AD IV IDUS OCT.
(October 12)

He was bent over the cache under the floorboards when he got a nasty shock.

"There's more to you than appears, Corvinus," a dry voice said from the direction of the balcony.

Gaius froze. "Honoratus?"

"Got it in one. Yes, you're quite intelligent, but careless. You should check all potential methods of ingress and all hiding places before you engage in incriminating activity."

Gaius swiveled on his haunches, and stared at Honoratus as the man stepped into the room from the balcony, swathed in a dark cloak.

He shouldn't have been able to do that. Gaius had renewed the wards only last week: any non-magical snoopers sent by Honoratus would have had to break the door down, and neither it nor the ward could have been set right without Gaius noticing.

"What in bloody --"

Honoratus suddenly motioned him to be silent, and then gave an odd twist of his fingers that might easily be mistaken for a gesture against the evil eye.

But it wasn't.

"You?" Gaius said, dumbfounded.

"Yes," Honoratus said. "Those are highly dangerous texts to leave lying about, you know."

"I didn't leave them lying.... You still think I might have something to do with the murder, don't you, and came looking for evidence?"

"No, I'd have sent some of my... employees to do so, and far sooner -- the more intelligent suspects tend to get rid of evidence by now. Actually, I've dismissed you as a suspect in the murder."

"And how did you guess I was --?"

"I never guess. It was your pater-in-law's name. I highly doubted such an old and blood-conscious family would marry a child off to a non-magical. The ward on the door and your little library only confirmed it."

"Congratulations," Gaius said sourly as he rose to his feet. "I didn't even notice the change in the wards.... But what of the texts? I suppose you're going to turn me in to one side or the other -- although how you intend to do so without me accusing you as well, I don't know."

"There are ways," Honoratus said. "Your word against mine is probably sufficient given my spotless reputation as a patrician and civil servant, if I wished to turn you in. I don't, as it happens. It's not a crime to pass no matter what the Wizard's Council thinks, and in fact the reason I've chosen to pass myself is to protect those that I can."

"Really? That's a difficult proposition. Far better not to take a public position, isn't it?"

"Far wiser, certainly," Honoratus admitted. "However, that kind of isolationism is what brought about the purges in Nero's time -- that fear of putting self in danger, which puts everyone else at risk. I don't intend to allow that to happen again.... You might attempt be a good host, Corvinus, and offer me a drink, as I've expressed no interest in prosecuting you."

"You won't care for it," Gaius muttered as he set down the scrolls and moved to the wine-jug. "Not what you're used to, I'm sure."

"You'd be surprised what swill I've had to drink on a semi-regular basis. I'm sure it will be acceptable."

"Can you actually prevent much?" Gaius asked as he poured. "How much can a city commissioner really do?"

"An ordinary one, not very much," Honoratus said, took up one of the scrolls, and idly perused it. "Have you heard of the frumentarii?"

"The grain superintendants?"

"That is the ancient job, yes, and many still think that's all they are. But it's evolved into something quite different. The frumentarii now act as a de facto secret service to the emperors. Informers and special agents. And I," he added, "am the Head."

Jove's balls....

"The frumentarii had two foci during Nero's time," Honoratus continued as Gaius set his cup of wine on the table. "To root out any conspiracies against the emperor, and to inform on any unapproved cults maintaining a foothold in Rome -- magicals fall under that heading to some extent, and that odd Hebrew cult that began mid-century in particular. I have managed to avert interest from the former, for the time being. The latter is much more damaging, after all."

"How? They're just another religious --"

"Unauthorised religions are dangerous, particularly those that stress obedience to the gods over obedience to the state. The government prefer to maintain some control over them, and one does so by designating them as the official state religion or by allowing them to exist within certain strict guidelines, as with the Egyptian cults." Honoratus shrugged. "Unfortunately, the Hebrew cultists don't give a damn about official approval, and they've been actively converting non-Hebrews. They're a particularly rabid lot, and some of them seem to blame Rome for the death of their prophet."

"So you distract attention from us by persecuting another group?"

"In theory, yes," Honoratus said casually. "In practise, no. There have been no egregious incidents lately, have there? Vespasian is less interested in stamping them out -- if they behave themselves -- than in calming any provincial revolts and securing his hold on the imperial crown for his sons. And as he is a far more astute manager than any of his recent predecessors, I'm more than happy to oblige him. The provincial situation keeps the frumentarii busy enough as it is."

"Why me, then?" Gaius demanded. "Why do I merit such attention? Why put yourself at risk by telling me all this?"

"Because," Honoratus said, closing the scroll, "I think you're worth it, despite your carelessness -- that can be mended. I know of the dark practitioners still in the city, and I know you're not among them, no matter what your reading habits. You might very well be useful. I could use someone on the fringes, with the potential to infiltrate that group."

"Me, an Informer? You're joking."

"Potential Informer, yes. No, I'm not joking. And I admit to being very curious about why you're dabbling with Dark Arts, and why you've chosen the path you have in the first place. Why, Corvinus, does an intelligent and presumably competent magical choose to pass himself off as a mere shipping clerk?"

"Cut off," Gaius said. "At least, I was for a few years -- I told you, the pater and I don't see eye-to-eye. I knew shipping, I needed to support myself, and it's only temporary. Or was. I haven't had any luck finding a mentor."

"Ah -- we reach the crux of the matter. You wish to study the Dark Arts in some depth?" Honoratus asked, sipping at his wine.

"I want to determine which really are Dark, first off. I don't believe all that muck about so many skills being dangerous. I think the Council's directives were self-preservation, when the first purges began. I want to reclaim whatever is possible, before it's irretrievably lost."

"A scholarly interest only, then?"

"Precisely."

"And what do you intend to do with this knowledge?"

"Teach, I suppose. Recover the lost arts that aren't truly Dark. Begin a movement to reclaim our rightful place -- an acknowleged one -- as citizens. It's not as though it wouldn't be helpful for the Empire, either. Think what could be accomplished...."

Gaius' voice trailed off as Honoratus slowly shook his head.

"You're young," Honoratus said gravely, "and, forgive me, quite innocent, Corvinus. You've linked the purges with the establishment of Rome, haven't you?"

"Yes, of course. Anyone who knows the history of both sides --"

"There's a more primal reason for the idiocy, I'm afraid. It's simply human nature. Rome didn't help, certainly, but what it comes down to is fear. The non-magicals only ever accepted us because they feared us -- wrongly, usually -- and there was no-one who could protect them from us. But Rome does. Rome has tamed the magic, placed it squarely under the heading of religion, and prosecuted the less benign practitioners. The fact that some innocent people have been harmed," Honoratus added with a grimace, "is immaterial to them. The citizenry won't go back. They won't accept us as entities separate from religion."

