Blue; infinite floating blue. Soaring, wingless, effortless, white-hot, straight up. A feeling of being known, of being crucial to the world, a piece of landscape or type of sky or subtle color without which nothing functioned. Coming home.

Then there was Ash, far below, stuck on the ground and searching for his anger. "I know where it is," Kieran told him, "but I'm not telling." As Ash studied how to change his mind, the first sweet breath of approaching rain took Kieran by the back of the neck and folded him inside out...

Back to the smell of sick-sweat and the taste of bile. Distant, a door noise, a quiet voice: "Sir, he's regained consciousness."

Testing. He was in Testing. He'd refused some order. The pain had given him such visions... what was it they wanted him to do?

He was strapped into that chair again. In the other chair, the one that faced him, that poor bastard Hartnell hunched with bloodshot eyes. There was a smell of vomit and feces around the man, and he was shaking. Shaking and sick as Kieran himself had once been, which was why, Kieran now remembered, the order to kill Hartnell had caused him to demand payment. A useless smartass remark. But he remembered too well what it felt like in there. Hartnell was in opium withdrawal.

"Are you ready to cooperate?" The Colonel's tone hinted that more torture would not be difficult to arrange.

Kieran caught Hartnell's eyes and held them. Hartnell shook his head convulsively, muscles in his jaw writhing. He wanted to live, despite his discomfort, even if only a few minutes more. Kieran could respect that. To Warren, he said, "Hit me."

Maybe he'd hoped that giving the order would cause the Watchman to withhold his power; people didn't like to do as they were told, especially when they thought they were in charge. Warren, however, had his method.

The pain clawed through Kieran's guts, into his eyes and the roots of his teeth, every nerve in his body sending up distress flares at once. He felt his whole flesh go into instant rebellion, and an instant later he was nowhere to be found; absent and flying.

He'd never told anyone about this, about how he sometimes left his body to its fate and went somewhere else. Even Shan hadn't known, though Kieran had done it several times while kicking his tar habit. It was a sort of cowardice, he supposed, but what purpose did it serve to stay and endure? It had happened off and on since he was small, since spending fourteen hours watching his mother die. He couldn't do it on purpose, but when things got bad enough it just occurred. There were places in his life that were blank, such as the missing time between Shan's death and his own capture. In those times, he was someone else, and had nothing to do with Kieran Trevarde's squalid scrabbling for survival.

High above the mesa, so high it was just one more blotch in a scrawled carpet of reds and yellows and green-grays. Moth-eaten lace of stone and sand. Brighter green in streaks where water ran. All of it belonged to him. His house, where he had always lived, his true body, his source. Due west, his heart beat, smoldering in slow rage like a coal-mine fire. Farther, over the mountains, clouds came skimming. Rain coming. A small, hard rain. Tonight, or early tomorrow morning. He longed for it to wash the dust from his soul.

He didn't have to wait. He could go there, ride it down the mountain and across the world. He could go anywhere -- but the vision was breaking up, and he woke to the ache and stink of his mortal flesh.

He supposed he must look like Hartnell now; twins in sweat and shakes and twisted muscles. Warren was no longer in the room. He must have gotten involved in something else, which meant Kieran must have been out for a while. Hartnell was still conscious, though not so wide awake as before. Kieran took the chance to talk to him.

"Another one of those," he said, "and they'll have to give up on me for today. What are they going to do with you?"

"Dunno." Hartnell swallowed and blinked, too dehydrated now for it to do any good. His voice was a sticky rasp. "How come you're... why?"

"Why not?"

Hartnell managed the ghost of a laugh. It was obvious why not. "You'll have to. Sooner or later."

"Yeah."

"It'll hurt."

"Probably."

"More than this?"

"No."

Hartnell let his head hang. Kieran found himself hoping the poor doomed bastard would give up, because another shot of that pain might cause some kind of permanent damage. But he'd already made the decision to let Hartnell decide, to cut Warren and his minions out of the loop, to prove a point. He wasn't going to go back on that. So there was no point anticipating.

