and the parents are heading to London and I am not prepared for this," Brandon said all in a rush. He was proud he hadn't cried yet. Yet. "I need you - " He looked back. "You both. I need Moriarty. I need my sister."
"I'm not Moriarty, mate," Vance said. "That's your Mum."
"Slow down, Spence, I'm not following," Finch said. "Start at the beginning- what's going on with Abby? Is she hurt? Is she in a hospital, should we try to see her-"
"Abby's at Baker Street. Burnt a bit - arm mostly, but smoke inhalation. I used some of dad's kit to clean her up, got her bathed and back into bed," Spencer said, pulling her towards her sofa. This was a sofa sort of conversation. "But everything, everything is gone. I got a call from Anna, well, her son, but they let me know her building had gone up. Everything in flames."
"Fuck," Finch breathed, clutching at his arm. She looked to Vance, biting her lip, before her green eyes returned to Spencer. "I'm glad she's alright. Do they know how it started?"
Spencer turned to look at Vance, eyes narrowed.
Vance raised his hands. "I ain't got nothin' doin' with bitchy tatt'd tart," he said. "Arson innit my style neither."
Spencer's suspicious expression didn't melt.
"You know about her ties to criminal activity. I haven't any definitive evidence, but likely it was set by the McCannadys or one of their outer circle," he said, covering Finch's hand. "I want revenge," he said, eyes hard.
"It's not like you're going to be able to take out an entire family, Spence." His sister gripped his hand back, leaning her head on his shoulder, trying to comfort him even though she barely recognized the stern-faced man sitting next to her. "They'll keep coming for her, if they're willing to go this far."
"No, I promised I'd protect her," Spencer said. "Even if it means taking out the entire family."
"Moriartys would win," Vance suggested, heading for the lone recliner.
"I'm keeping her at Baker Street right now. In B, but with Brandon- I don't know how to handle them both," Spencer said. "I need to get her up and running. She's lost her shop. I need you to help me do for her what you did for Bran."
"Why should I? She got rid of me," Finch muttered, turning to sit up on the sofa, crossing her arms over her chest. Her lip pouted out. "I mean, I'm sorry about what happened to her, but she's technically competition now. And how did you know about Bran! That slag, he probably told you."
"Finch!" Spencer scowled, eyes going flinty with spark. "I know because I track him. I've up his surveillance since he came back home, and the cafe - well, bit obvious. You should help me because I'm me. I'm your brother. When do I ever ask you for anything?"
Vance coughed, looking askance.
"I'll consider it. Is she- Are you two a thing now?" Finch asked, looking out of the side of her eyes at him, sly. "I know it was very casual before. Is it less so now?"
Spencer fidgeted. "We haven't got the agreement I have - had.. with Bran if that's what you're asking," he said quietly. "I'm fond of her."
"You fancy her," Vance piped up, leaving Spencer to flush.
"Alright I fancy her," he spat. "But she's been high on pain killers and burnt and bloody lost everything. What am I supposed to do? I wanted more before that happened." He twisted his hands. "And then Bran went and came back, and now she's there, and I have no idea how to handle two potential relationships without losing them both."
"Greedy," Vance said, looking away, hands behind his head.
"Two months ago you were begging me to take another boyfriend. Was I going to be greedy, if I'd agreed?" Finch said, glaring at her boyfriend. She turned back to her brother, brushing his hair with her fingers. "Spence. What's happening with Bran? He's said yes, good and proper? He never liked Abby much, I know that."
"Entirely differ'nt situation," Vance huffed.
"Ignoring him," Spencer said, making eye contact with Finch. "Bran was hitting a low. I caught him out when I was working a lead and told him the bloke he was shagging was H.I.V. pos. He'd been off and on with the bloke and I was nosy and Bran was with him a lot, and he was just walking away and I just.. said anything to make him stop."
Spencer ruffled his curls, making them stand higher.
"He'd hate me for telling you the rest," he said. "Promise not to tease him?"
"I never tease Bran. It's always the other way 'round," Finch said, frowning at him. Her eyes turned worried. "Bran- he's not sick, is he?"
"He is," Spencer whispered. "He is, but he's called me 'Master', and I swore I'd take care of him, too, Finch." He reached into his bag, pulling out the collar. It was in a jewelry style box. "I went in for testing with him, moral support. I planned to give him that, no matter the results, but now I'm scared he's going to go back on everything. The parents are coming to London and they're going to take everything and mess it up."
"Oh, Spencer," Finch breathed, eyes watering. She sniffed. "I don't know what to say." She felt like crying. Her Brandon, her gorgeous, stupid Brandon had gone and done something irreversible. "I'm so, so sorry."
"Oh God, don't cry," Spencer said, pulling her to him. "Fuck, I've been trying my hardest not to fucking cry. I want him retested. I mean, what if they mixed up our samples?"
"I'm trying not to," Finch mumbled, sniffling hard. She leaned into him, using his shirt to wipe her eyes. "Definitely retest. And retest again! It can't be true. He's too good. He's always so careful, I know it."
"He's been reckless, especially drinking," he said, scooting over. "Look," he said opening the box. "Lamb leather, thin and soft. It'd hide just beneath his chef's jacket," he whispered. Nobody was stamped across the black leather.
"It's beautiful," Finch said, letting her fingers glide gently over the leather. "You boys are really into that, then? You boss him around and he takes it? I can't see Bran doing that for anyone."
"He takes a firm hand," Spencer murmured. "He needs it, really."
"He really needs you to put a collar on him?" Vance asked, snarl in his mouth. "Treat him like a thing to be owned?"
"What time is Mum getting in? I'll come over," Finch offered, ignoring her boyfriend's outburst until Spencer left. In which case she would have many questions. "Y'know, for moral support. I am your sister."
"Probably around the same time as Aunt Free. Between seven and eight, I think," he sighed. "I should go prepare Baker Street for the Mum-bomb."
"Yes, yes, you go. I'll get changed and come over. At the very least, someone should protect Brandon and Abby from Mum because you know she's going to kill someone over this. Probably literally," Finch sighed, patting him on the shoulder. "I love you, Spence. It's going to work out."
"Thanks, Finch," Spencer sighed, packing back up his things. He felt more confident with his sister on his side. He hugged and kissed her cheek. "Later then. Be safe."
"You too," Finch said, watching him escape before turning to her boyfriend with raised eyebrows. "Not into kinky things, then?"
"Define your kink," Vance said, arms crossed defensively. "Do I want a collar on my neck? Hell nah. Do I want to be cut or whipped or punish someone for being a bad girl? Fuck no. You don't own people. He's not taking lovers, he's collectin' 'em, like cattle."
Finch couldn't help the giggle that escaped, and she slapped her hand over her mouth in vain trying to prevent it. "I don't think anyone would call you a bad girl."
"Damn straight," Vance said, prowling from the chair to scoop her up. "Surveillance? I ain't disagreeing with him there. But leadin' on those two, ain't fair. They both need someone strong, to give them everythin'." He kissed her nose. "I thought you migh' need more'n me, since I'm not here often nuff. It's open and honest."
Finch cuddled into him, curling against his body. She hated these conversations. "I told you, I need you, not some poor substitution. I'll wait. I promised you I would."
"I know, bird," Vance said. "And I worked with your Mum to make sure we'd have more time. Compromise. Way it's done right." He kissed her soundly. She kissed back, enthusiastic after the last stint of time apart, her chest stinging with the knowledge that he might have to go again soon.
Why did her heart always seem to ache with him gone?
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