"But --"

"I don't agree with all the strictures either. In fact, had I had the leisure at your age I should have liked to study, myself. But the directives exist for a reason. We will only survive if we remain isolated, I'm afraid."

"Like one of those bloody illegal cults?" Gaius spat out.

"More or less. You can, with great difficulty, change the state and government. Human nature is another matter altogether. Wiser people than you or I determined that that was a nearly impossible task, and that the short-term risk was not worth the long-term benefits."

"So you're saying I'm wasting my time."

"No, I'm not. I'm saying the goal is worthwhile, but the scale is impractical and dangerous. On the other hand, we need scholars who will keep the old skills and traditions alive. That's quite different to saying you're wasting your time."

"Bloody...."

"How far have you got?" Honoratus asked him.

"How do you mean?"

"In your... inventory of skills, their classification, how far have you got?"

"I don't see why I should tell you. You've already got enough to burn me as it is."

"Because I'm asking for a reason, you fool, and not with prosecution in mind. I could get the information from you in other ways, if I chose," Honoratus added with an unpleasant glint in his eyes. "The frumentarii have much more sophisticated interrogation methods than the vigiles. At the moment you have one hundred percent of my goodwill, but I warn you that it erodes quite quickly. How far have you got?"

Gaius sighed, and ran his hand over his head. "Not far," he admitted. "I've found descriptions of the rituals, but not the incantations. I've... I've developed a slight skill for Levitation, and a friend of mine has refined it with a technique some will think questionable, but which we're convinced is above-board -- no daemonic intervention. Without a mentor, that's about all I can accomplish."

"I see. Thank you."

"I don't suppose you'd be inclined to answer a question from me?"

"That depends on the question. Ask."

"Why did you recognise Julius Nigellus's name?"

"Ah. There's the general family reputation, of course," Honoratus said easily. "And, as I said, I suspected that made your family magical as well.... Unless, of course, you're a sport?"

"I'm not going to tell you that," Gaius said, snorting. "If you really are one of us, you can easily check for yourself, anyway."

"True. It's immaterial at the moment, in any case. Back to Nigellus. There were some rather dodgy doings involving a Nigellus early in Tiberius' reign, in Thessaly, and I imagined it might be a member of the same family. Do you know where Julius Nigellus hailed from, originally?"

"Erm, Aquileia, I think. That's where Julia was born, at any rate. He moved the family to Albingaunum when she was ten or so."

"And you've never seen anything... untoward?"

"No, no opportunity. The family keeps to itself. I got the impression that Nigellus is the only one who ever leaves the domus. He's a thoroughly unpleasant man, and I deal with him as little as possible."

"Unpleasant, how?"

Gaius shifted uneasily. "I can't quite explain it, it's just a feeling. He's anxious for a grandson, and practically demanded that we provide one so he can adopt it. It, that's exactly how he referred to it, not like a child. It was an unofficial part of the agreement for the marriage settlement. He was very insistant and compelling...."

"And thus this room?" Honoratus said with a chuckle. "Determined not to provide him one?"

"Yes, besides the studying," Gaius admitted with a glare. "Blast it, I don't like being backed into a corner or being told what to do --"

"You want to live your life as you see fit," Honoratus shot back, staring at Gaius down the long length of his very patrician nose. "Understandable. But you saw no demonstration of his talents?"

"No, none. I don't like the way he speaks of my wife, either, like a... a child who must be disciplined constantly. She doesn't need to be."

"And does she engage in anything unnatural?"

"No, not at all. She's skilled with potions -- the innocent ones, barely more than an ordinary apothacary can provide -- and she's said he wouldn't allow her to study more illicit things, whether magical or not."

"I see. And the rest of the family?"

"The wife's a nonentity. There's a younger sister I barely remember from the ceremony -- she's probably married off too, by now, and halfway across the Empire -- and an elder brother who's already posted off to... I don't remember where. Oh, and a nasty old great-auntie whose looks could curdle milk, and that's all I know."

"Thank you. I doubt there's any connection, but I needed to ask."

"What could be so terrible, that it's worth dredging up after all this time? Julius Nigellus couldn't have been responsible, after all. His pater, perhaps."

"I'm sure something like that is the case. It was a rather horrific incident, actually, and one I'm not at liberty to discuss. My pater was one of the investigators sent by the Council, and that's how I'd heard. Simple curiosity, that's all," he added mildly, sipping again at his wine. "I take it there's been no suspicious activity at Ursus Imports?"

"No, none. Ursus is moody, but then he's worried about finding another investor. He'd planned some significant improvements, and now it looks as though they'll be delayed."

"And nothing on the Muco business?"

"No, nothing. I doubt the blasted vigiles are doing a damned thing."

"Likely. I might be able to help with that, however," Honoratus murmured. "If you would be so kind as to send me a description of the man tomorrow, I might have some of my agents in the City keep their eyes open." He snorted at Gaius' amazement. "I told you, I'm determined to solve these murders. Even if the bloody man can prove he was nowhere near the warehouse that night, it's one less suspect I need worry about, and if I have him in custody that's beneficial for your employer, isn't it?"

"I suppose so," Gaius said. "I'm worried about what you expect in return, that's all."

"My, Corvinus, what a cynical attitude in one so young!"

"There's always a quid pro quo," Gaius said bluntly. "That's what the Empire is founded on, isn't it?"

"That, and the blood and bones of many men," Honoratus retorted. "No, I expect nothing in particular from Ursus himself...."

"But you want me to inform on Ursus -- or to agree to try to infiltrate some other group. That's it, isn't it?"

"Possibly. I'm not entirely certain you're capable, yet. And I expect you to tell me of any developments with Ursus, regardless. In the meantime.... I have quite a coterie of petitioners at my weekly at-homes. A few of those I patronise are wizards -- the more discreet ones, of course. It might be helpful to you to meet some of those people."

"You want me to.... You're saying you'd be my patron?"

"No, not directly. Frankly, you're too far below me in station for it to appear innocent. But I can introduce you to someone who might be willing to take you on as a student. If he's pleased with you, and if I'm convinced that you would be an effective agent, it's possible that I might ask you to contact one of the shadier characters."

"Put myself at risk with that type? Don't tell me you've never tried this before. I'm willing to wager you've lost an Informer or two."