Door sound. Footsteps. Hartnell brought his head up, glaring hatred past Kieran at someone behind him. Then his eyes flicked to Kieran's face. He bared his teeth. "Do it. Do it quick."

Kieran was ready. He slammed into Hartnell's chest like a shotgun blast, found the edge and shoved hard. The snap as life's thread broke recoiled back into Kieran with nearly as much force as he'd put out, like bouncing a ball against a wall, and he swallowed it down. That quickly, Hartnell was gone.

"Did you see that?" The assistant sounded excited. "Did you see him catch that recoil?"

"I did indeed." Warren came around to take Kieran's pulse and peer into his eyes. "When the Director arrives, we shall have to see if Mr. Trevarde can reproduce the result. Preferably, next time, without a tedious show of childish defiance."

"Fuck you," said Kieran generally. When Warren and his assistant began the inevitable Survey, Kieran held in mind until the last moment his awareness of Warren's bad breath and the bags under his eyes. It was a tiny revenge, but it made him feel a little better.

They had to carry him back to his cell again, but at least he was awake for it this time, and knew where he was. When they dumped him on the floor, he was coherent enough to catch himself on his hands and knees rather than sprawling on his face. He grasped at Ash's offered hands, climbed up the white boy's clothing, and launched a headlong stumble from there to his cot.

Ash knelt beside him, hand on his arm. "Do you want to talk about it?"

The warm hand on the spasming muscles of Kieran's forearm felt far better than it should have. Knots all over him started relaxing. He watched Ash's face as he told the truth, curious to see the exact moment of rejection: "They had me kill Hartnell. He was just about all in, but he didn't want to go. They zapped me a couple times. Then Hartnell said do it, so I did. Poor stupid son of a bitch."

Ash went still, eyes blank as blue sky, and stayed like that for most of a minute. He didn't look away, though. When he came to life again, it was to say carefully, "I'm surprised that a mercy killing would seem worse to you than this kind of torture."

It was his stubbornness Ash objected to? Not the fact that he'd killed Hartnell in the end? "I don't want to give in too easy. Gets to be a habit."

"What were you going to do, die in his place? Would it have saved him? Spare yourself the pain. It doesn't do any good."

"Sure it does. Warren got so pissed off, he used adjectives."

Ash set his teeth in his lip, pleading wordlessly. Kieran instantly felt like a complete asshole. Master manipulator, this kid, and I don't think he even knows he's doing it.

"It really bugs you, huh?"

Ash nodded.

"Guess if I go down, you're screwed. Pretty much literally."

"That's not it! I just don't like to see you like this. No one likes to see a friend get hurt. We are friends, right?"

Kieran felt a dose of treacherous warmth run through his exhausted body, and knew he had to squash this line of questioning before it went any further. He forced casual heartiness, knowing what a slap in the face it would be. "Sure, we're friends. I got your back. Now get off my blanket." But he couldn't meet Ash's eyes as he said it, and he was too aware of where in the room his cellmate went when he retreated. He could feel Ash's wounded silence; leaning on the bars, not looking.

He reminded himself that he had more important things to think about. He now had the final confirmation of what had been wrong with Hartnell, and incidentally several other inmates, all of them young, thinnish, beardless -- their physical similarity was a clue to how they got the stuff. Kieran was not surprised to find that business going on here, just as it had in Tiyamo.

Kieran knew that he could insert himself into that group easily enough. Though his height and reputation made him less attractive to the type of guard who liked to relieve his boredom that way, he could use his pretty face -- and a few other tricks he knew -- to entice the suppliers to add him to their string of slaves. But it had been a long time. He'd believed he was done selling ass forever, and it wasn't fun to contemplate doing it again. And then there was the question of the tar itself. Could he touch it, possess it, and not use it? He would have to build up an enormous stash, if it was going to do him any good as a poison. Just thinking about it made his stomach clench with desire. It would make this place bearable, being opiated, it would make it easy, he wouldn't have a worry in his head until his day came to die -- which was, of course, the problem. Was he strong enough not to become what he would pretend to be?