"One, through a lamentable lapse in his own discretion."

"Then why would I be fool enough to agree to it?"

"I think the risk to you is minimal, at least if you're as competent as you imply, and I'd count on your connection with clan Nigellus to allay any suspicion. As to general risk...." Honoratus shrugged. "You've no children to leave orphaned and no intent to have any. Moreover, I doubt any wizard in his right mind would attempt to harm Nigellus' daughter, so I think you've little worry about on her account. I can protect you from any government action. Why else? Perhaps you'd best examine your own motives for that answer. You've told me you want to try to restore the good name of magicals. What better way than to help purge the Empire of the more insidious and damaging element? And as it will benefit your personal research.... Unless, of course, you're not as committed to your work as you claim."

Gods damn the man.

Gaius' fury -- and his interest in the opportunity to study with a master -- must have shown on his face, for Honoratus chuckled.

"It's something of a win-win situation, is it not, and more or less equal? The best kind of quid pro quo."

"And you can always turn me in if I refuse, of course," Gaius said bitterly.

"I shall overlook the implicit insult in that.... I've no interest in coercing you into such an assignment, Corvinus. I've found that the more intelligent agents work best only when they wish to contribute to the effort," he said, and sat his wine-cup down on the battered table. "The offer of an introduction stands, in any case. There's no need to give me an answer immediately -- think it over for a week or two, I'm in no great hurry on this particular project." He stepped away from the table and moved toward the door. "I accept visitors and petitioners at the second hour, Veneris mornings. I'll assume, if you haven't shown in a fortnights' time, that you're not interested."

"Thank you. I think," Gaius said, sulky.

"Don't thank me yet. From my minor dabblings in the more esoteric arts, I think you'll find your studies frustrating and not nearly as enlightening as you hope. And, Corvinus," Honoratus added thoughtfully as he pulled his cloak hood over his head, "don't presume on my goodwill again, and don't let it mislead you into thinking you are safe if you try to hinder the murder investigation. If you ever conceal anything again, or if you ever lie to me, I'll make certain you regret it."

He smiled once more, grimly, and then slipped through the door.

Gaius, enraged, stood stock-still in the middle of the room for a very long time; cautiously checked the landing and stairs, to be certain that the bastard had actually left; and then swore for a very long time, even dredging up some of Hyperion's most foul, acid-laden curses before clearing out the room and hightailing it home.

AD II IDUS OCT.
(October 14)

Much as Gaius tried to ignore Honoratus' offer, it adamanatly stayed in the forefront of his mind, an insistent, niggling, intriguing possibility. It was utter folly to consider it: but he had to admit that he shouldn't likely have another opportunity to learn the more benign magics.

Not to mention studying the Dark Arts first-hand.

Balancing that, however, was the fact that he'd as good as promised Julia that he wouldn't actively study Dark Arts. It might not come to that, of course -- Honoratus might not find him suitable, and he could, in the end, refuse, given the man's odd statement about "willing" agents. But it didn't seem right, somehow, to take the offer and then refuse to follow up on the nastier end of the business.

That's it, then. I'm stuck and I can't see the whole thing clearly.... I'll have to talk to Julia about it. Tonight.

"Yes, I'm sure.... Ah, there's another matter I'd like to discuss before we begin," Gaius interrupted her, uneasy.

"Very well, Gaius. What is it?" she said.

"I've had an offer.... Well, I'd best start at the beginning," he said. "First off, I've had another meeting with Honoratus -- the city commissioner -- a private one. And it turns out that he's magical."

"He is?" she said, astounded. "I thought most avoided public service."

"Yes, well, he's one of the ones who hasn't. He claims to be trying to protect the innocent ones of us from prosecution. The Dark ones are another matter."

"Are you certain, Gaius? Perhaps he's trying to draw you out to get proof...."

"No, I, ah, received ample demonstration that he's really one of us. I.... Well, blast it, I'd kept my flat, you see -- I'd paid the quarter's rent before we married, and that's where I kept the Apollonius and the other texts. That's where I was when I was gone, not at Primus' rooms."

"Oh."

"Honoratus broke my ward on the door so neatly that I didn't even notice. He seems impressed with my intelligence, and he's offered to introduce me to a practitioner -- not a Dark one, but one I can apprentice with on the basics, if he'll take me on."

"Oh, Gaius, that's wonderful --"

"Wait," Gaius said. "It's not as wonderful as it sounds."

"But this is what you've wanted for years, isn't it?"

"Yes, but there are, potentially, strings attached," Gaius said. "Honoratus is.... This is sensitive information, you see, and I shouldn't tell you, but I need you to understand the drawbacks. He's not just a city commissioner, he's the head of the Emperor's secret service."

"The frumentarii?" she said, shocked.

"What, you know about them?"

"Yes, Pater's spoken of them. Not nicely, either."

"Of course he wouldn't. I take it Nero used them to hunt magicals, among other things. But that's the point -- Honoratus keeps them busy with other things, where the majority of us are concerned. Anyway, he thinks that I might be useful in working to find out what the Dark magi are up to. That I might have the makings of an Informer."

"Oh, Gaius -- "

"He says the introduction isn't dependent on my agreement to that, but --"

"But you wouldn't feel right turning him down, once he's helped you find a mentor."

"Exactly," Gaius said, relieved.

He should have knwon Julia would say as much, but he'd always expected a woman to begin railing about inconvenience and danger before anything else. This one, however, always seemed to catch on to precisely what was bothering him first, rather than considering her own interests, and he decided it was to his discredit that he was suprised.

"It's dangerous, of course," he admitted. "He tried to minimise the risks, but they're there, to you as well as to me. Less to you, given your clan's reputation. It's not a definite thing. He might not find me useful, in the short term. But I can't count on that. I have to assume that he will, and I need to be willing to accept the risk."

Now visibly upset, Julia rose and paced the length of the tablinum.

"And then, of course, there's the risk that I'll become deeply involved in the Dark Arts," Gaius said, anticipating her next worry. "I could be rather heavily exposed, at the very least. I know that's objectionable to you."

"Yes," she said bluntly. "Yes, that's by far the worst bit of it, I think." She stopped pacing and turned to watch his face. "Is it worth it, Gaius? What does he hope to accomplish?"

"To rid us of the bad ones. Us, our kind, as well as the Empire. I can't say I blame him -- it makes a great deal of sense. If he's seen purging society of some magicals, he keeps on the Emperor's and citizens' good sides. And the fact is, the Dark ones are doing harm. So yes, he's prosecuting our kind, but only the ones who are causing trouble. To take the pragmatic view, it takes the focus off the majority who are innocent."

"The Council won't care for it, either way. You might find yourself in a great deal of trouble with them, too."

"I doubt it, not if Honoratus is who he claims to be. I gather his pater was an investigator for the Council. They must know who he is, and what he's trying to accomplish -- Julia, for Jupiter's sake, sit down. I'm asking your advice, not telling you I'm bound and determined to do it. It's not that terrible."

"It might be," she muttered, but obediently down on the lectus. "It's terribly tempting, given that you've wanted to find a mentor for so long."

"It is tempting, and if I were the only one at risk I should probably take it. But I'm not, I have you to consider now, and I won't do it unless you're... not comfortable, that's not the right word.... Unless you're confident that I can do it without bolloxing everything up."

"You don't need my permission."

"No, I don't. But I'm asking you to help me decide. I can't pretend to be objective about it -- the damned offer keeps bothering me, and I simply can't trust myself to make a rational decision, at the moment. Say what you think. You may have objections I haven't considered. The Council, for example, I hadn't thought of that."

"But I know how important an apprenticeship is to you, you see," she mumbled, twisting her palla-edge in her fingers. "And I don't like to think that I'd keep you from that for something which might happen."

"There's risk with taking the apprenticeship, too," Gaius reminded her gently. "Not of reprisals from a mentor, but simply of exposure. Honoratus seems confident he can protect everyone, but accidents happen."

"I know. But I'm afraid that you'll regret not doing it either way, and I'd hate.... I'd hate for you to always remember that I'm the one who kept you from it."

"Julia...."

Gaius was about to tell her what utter nonsense that was, and then remembered his own, unreasonable hostility toward her from the start for precisely that reason.

He buried his face in his hands.

"I was about to say," he admitted, voice muffled in his palms, "that that is utter rubbish, but it's not. I did hold it against you, before I'd even met you. But I understand you, now -- you're not a stranger to me any longer. I know you're not jealous of the studying, that you don't want to keep me from it, and that makes a great deal of difference to me. I simply need help clarifying the problem, so I can accurately assess the risks. In the end, the responsibility for the decision rests with me, not you."

"I see," she said softly. "I wasn't wrong, then."

"How? What do you mean?"

"That you didn't want me, in general, that is. That I'm a nuisance."

"No, Julia, I.... Well, yes, I thought you might be, but I was a bloody idiot and.... Look, this is all part of what I wanted to talk about the other day, and I still need to, but it won't help me with this particular problem. Can you be patient with me just a bit longer? It'll be a very long night, otherwise."

"Yes, Gaius," she said quietly. "So, your options are to take the introduction with the understanding that you needn't become an Informer if you don't wish to be. If you do choose to help him, there are risks to both of us, but particularly you -- both immediate physical danger, and more insidious risk from exposure to Dark magics. And if you choose not to work as an Informer, you must deal with any guilt you may feel over refusing."

"Yes," he said steadily.

"Well, I can't help you with that last bit, you silly man," she shot back, exasperated. "That's between you and your conscience."

"Bloody Hades, Julia --"

"No, I don't like the idea of you working as an Informer," she said, utterly frank, "but if Honoratus is being truthful and if you think you have a responsibility to help him, of course you must do it, if you're certain that it might make a meaningful difference."

"But what about the Dark magics?"

"Having a reason to be there other than curiosity might actually help. You're there to do a job, not simply to learn about the Dark Arts. It might help you set limits, as long as you're completely honest with yourself. Or at least I imagine it might help."

"I didn't expect you to say that," Gaius said, astonished.

"That's my logical thought," she said. "I'm feeling something entirely different, believe me."

"I've always known that trying to understand women was frustrating at best and maddening at worst, Julia, but you take the honey-cake," Gaius murmured.

"Why, because I insist on separating logic and emotion? Because women are not supposed to think logically? I'm a healer's daughter, Gaius. I've had more than my share of Philosophy -- one must have, to sort through a patient's symptoms and devise appropriate treatment."

"I know, but --"

"But it would be easier if I were so emotional that I forbade you to do it?" she said. "If I went all weepy or shrewish?"

"Yes, it would be."

"Well, I can't do that."

She took a deep breath, rose, and began to pace the room again.

"I had to promise myself, when we both agreed to this marriage without knowing each other," she said eventually, "that I wouldn't do that sort of thing. It wasn't fair to treat you that way -- to stand in the way of you living your life. I'm not that way by nature, in any case. I don't like to dissemble and manipulate people, least of all by acting like some blasted irrational idiot. You have your interests and things you need to do, and I have no right to impose my own fears on those. I have my own interests too, after all, and you've never tried to keep me from them."

She halted in front of the desk, and leaned over it toward Gaius. "So what right have I to tell you you mayn't or shouldn't do this? You know the risks. It's up to you to determine whether it's worth it. Yes, I shall worry, no, you shan't precisely have my blessing -- not that you need it -- but if you choose to do it, I will try to understand and I will do anything I can to help."

Gaius stared at her, flabberghasted. "I wish I'd realised that about you before," he finally said.

"You should have done. Perhaps not as far back as the cart-ride to Rome, but by now...."

"Yes, I should have," he muttered. "I told you, I've been a resentful idiot, and all because of my stupid assumptions about you."

Julia sank back into her chair. "Understanding men in general isn't easy, either," she said. "And you in particular, Gaius."

"Why?" he asked, indignant.

"You don't behave at all as I expected," she said with a tired smile. "Not as I'd been led to believe a husband should. And I don't just mean...."

"Yes, well, I told you why that's turned out as it has," Gaius said. "Or rather, I hope I made it clear that the problem is with me, not you."

"I mean your consideraton. Your kindness, even when I could tell it was a struggle for you to keep your temper."

"You didn't expect me to be kind?"

"Not in the ways you've been, by which I mean not patronising, but truly kind. The world is a vastly different place for women, Gaius -- far more cruel and limiting. If fate puts you in the hands of someone decent, someone who can't help but be kind, then you're very fortunate indeed."

"I don't think I've done particularly well."

"I'm not certain that you're not the best judge of that, Gaius. You have a terribly acute conscience and sense of guilt. As I said, you can't help but try to be fair and decent, not for long. You're that way by nature, and I don't wonder at it, given your family. Particularly your mater."

They sat silent for a while, until Gaius finally said in disgust, "So I'm back to square one."