He didn't know. He wasn't sure.

Well, there was time to think it through. A stash of poison was not an escape plan. There was work yet to do. That was comforting -- to line up his puzzles and chew through them like a sawmill through a tree. Made him feel like he was doing something more productive than lying in bed listening to his eyelids twitch.

Warren had said 'When the Director arrives.' Someone important was coming here. Security would no doubt be tighter during the visit. Would it be more relaxed afterwards?

Another thought: though he was exhausted, he was less drained than the first time he'd been tortured, almost as if he were building up a tolerance. Was that possible? Or was this a fluke, would he end up weak from it, get sick -- what if he had to rely on Ash for their escape? In fact, even if he himself were in prime condition, Ash would still surely have to do some climbing or running.

"Hey Ash." His voice was thin and dry, but his cellmate rushed to him as if he'd shouted.

"What do you need?"

"You're not going to like it."

"So? Just say it."

Poor idiot. Ash sounded ready to jump off a cliff for him. And after getting barked at and dismissed, too. Kieran wondered if he was one of those pathetic people who just got more loyal the more they were abused, and felt guilty. But it was still amusing to see Ash's bewilderment when Kieran said, "I need you to find out how many push-ups you can do."

Ash blinked at him a few times. Obviously not what he'd expected to hear. "What? You mean --" He pantomimed.

"Yeah."

"Now?"

"Yeah, now."

"Why?"

Kieran grinned. "'Cause you can't dance, it's too wet to plow, and it's a little windy to be stacking chickens."

After a moment's shocked silence, Ash gave a startled laugh. "You what?"

"'Cause I said so."

"Oh, hell, fine," Ash said. He got down on the floor and did a few push-ups. "Sixteen," he grunted when his arms wouldn't lift him.

"Could be worse, I guess. Rest for a minute, then do five more."

"I'm never going to be as strong as you."

"And you'll never be as weak as you were before you met me. Bitching won't change my mind. You know how stubborn I am."

"I know," Ash sighed, "but I also know I'm going to disappoint you."

"What's that got to do with anything?" Kieran was scornful. "You care way too much about stuff that doesn't matter."

"So you said before." Ash shook his arms out and got back down for another five.

When the bell rang for dinner, Kieran made himself stand, though his thigh muscles were twitching in the most irritating way. Ash told him he looked bad, gray, and his own smell nauseated him -- acrid fear-sweat dried and itching -- but he'd be damned if he was going to live like a victim. Anyway, he was starving. He ate everything on his tray, even the canned vegetables in a sauce that tasted like snot.

Outside, the sun's warmth revived him further. He was no longer shaking, just tired. The still, hot air tempted him to sprawl in the shade, as so many others were doing, but he had something yet to do, and he'd decided he wanted this part to be public.

"Hey Ash," he said. "Hit me."

"Sorry?"

"I want you to hit me."

"Hit you? You mean -- pow? Are we faking a fight?"

"Like that would be real convincing. No, I just want to see how you hit."

"Er. Where?"

"Stomach. Won't hurt me. Go ahead."

Ash hesitated; opened his mouth and shut it; shrugged. He fixed his eye on Kieran's midsection. Winding up, he thumped his fist into Kieran's ribs. His knuckles stung a bit, bony as they were, but Kieran doubted it would even bruise. Ash shrugged again. "Bad, I know."

"Wrong in many ways," Kieran agreed. He saw out of the corner of his eye that people were looking at them. Good. "For one thing, you looked too hard at where you were going to hit. But it takes a while to get over that, so in a real fight aim for the face, since you're going to be looking there anyway. For now, let's deal with the fact that you hit like a kid."

"Of course I do," Ash said defensively. "I haven't been in a fight since I was about ten years old. And I lost that one."

"Well, you're not a kid now. Put up your hand. Like this."

Ash did. Kieran gave it a little tap, just enough to set Ash shaking his wrist and wincing.

"Did you see that coming?"

"No. You're a lot faster than I'll ever be."