"Afraid so," Julia said, smiling. "I'm terribly sorry, but I won't intrude on that decision. I expect you shall accept the introduction and any apprenticeship that follows, and deal with any... requests Honoratus makes when the time comes. That's the sensible thing to do, I think -- if you must have my opinion -- as long as you're willing to live with the consequences either way. It's not at all wise, but it may well be right."

"I probably shall, then," Gaius said. "Since you refuse to smack any sense into my head."

She sighed again, regretfully tied the thongs about the Apollonius, placed it back on the desk-edge, and rose to leave the room.

"Where are you going?" Gaius asked.

"You shan't need me to study with you now, shall you?" she said, surprised. "Most of it's been revision for you, anyway."

"Oh, for the gods'...."

Gaius gave up on words, reached over to grab her wrists, pulled her into his lap, and held her tight.

"Half our troubles," he finally managed to say, "are because we don't bloody ask each other what we want, and we worry too much about being polite. Do you want to continue studying?"

"But you shan't --" she mumbled into his shoulder.

"I didn't ask you to think about what I want, I asked if you wanted to continue."

"Yes, Gaius."

"Good. Ask me."

"But --"

He gently swatted her flank -- far too tempting, he shouldn't have done it as the little centurion was quite happy to have her wriggling on his lap -- and commanded, "Ask me, Julia," after she'd given a surprised yelp.

"Do you want to go on, Gaius?" she said.

"Yes. True, I shan't have as much time, but we'll make the time." He bent his head to give her a kiss, and muttered against her lips, "So what do unkind men do, beat their wives? I'm going to have to beat you, all right, but it's to beat some selfishness into you."

She gave an unladylike snort.

"Don't believe me? Probably right. I simply mean that I'm more interested in what you honestly think and feel than in you being so deferential.... On second thought, don't hold me to that all the time, I'm sure I shall still occasionally be an idiot." He snuggled her a bit closer, and then gingerly shifted her weight to a far less incendiary spot on his lap. "I know you're not as subservient as you often behave. And I'm not interested in going on as we have, and I don't think you truly are either, are you?"

"No," she admitted.

"Good," he muttered, and made the prime error of kissing her again.

They never did get back to Apollonius that night, and Gaius only restrained himself from going too far by reminding himself what had happened the last time he'd kissed her in the tablinum.

The decision whether to take Honoratus' offer was certainly still eating away at him.

But she was right there, too; he'd regret not taking it, and he couldn't use her as an excuse. She'd quite sensibly put the sole responsibility on him.

Of course she did -- you were cruel and careless enough, no matter what she thinks of you, to let her sense you weren't happy with her. At least at first. What did you expect?

That wasn't precisely fair, though. She'd stated quite clearly that she was worried for him; that was her primary concern. Citing his potential resentment was only corroborating evidence, as far as she was concerned.

I'm damned lucky to have a wife who makes such a distinction, actually. One who can think that sort of thing through clearly, without going all fluttery over it.

But why had she? He kept coming back, uneasily, to his assumptions about women in general versus Julia in particular. Worry wasn't precisely caring, exactly. He hadn't stated outright that he cared for her either, of course, but that was implicit in his consulting her, wasn't it?

Why is she willing to let me do this -- not the study, but the Informing?

Wouldn't most women be alarmed by that? True, they had no children to support, but....

Isn't that odd, too? That she hasn't asked about children? She's always been so concerned with duty -- at least before I nattered on about being less deferential.... I may live to regret that, I think.

But she must know what it takes to make a child, she's a healer's daughter, and yet she's never pressed me on the subject. Never objected or hinted.

Perhaps Julia didn't want any, either.

Perhaps that's why she'd said she wanted me to know it was all right if I were a pedicator. Because she wouldn't mind.

Of course, preference had nothing to do with it, she must know that. Plenty of men preferred sex with their own kind, but that didn't stop them from marrying and having children. The one had nothing to do with the other, really; monogomy and exclusively marital sexual relations were a patrician, Augustan ideal that had no mirror in reality, even for those trying to impose it on others. Julius Caesar, it was said, would bugger anyone for power, and Augustus wasn't much different; and it was a rare patrician who didn't have either a female lover on the side or indulge with boys -- or both -- even if they avoided intense, prolonged relationships with other men for propriety's sake. Jupiter's balls, Quintus was a prime example of that.

Bloody Hades, I'm doing it again, Gaius thought, and gave himself a good mental kick. Why don't you bloody ask her, you fool?

He should. He would, after they'd got through the next sticky bit. And perhaps after one or two satisfying encounters in the marital bed.

That, he reckoned, would put paid to any remaining shyness or reticence quite nicely, on both their parts.

AD XV KAL NOV.
(October 17)

He didn't mind the thought of making Honoratus wonder whether he'd show, either.

Ursus shook things up that week a bit, by making an announcement.

"Gather around," he roared at the warehouse workers, and waited on the landing, impatient, while they slung down their baggage and gathered at the base of the stairs. "I've got two things to say to you lot. First, you veterans have my thanks for sticking with the company through the recent shit."

(That wasn't the way Gaius would have put it, but then Ursus knew he was dealing with a rough crew and didn't mind using language they could appreciate.)

"Second, young Eugenus here has been with us nearly two years, now, and it's about time the little rotter took on his share of the work. So as of the Kalends, he's promoted to Senior. A senior," Ursus added pointedly, ignoring the stunned look on Primus' face. "Corvinus is still elder and more experienced, but I have every confidence that Eugenus will be able to direct you appropriately --"

(Ursus didn't even wince at that. Gaius was impressed.)

"-- and I expect every one of you to show him the respect you give Corvinus or Glaucus. We'll be getting a new junior in a few weeks, and you can give him all the hell you like. Got that? Right, then. Give the boy a cheer, and get back to work."

"Shut your mouth and behave as if you're happy," Gaius muttered to Primus as they stood on the stair above the landing. "You look like a dying turbot."

"He didn't warn me," Primus said through a gritted-tooth grin as the workers gave a less than enthusiastic whoop. "Did you know?"

"Of course, he told me yesterday. He'll have you in the office now, to go over the new duties and pay."

"He doesn't seem happy about it."

"He's still upset about.... Look, you've got your chance. Quit whinging."

"I'm not whinging, I just.... I'd almost decided to chuck it all."

"Too late. Act grateful, and watch your mouth," Gaius said under his breath as Ursus plodded up the stairs. "And don't even think of mentioning Camilla Ursa yet."

"Won't. Not ready to die a horrid death," Primus shot back.

"My office, boy," Ursus grunted as he shoved past them. "Don't dawdle."

Primus gave Gaius a stricken look, and shot off after the older man.

Gaius watched them go, unable to conceal a grin. Primus was in for it now: the old man would ride the boy's arse so closely that he wouldn't be able to fart without it being commented on.

After the workers had cleared away, he made his way down to the warehouse floor to collect some documents from the foreman.

"Think he'll do?" Glaucus asked, glancing up from a sheaf of lading-bills.

"I expect so," Gaius said. "He's grown up, a bit."

"Oh. Didn't expect he'd get this far."

"Reckon you're going to lose the pool, do you?"

"Already have -- I only gave him three months, when he first got here," Glaucus muttered. "I would've won, too, except you coaxed him along, sir."

Gaius laughed. "I expect I owe you a jug of something, then."

"No, no, I was only sayin' I know how hard you've worked on the boy. There is something, though...."

"Yes?"

"Blast it, no matter how foolish the lad seems... and I know it's not my place to say that, but --"

"Just between us, Glaucus, it's no matter. Ursus and I think that frequently."

"Well, I don't wish him ill, regardless. Some of the men -- two of the newer ones -- just said something about taking him out to celebrate."

"Which?" Gaius said, instantly alert.

"Nerva and Porcus. I don't trust, them, sir. I expect trouble with them anyway -- they're slackers, and they've been giving the boy some grief with his orders -- but I think they may be up to real mischief."

"Ah. See if you can find out where they intend to take him, and let me know," Gaius said slowly, "and I'll try to head him off and keep him from going out at all."

"Yes, sir. Thank you."

"No, that's all right.... I oughtn't, I suppose. If the silly fool doesn't know well enough not to associate with that type or watch his back.... But I shall, anyway."

Gaius took the bills of lading and made his way back up the stairs, and stood watching the two trouble-makers for a moment before heading for his office.

I ought to let the little bleeder take the consequences, Gaius thought, grim, and then resigned himself to a wasted evening. What two nasty pieces of work like that could do to one naïve patrician boy didn't bear thinking about.

So he stood -- cold, wet, and ultimately exceedingly wrathful -- outside the Wings of Mercury: a filthy, disreputable tavern favoured by the teamsters and dockhands who worked in the nearby horrea. He gave Nerva and Porcus just enough time to think they'd pulled off a coup before he entered. The reek of sweat and cheap wine gone nearly to vinegar assaulted Gaius' nose as he pushed his way through the crowd; he finally found the three in the far back corner.

Primus' face was already flushed with the effort to keep up with his drinking partners.

"-- say we go out and get a nice bit of tail, after this," Nerva was saying. "You'll treat, won't you, lad? Got a rise and all, I'm sure."

"Oh, certainly," Primus chortled. "Nice rise, 's no problem --"

"Got enough pocket-money on you now, have you?" Porcus verbally prodded him. "Or do we need to stop by your place to --"

Nerva glanced up, shifty-eyed, and noticed Gaius: his jovial grin turned into a sour smirk, and he kicked his partner in crime under the table to shut him up.

Primus noticed as well.

"Gaius! Gaius, I didn't 'spect you. Decided on a night out after all?"

"Yes, I thought that would be appropriate," Gaius said, smiling pleasantly. He turned to glare at a muleteer at an adjoining table: the man stumbled to his feet and offered Gaius his rickety bench, and Gaius pulled it over to the other table and sat. "Is that your second jug, or third?"

"Oh, only the sec-- or wait, maybe it's the third...."

"Ah."

"Aw, fuck," Porcus muttered uneasily, shoving his bench back. "Fergot -- the wife wants me home tonight. Uh, for.... It's one of the kiddie's birfdays, I fink. I'll have to go, Eugenus -- sorry, mate."

"Really?" Gaius said easily. "Funny, I wouldn't have pegged you for the henpecked type."

Porcus glared, made an instinctive move for the knife at his belt, and then remembered himself and edged away toward the tavern door.

"I prob'ly better get home, m'self," Nerva said, rather more convincingly. "Longinius Corvinus is better company anyway, I'm sure."

Gaius clamped his hand over the man's forearm, jerked him back down onto his bench, and put enough pressure into the grip to make the man wince.

"I'll say this for you, Nerva, you have more balls than Porcus. Let me remind you, since you seem to have forgot," he said quietly, "that although Eugenus no longer wears his amulet, he's off limits. He is vir. And you should be bloody grateful that I chose to end this little soiree now rather than let you get into real trouble and turn the vigiles loose on you. Be sure to remind your mate of that for me, would you?"

"We meant no harm," Nerva protested, and tried to shake off Gaius' hand. "Just a friendly cup or two."

"Or six," Gaius retorted, and clamped down harder.

"I say, Gaius, they were just --" Primus objected.

"Shut up, Primus. Paid for by him, of course," Gaius continued, eyes never leaving Nerva's, "as well as the after-drinks entertainment -- assuming Porcus didn't decide to tumble him for his purse in the meantime and leave him in the gutter."

Nerva's expression hardened; he leaned in toward Gaius, and softly said, "You may own us at the warehouse, Corvinus, but what we do outside it and who we do it with is none of your fucking business."

"It is when it's another Ursus employee, particularly when he's your Junior or Senior -- and especially when I have every indication that you intend to fuck with, not simply fuck about with. This was a bloody stupid idea to begin with, Nerva -- don't try to fix it by pleading innocence or telling me it's not my business. I expect you to do precisely what Ursus said from now on, and remember your place. If not, I'll be happy to tell Commissioner Honoratus that your friend Porcus has an itchy dagger-hand. He'll be interested in that, because Cato's throat was slit."

Nerva started, and the blood drained from his face. "We never," he snarled. "Havin' a bit of fun's one thing, but murder --"

"Good, I'm glad to know you have some ethics. I'd suggest that holding yourself to a higher standard might be a good idea from now on. Now get out," Gaius commanded, and loosed the man's arm.

Nerva stumbled to his feet.

"Don't worry about the little boy, then," he retorted. "You've staked your claim, Corvinus. He's all yours, you don't need to worry we'll poach him or mark up that pretty skin." And he shot out of the tavern.

"I don't believe you just did that," Primus accused, and Gaius swiveled on the bench to face him.

"What, that I kept you from being mugged?"

"They didn't mean to --"

"What," Gaius hissed, "do you know about what they meant to do?"

The hairs on the back of Gaius' neck prickled; he could sense the stares of the other patrons, sizing up their candidacy as likely marks.