"Well, you could be faster than this at least." Kieran mimicked the wind-up and swing that Ash had performed. "You waste energy swinging around like that. Not to mention you tell everyone what you're up to. Just throw it straight out. Get your shoulder behind it. Straight out." Kieran demonstrated more slowly.

"Wait. Do it again." Ash's eyes traveled back and forth along Kieran's body as Kieran smacked his hand a couple more times. "Okay. Let me try."

Kieran spread his arms, leaving his torso wide open. Ash looked a bit worried, but shrugged and raised his fists, stepping forward. Then Kieran was knocked back a long step, grunting as the breath was knocked out of him. "God damn, boy," he huffed.

"Good?"

"Shoulda had you hit my hand. Yeah, good. You're a fast learner."

"Thanks." Ash glowed.

"Shove up your sleeve. Let me see your arm."

Ash flushed as Kieran probed his way from wrist to shoulder. Kieran was glad he himself was not prone to blushing; the skin of Ash's arm was too smooth, too soft, starred with tiny freckles and downed with fine coppery hairs, the muscles rounded and not large but definitely present. He let go quickly when he was done.

All he said was, "You're not as skinny as I thought. You're never going to be a bruiser, but it won't be hard to put some more muscle on you."

"That means more push-ups, I suppose."

"All sorts of shit like that. For now let's work on your form." He held up a hand -- then, realizing it was the one with the sprained fingers, hastily switched it for the other one. "Don't worry about hitting hard this time. Just make sure you hit where you're aiming, and concentrate on speed."

"Hey kid," a spectator called out. "What do I gotta do to get lessons too?"

"Fly up and get me a chunk of the moon," Kieran told him shortly.

"Now, that ain't fair," someone else said. "If you're gonna start a little school, oughta be open for everybody."

Kieran speared the speaker with a narrowed glare. "Ash Trine stood by me every second since I got here. Who the fuck are you?"

That engendered some muttering, but no more actual protest. Later in the yard hour, he heard someone sneer the words 'true love' in a mocking tone, but didn't feel like interrupting the lesson just to beat respect into some random asshole. Let them think Ash bit pillow for Kieran's protection. It'd make others less likely to try climbing into his shadow.

When they were returned to their cells, Ash was full of questions. Kieran, tired to stand anymore, flopped down on his cot and answered, "You need to be stronger. That's all. The way things are going, it's possible I'll be weak like this when we get our chance. I might need your help."

"Oh." Ash raked his sweaty hair from his forehead, then flexed his fingers, frowning. "Aren't we pushing it a little hard? My hands hurt."

"If you can still move 'em, you're fine. We can't be sure how much time there is. There's going to be climbing at least, and maybe fighting."

"All right." Ash smiled that sickly smile that said he didn't believe in any escape plan, was only doing this to be agreeable.

That was fine. Kieran didn't need him to believe, as long as he did the work. But he'd probably try harder if he had a reason he could understand. "Work yourself sick, Ash. I don't know how much longer I can protect you."

"You're not giving up, are you? I'm sorry, that sounds like I'm just using you to hide behind -- I'll do what you want, I'll learn to fight and everything. Just... Kieran, tell me you're not going to quit trying. Without you, even if I were as strong as you are, I'd still be in trouble."

"Course I'm not fucking quitting," Kieran snapped. "Can the damn melodrama and grab some floor, stringbean."

Ash flashed a relieved grin before getting down and forcing a few more push-ups.

Lights-out came too early, as always. Kieran had been dozing; the creak of Ash's cot springs woke him. He yawned, twisting his back, hearing his spine pop, then looked to find Ash staring at him again. He considered snapping at the kid for gawking, but figured he'd used up his bossy license for the day. He made idle conversation instead. "How's the book coming? Got the guard schedules down yet?"

"Pretty much. Tomorrow, when we can see, I'll show you what I've called them, so you can understand the lists."

"What I really want to know is which of them get their supper after us. I think it's going to have to be supper."

Ash's expression was hard to see, but his tone was skeptical. "You're still thinking about dosing their coffee."