"Keep your mouth shut until we're clear of here," he muttered to Primus, "and be ready to leave when I say."

He motioned over the bar slut, paid for another jug of wine -- putting it out of Primus' reach -- and waited until a few of the other, less-offensive patrons made for the door.

"Come on," he said, and hauled at Primus' arm.

"But you just --"

"Shut it. Come along."

Gaius hustled Primus out fast on the other mens' heels -- the others were neatly distracted by the full jug of wine he'd purposely left -- and steered Primus toward a much-better neighborhood in the fast-fading light.

"Do you even remember what they were asking you just as I got there?" Gaius asked, pouring him a careful, rationed measure of a far-better wine.

" 'Course. They wanted to go out to a lupanar. So?"

"And they intended that you pay for it all --"

"So?"

"And then Porcus wanted to know if you had enough in your purse, or not. If not, they'd get you blind-drunk, take you to your rooms, and gods know what would have happened there. If you were lucky they would have dumped you on the floor and just taken whatever they wanted without harming you. If you had enough in your purse to begin with, they'd have coshed you over the head and left you in the gutter for some other low-life to take advantage of you."

"Oh, bloody Hades, Gaius, why is it you assume all the men in the warehouse are --"

"Some of them are. You're not dealing with patricians there, Primus. You're not even dealing with respectable, law-abiding plebes, for the most part. You know this, we've discussed this before."

"Even if they'd touched me, I could have had them arrested," Primus said defiantly, and took a swig of wine.

"Really? Would you really have done that, after the humiliation? I can tell you what the vigiles would do -- they'd laugh," Gaius said, sipping at his own cup. "They might arrest them, but they'd make sure you knew they considered you at the level of a pathicus for being so weak and allowing those two to take advantage. And in the meantime, Nerva and Porcus would have spread the whole thing to the rest of the workers, and you wouldn't get anything but insolence from any of them."

"How do you know every bloody.... I'm sick of it, that's all," Primus shot back. "I'm sick of you always telling me how to behave and what not to do."

"I'm sick of it too," Gaius said bluntly. "And, frankly, the only reason I bothered tonight was because you might have been in physical danger. I've got a wife and a home now, Primus, and I'm tired of chasing after your arse to keep you from mucking up your life totally. It ends tonight."

They sat for a long time, sullen, amidst the good-natured chatter of the caupona's other clientele, before Primus finally asked, "What did Nerva mean, they wouldn't poach?"

"I believe," Gaius said sourly, "he was implying that you're my buggering-boy."

"Bloody --"

"Don't fuss over it, it's just the normal response of the intellectually-challenged when they haven't got a better insult. He's not worth trying to defend your honour, not for that one stupid comment. If he'd actually hit you, that would have been a different matter. Or if he were patrician and said it, then, yes, but he's not."

"But, but.... Bloody...."

"Oh, now you're concerned for your status?"

"I...."

"You're vir, Primus. You have to act like it. Some people won't automatically give you the respect they owe you. You'd better toughen up. The other thing to consider is that there was a murder in the warehouse, and we don't still know who did it. It might well have been one of the workers."

Primus downed the rest of his cup, and then let out a miserable, whimpered, "Fuck."

"Takes more than that and a reputation for patronising lupanari to prove your manhood."

"I.... Oh, gods. I've bloody well done it again, haven't I?"

"Not precisely," Gaius said quietly. "You didn't blab anything but your personal business, did you?"

"No."

"Right, then. You just put yourself in danger of losing your status and getting a few teeth knocked out. And of losing the workers' respect, which is nearly as bad as tattling, but not quite in the same league."

"I'm not cut out for this, I'm just not. I might as well turn in my resignation."

"Is there anything else you can do?"

Primus considered that, and then admitted, "No."

"Any relatives that can give you a place?"

"No. All the others.... When Pater became a suicide, they washed their hands of us."

"There are no male relatives at all, then?" Gaius asked, surprised.

"None. Just Mater and her sister. There's a great-uncle, but he's a right bastard. Gives the mater an allowance, but he won't take me on."

Well, that explained a lot. If Primus was raised by his mater and an auntie, with no male involvement.... No wonder the pup had no sense of appropriate manly behavior. And no wonder he'd clung to Gaius like a little leech for the past two years: Gaius was as close as he could get to a role-model, gods help the boy.

"Just have to stick with it, then," Gaius said. "For what it's worth, your work's improved tremendously. I'd hate to think you chucked it all because of this."

"Has it?" Primus said, startled.

"Yes. Didn't Ursus say?"

"No. And I'm to be at Veneris dinner every week, to give him reports -- he still doesn't trust me, I don't think. Warned me he'd quiz me on everything."

Gaius laughed. "He will -- be prepared. That's what he did with me, until he was certain I knew what I was about. I imagine Camilla Ursa wants to see more of you, too."

"Camilla? Oh, bloody...."

"What, you're not interested any longer?"

"No," Primus said, and fumbled for the wine-jug: against his better judgement, Gaius let him. "No, I'm not. She's a nice girl, I'm sure, but now I just can't see myself suh- settling for her," he muttered, slopping more wine into his cup.

"Settling?" Gaius said. "And now? What's happened, Primus?"

"Someone else happened, that's what," Primus said gloomily. "Someone lovely and smart and.... And...."

"And unavailable?" Gaius guessed uneasily. "Does she happen to quote Homer?"

Primus started, guilty, and stared into his cup.

"Oh, bloody fucking Hades, Primus --"

"I'd never do anything," Primus said hastily. "I'd never do that to you, or anyone else, for that matter. It just isn't right to go after Camilla, not when.... Not when I'm in love with someone else's wife. Your wife."

Gaius mentally counted to ten, and managed to wedge every filthy curse he knew into that span of time.

"You don't love her, you fool," he finally said. "You've got a crush, that's all. It's impossible to actually love someone on such little acquaintance."

"Doesn't feel like it," Primus muttered. "And gods help me, but I envy you."

"Don't blame you. She is lovely, in every way possible. And she's stubborn and enfuriating, and she can't weave worth a damn."

"How can you say that about her?" Primus asked indignantly.

"Because it's true, you dolt. She is sweet-natured in general, but by the gods you don't want to see her when she's got a bee in her palla."

"I thought you were happy."

"I am, you insolent little.... Look. Big secret, here. I didn't care for her at all when we first married, I had to grow into it," Gaius admitted, downed the rest of his cup, and refilled it. "And yes, I adore her now. You might well feel the same about Camillia, someday, if you get to know her better and stop comparing her to other women. You'll just have to... compromise on the beauty part, that's all."