"Like to know if it would be useful, at least."

"With what, Kieran? What are you going to do, pee in it? Get sick and spit in it? If we had access to anything poisonous..." There was a pause. "You've thought of something."

"Don't worry about it."

"Something dangerous."

"I said leave it alone." The conversation had stopped being idle, and he didn't want it anymore.

"Kieran --"

"You just get me that information, and leave the ugly shit to me, okay? You can't handle it." He rolled to face the wall.

"Kieran," Ash said softly.

Kieran ignored him.

"Kieran, please don't. I don't know what you're planning, but I can tell it scares you. I don't want to think about how bad something would have to be before it could scare you."

Exasperated, Kieran threw his blanket off and glared at his cellmate. "Exactly how the fuck does that matter? I'm not staying here. You help or you don't help, but don't you try to tell me what's too hard for me. If I'm still breathing when it's over --"

He was interrupted by a sharp crash that rattled the panes of the skylights, a flash that printed Ash's crumpled face on his retinas. His first thought was: dammit, crying again, you big baby. Then he remembered something that seemed to fling the prison doors wide open.

"I dreamed this."

Ash was illuminated by another lightning flicker, dragging his hand across his face. "What?" His voice was muffled. "Storms?"

"This one. When Warren zapped me -- it'd take too long to explain. The point is I knew it would hit about now, about this hard, and last about a quarter hour."

"Fascinating," Ash said in a dull tone.

"Damn straight it is. This puts a whole new spin on everything."

"Then you don't have to do the thing that scares you?"

Kieran didn't answer. He watched the lightning through the bars. He pretended he couldn't hear Ash sniffling.

The storm was short and sharp, just as he'd predicted. He didn't think it was a coincidence. Somehow, by dreaming in an unwarded room, he'd actually seen the weather rolling across the world.

There had to be a way to use that.

When the bell woke them, he was sore and stiff, but nowhere near as wrung out as he'd been after his last trip to Testing. That was interesting; he'd only been zapped once that time, whereas he'd got three jolts yesterday and here he was perfectly functional. Maybe you build up a tolerance, he thought. The way you do to poppy.

Which he had to think about. One thing he'd learned, living the life he'd lived: you have to know your limits. Determination by itself was useless. If you didn't have the abilities to back it up you were just going to get yourself in trouble. So he had to be dead certain he had the strength to possess a great fat wad of tar and not taste it. Not even handle it with his fingers, let it seep into his skin. Not argue himself into using just a little to ease the ache of abused muscles, settle a rebellious stomach, calm the dry sting of his dreams. He wasn't sure yet.

He would be sure soon. He had already decided that he could handle what he'd have to do to get it; soon he'd know he could handle having it. When he was sure it was necessary, when it fit together with his other plans.

"Show me the guard schedules," he ordered when they were locked in for the day. "Show me who's who."

Ash, drooping a bit from the morning's kengdan lesson, dragged out his book and opened it to a page of the usual gibberish. "If you want, I can write it plain for you. We'd have to rip out the page after --"

"Just tell me. I'll remember."

"All right. Here's what I have so far..."

But he had only gotten through naming the guards, and hadn't yet begun translating the schedule, when they were interrupted by purposeful footsteps on their tier. This happened every day but Sunday, and sometimes more than once, and usually the guards stopped before reaching them or passed them by. Nevertheless, Kieran's stomach tightened, and he saw that Ash's hands shook a little as he hid the book.

Two tan uniforms appeared. And stopped.

"Ashleigh Trine."

Ash froze like a rabbit. Kieran stood aside to let him get up, but he didn't move.

"Ashleigh Trine. Come on, kid."

In a whisper that cracked to a squeak, Ash said, "I can't."

One of the guards gave a long-suffering sigh and jangled his keys. "Trine, don't make me come in there."

Ash stood, but it was to back up, not to obey. He shook his head slowly, big-eyed. "I can't. I can't. Kieran!"

"Trevarde, why don't you come over here and put your hands through the bars." The guard beckoned his partner forward. "You cuff him. I'll get the kid."

Kieran knew he'd save himself trouble by complying, and he really wasn't in the mood for trouble this morning. But Ash had backed himself to the far wall, and was shivering like he'd shake himself to pieces. Kieran just knew Ash would scream when the guard touched him.

He didn't want to hear that sound.

"Be right there," he told the guard. Then he went to where Ash cowered. The redhead let Kieran take his wrists, even stilled his shaking some, but shrank back when Kieran leaned to speak into his ear. "Hold your head up. Sooner you go, sooner you come back."

"I can't." Ash was breathing in little gasps. Kieran was ashamed for him. "I can't. I can't. I --"

Kieran slapped him across the face.

"Hey!" a guard shouted, and keys clanked. "Dammit!"

The slap had driven a look of shock and hurt into Ash's eyes, but at least they were focusing. Kieran wrapped a hand around the back of his thin white neck, feeling cold sweat beading there. Lips to Ash's ear, he whispered, "You're not here. You're not here. You're somewhere else. Don't come back until you can come back to me. Understand?"

He drew back to see Ash nod in numb bewilderment. Then Kieran's arm was twisted up behind his back and he was clouted across the side of the head; he had to use all his attention to keep from fighting. He could get out of this grip so easily, could take both these guards like a dog killing chickens, but it wasn't time yet.

"What were you whispering about?" demanded the one who had Kieran's arm. "Planning something?"

"Just --" Kieran grunted as his arm was twisted so the bones creaked. "Just doing your job for you."

"Yeah, well, next time you do as you're told. Stupid fucking natives." His legs were kicked out from under him.

Kieran heard the swish as the guard raised his baton, and had a moment to wonder whether Ash was feeling guilty for causing trouble, or too scared to care. Then came the sickeningly familiar sensation of a blow to the head, knocking his vision skewed and making his ears ring. When he felt steady enough to get off the floor, he was alone in the cell.

He wasted half an hour or so being angry. At the guard who'd hit him, naturally. At the institution of Churchrock for creating the situation, and at the whole Theocratic Commonwealth for allowing it. But mostly at Ash for turning chicken like that. It reminded Kieran of situations he preferred not to think about.

Eventually, as it always did, the anger faded. Anger was a waste of energy. It never changed anything.

Making sure there were no guards in the area, he got out Ash's book. Ash had showed him how the code worked, sort of. He'd only half listened, so figuring out how to turn gibberish into words ate up a fair chunk of time. Kieran supposed he wouldn't bother with something this tedious if he'd had anything better to do. He translated the guard schedule into his head, trying to memorize it. Digesting the knowlege that a certain guard who'd been seen with Hartnell was on their tier tomorrow morning.

When he was confident he could remember the schedule, he started flipping pages at random, translating a word here and there to guess the subject of the page. 'Talents.' 'Arrivals.' 'Speculations.' 'Syyakwt.'

Kieran retried that last one several times, thinking he'd messed up, but he kept getting the same garbage. The page was densely packed with prose; not a list or a series of notes. It was encrypted with a different key.

Anger resurged in Kieran's gut, hotter than before. Ash was keeping secrets from him. How dare he? That sneaky little fuck! After everything Kieran had done for him! Well, it wouldn't stay secret long. Kieran would shake it out of him --

He flashed on a picture of himself grabbing, looming, threatening, and Ash cringing, that fear in his eyes not for guards or tests but for Kieran alone. Kieran's stomach instantly knotted. Slapping Ash's face to snap him out of a panic was one thing. Venting anger on him, though, raising a fist to him, leaving bruises on that pale soft skin -- Never. Never.

So he'd figure the code out himself. Ash would use some word as a key, some word that meant something to him personally. Maybe something Kieran would never guess, the name of his childhood dog or something, but he'd used 'loser unity' for the rest of it, so maybe it would be something equally topical. Something... he frowned as he groped after the concept... something that felt secret. He wouldn't use something that would enforce the feeling of being imprisoned, so it wouldn't be a simple I-spy clue like 'bars' or 'guards'. Something that reminded him of freedom.