"But courting her when I feel this way --"

"So don't. Be polite, take an interest, certainly, but you needn't take it as far as courting. You've got enough on your trencher with the new duties as it is, and you need to prove yourself there first."

"Gods," Primus moaned, and all but pounded his head on the table-top.

Gaius mentally seconded the feeling.

In short, Gaius was lucky to have made it home without being robbed himself, and that Hyperion had left the door unbarred and no furniture out in the middle of the peristyle for him to stumble over as he made his way to his bed.

Gods, I don't think I can take another night like this....

He tried to sleep, but his head was spinning and the cold and damp in the unbraziered room were too uncomfortable; and the memory of waking next to Julia, sleep-warm and content, was finally too much to bear. He made it from his cubiculum to hers by leaning against the wall (damn the thing, there's a slope to it that I've never noticed before), slid open the door, remembered to close it, and wondered for all of two seconds if crawling into Julia's bed was really a wise thing to do given his condition before thinking Sod it, yes, it's a bloody good idea. Assuming he didn't drop where he was, of course, and that he remembered where the damned lectus was.

"Gaius --?" she murmured, helpfully giving him a target.

Oh, right, it's in the left-hand corner....

He staggered over, slipped under the covers, and found himself reaching for and snuggling up against her, wrapping an arm about her waist.

She went rigid in his grasp.

"Don't worry, I can barely see straight, let alone.... I won't bother you, tonight." He choked out a laugh, buried his face in the thick plait at the nape of her neck, and muttered, "Sorry. Primus wanted to celebrate his rise, nearly got himself robbed, and I lost track of time...."

She slowly relaxed, though whether from his earlier admission or the fact that she could tell the little centurion was in no condition to stand at attention, he wasn't certain.

He almost wished it would. She was soft and warm and smelt so damnably good -- of honey and sweet oil, and of the sweet myrtle she dried and placed between her tunics in the clothes-chest....

Since he obviously wasn't up to seducing her he settled for tucking his knees more firmly behind hers, and sliding his hand upward to cup one of her breasts. (The slaves at home had been right on that score with that wretched bridal-song -- he was growing quite fond of her breasts, and he'd barely even touched them before now.)

He didn't realise he was babbling, mind utterly divorced from his lips, until she suddenly twisted in his arms and took his face in her hands.

"Gaius, what?"

"Wha--?"

"All you've been saying for the last minute is 'sorry -- sorry -- sorry.' What about?"

He froze, trying to sort through his drink-sodden thoughts -- and then, to his horror, he started to cry, and buried his face between her breasts.

"Oh, Gaius," he heard her whisper, and she started to stroke his hair. "Gaius, I understand. It's quite all right. I mean, if you... if you and Primus went out. I know married men go to brothels."

He shook his head, and risked a kiss to one soft little breast through her tunic.

"It's all right, I know I'm not very desirable," she insisted. "You'd have.... Well, we'd be through this already, otherwise."

That shocked him into immobility. Then he started to laugh.

"Gaius?"

He pulled himself up and framed her face with his hands, threading his fingers through her hair -- pulling at it, probably hurting her, but at the moment he didn't give a damn.

"You don't know a bloody thing, so don't presume -- Do you know how lovely you are?" he demanded. "Do you know I'm the envy of every man in the office, including Primus and my boss? Have you any idea," he slurred, despite his best efforts, "how much I want you? You, not another woman? Hades, Julia, you're all I can think about -- drives me to distraction, sometimes, I can't concentrate on anything, even the magic. I'm not talking about just getting a child on you, I'm talking about making you want me, and having you, fucking you until we're both exhausted and then starting all over again --"

If he'd been just a bit less drunk he would have been horrified at his own coarseness; but he was far past caring now, or caring that she again went rigid, uncomfortable with his candour, or perhaps afraid of him in this state.

"-- and I can't... I know I can't make you want me, or make you enjoy it, and I know I haven't done much to help that."

"Gaius --"

"No, let me finish. I've fucked it all up, you see. I should have been honest with you, that day in your pater's study. I've been living a lie -- we've been living a lie, and it's not your fault, it's mine. It goes beyond resenting you. I didn't want to get married. Ever. At least not the way it happened. I've never wanted to be my pater's man, I had to do what I wanted, and it didn't involve -- There wasn't room, d'you see? There wasn't time to muck about with a family and have to provide for it. I just wanted to study and apprentice if I could, perhaps teach others someday. Write. Advance our race. And you weren't part of the plan."

He tried to stop -- he knew he was babbling; but it was pointless, and he spared a brief moment for another passing curse at Primus, for that last jug of wine. Wine wasn't supposed to do this: it was supposed to make one eloquent, give one courage, loosen inhibitions just a bit -- but not to this extent. (But then he'd kept better track of Primus' consumption than his own, confident that he could drink the idiot into exhaustion before he did anything else that night equally as stupid as his earlier misstep.)

The whole, nasty business came spilling out of Gaius' mouth: the financial deals he'd struck with Nigellus and Corvinus (and the monetary diddling of his father, with her father's collusion); his decision not to touch her, cheating her father out of his cherished grandson; his deliberate dereliction of duty as a Roman and a husband. All of it, even his admission that he'd wanted her from the first moment he'd seen the morning light falling on her face, and how nothing that had happened since -- nothing -- had changed that: had, in fact, made it worse, that they'd found they were so well-suited otherwise...

...how that first awful, clumsy bedding, no matter how horrid it had been for her, had only whetted his appetite for more, and how he'd stayed away deliberately afterwards because of that, as much as for the sulks; how even now he wanted to strip her of her tunic and devour her whole, master her, possess her, feel her writhe against him even if he couldn't pleasure her and, damn it, he probably would even now if only his prick would wake up. (It didn't.) How he would probably still treat her awfully and deny her her due because of his blasted pride, and how his guilt and shame weren't enough to make him feel too terribly sorry for any of it -- except for hurting her in the many ways he'd managed it, even if she hadn't realised exactly how.

He finally, clumsily, pulled his fingers from her hair and collapsed on top of her, burrowing his nose against her neck.

"So write your pater," he finally concluded. "Tell him what an utter shit I am, and I'm glad we haven't... that I haven't got you pregnant, never intended to, and never will if I can help it. At least not if I can manage to control m'self. He can get you a divorce, and find you a real man who'll do right by you...."

He lapsed into sleep, exhausted by the unburdening.

Notes for The Gift, Part VIII

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