Going faster and faster as he got used to using the letter square, Kieran tried the words that came to his mind when he thought of freedom, reasoning that the same thoughts would occur to Ash. 'Sky' and 'home' didn't work. 'Freedom' and 'out' and 'death' and 'life' didn't work.

'Storm' worked. Then stopped working. Kieran chewed his lip for a moment, thinking back along the days and nights to where 'storm' came to mind, then bent to the page again.

The key was 'storm green'.

I'm going crazy, the text read. I have to write this down to get it out of my head. Or try at least. He's driving me insane. Sometimes I think I'll scream if he comes near me; sometimes I think I'll explode if I don't touch him. He scares me senseless, and I want him more than I want to keep breathing. He doesn't like me at all, though. I think he hates me for being weak. He could never respect me, let alone love me. I never imagined anyone could be so beautiful or so broken. Last night I sat up watching him sleep until dawn...

...How could hands that have killed be so gentle? Maybe I was wrong about his opinion of me. Could he be so kind to someone he holds in contempt?...

...It's ridiculous of me to develop a crush and nurse it in my little diary, it's absolutely ridiculous. This is a prison, for god's sake. I'm absurdly lucky that I'm still alive, and the fact that I haven't been beaten or raped is beyond belief. I have no right to borrow pain...

...Those eyes. Those incredible eyes. I fall into them, they tear me apart. And oh his razor smile, his earthquake voice, his starless night, his terrible strength of soul, perfect proof against the arrogance of my pity...

...How does anyone survive this? I would walk a hundred miles to make him look at me, I'd bleed out for a smile, every time he touches me I have to think of snow. If the Watch take the time to decrypt this, they'll all die of disgust I'm sure. Yes, you bastards, I'm a disgusting deviant, get your hands out of your pants. Heh. Let me describe, imaginary reader, what I would do if he'd let me...

Footsteps in the hall. Kieran snapped the book shut and jammed it into its hiding place behind the mattress.

The guards let Ash into the cell and left. Ash stood where they'd put him, staring at nothing. He wasn't crying this time. His eyes were circles of blue paper, pasted on slightly wrong.

Kieran just sat there on the edge of the bed for a while, looking at him. Thinking: You rat. You rat bastard. How dare you fall in lust with my face when you don't have clue one what's going on behind it! But as Ash kept staring, unmoving, Kieran's anger slipped away. It was spooky, the way he looked. Shut off, like an engine in the repair yard. The way he breathed long, shallow breaths, as if sleeping, gaze fixed on something past the back wall, deep inside the mountain.

Standing, Kieran walked into Ash's line of sight. Ash's eyes tracked him, but blankly. Had Warren and his students broken something in the boy's head? Turned him into a permanent idiot?

"Ash. Hey." His voice was unacceptably hoarse. He swallowed and tried again. "Ashleigh. You in there? Come on, kid, you're scaring me."

Ash blinked several times, slowly. Slowly, awareness came into his stare. Slowly, by stages, the porcelain mask of his face crumpled, melting to helpless anguish.

He let out a choking gasp, grabbed two handfuls of Kieran's shirt and buried his face in it, bruising Kieran's collarbone with his forehead. Then he just clung there. Not crying. Just hiding.

"Hey." Kieran took Ash's shoulders and pushed gently, but without effect. It would apparently take some force to pry Ash off his shirt, and applying it didn't seem like a real good idea at the moment. "You're fucking scaring me, Ash. Say something."

Ash's voice was a dry whisper. "You said you'd keep me sane. Now would be a good time."

"Okay. Okay." Kieran wrapped his arms around Ash's tense shoulders; awkward at first as if reading instructions from a book, until fury at helplessness -- Ash's and his own -- made his grip tighten convulsively. He was thinking it might be a little late for the sanity thing. He bent his face to Ash's neck, getting a mouthful of hair when he spoke. "I've got you. I have you now."

"Tighter," Ash gasped. "Squeeze me so small I disappear."

Kieran obediently crushed Ash even more closely. Ash's clutching hands pulled his shirt all askew. It was hard to breathe. Ash was strung so tight he was vibrating, drenched with cold sweat. It wasn't right that he should feel so very good in Kieran's arms. It was sick to enjoy this. It was wrong to let Ash's frantic heartbeat shake him this way.

It was also impossible to change. This pale, needing creature huddled against his chest was a thing like a new addiction, the first dose that awakened a craving, and Kieran had always been weak on that front.

They leaned into each other for what felt like hours, long enough for Kieran's back to cramp and his legs to start trembling. He had to swallow several times before he could speak. "Let's sit down," he offered.

Ash didn't let go or raise his head, even though it made moving less than graceful. On the bunk, he curled against Kieran's side, fists still knotted in Kieran's shirt. Kieran wrapped the blanket around his shoulders, smoothed his dirty hair. He couldn't forget what Ash had written about the gentleness of his hands, and it made him self-conscious, far more careful than he might otherwise have been about enfolding Ash's shivering body in his arms. He rested his cheek against the top of Ash's head; caught himself about to plant a kiss on Ash's brow, which would have been a bad idea even if Ash weren't playing at being in love with him. He whispered soothing nothings -- whispered nursery rhymes in Iavaian, since he couldn't think of anything coherent to say. Gradually, the tension in Ash's body began to abate, until all at once he slid down to rest his head on Kieran's thigh, and Kieran wondered if he'd fainted.

He hadn't. "I didn't cry," he said dully.

"I noticed."

"I'm not okay, though."

"Well, no. We're not going to be, while we're here."

This made Ash open his eyes, but he didn't look up. Kieran watched him frown and chew his lip in profile.

"The trick to staying sane," Kieran went on, "is to accept the pain. Not the thing that caused it, but the pain itself. You just say, fine, this fucked me up. What do I have left to work with? Don't run from it, Ashes. That never helps."

After a long time thinking, during which expressions flickered across his face like shadows, Ash rolled his head to look up at Kieran. "Ashes?"

"Oh. Sorry."

"No. I like it." He went back to staring across the cell. "It's descriptive."

"Thought you didn't like descriptive nicknames."

"I like this one. That's what I have left, you see. I'm a burned-out house."

"What did they do to you?"

"I don't know. I wasn't there." Ash lifted his hand and flexed it before his eyes. "Even when they were in my head I wasn't paying attention. I was spread out all over. More in their heads than mine. And when I came back home, I found my house burned to the ground. And all my stuff is gone."

"I know the feeling. But you've got the things you need. You know who you are, and who I am, and what we have to do."

"What we have to do..."

"We have to leave. And I know how."

This made Ash sit up and fix his faded blue stare on Kieran's eyes. What he was looking for, Kieran didn't know, but not finding it seemed to make him tired. He put his forehead down on Kieran's shoulder. "You won't tell me what you're going to do."

"No."

"Why?"

Kieran smiled bitterly. "You might talk me out of it."

"Then maybe I should."

"No. Trust me, I can handle it. I'm good at getting over things. I haven't thought about Shan for weeks..." He sucked in a breath, horrified at himself. At the things that rolled steaming and shrieking through his head at the sound of that name, at his own ability to have set them aside.

He'd forgotten the scar that cut his eyebrow. The sound and smell and hot wet slap and sting of a large-caliber bullet demolishing his lover's head not twenty inches from his face. He had a scar from a piece of his lover's skull, and here he was cuddling with another blue-eyed white boy as if Shan could be replaced --

But the shudder that went through him was a solitary twitch, not the beginning of a shaking fit. That's not how it is, he said to himself. Shan was my friend, and I miss him, but he never needed me like this. I offered Ash my help, and now I have to follow through.

"Let it slide," he said at last. "All you have to do for the next couple hours is breathe. I'll stay here if you want, but, uh, your head's kind of on a bony place."

Ash hauled himself away. He lay down, pillowing his head on his arms. "I'll be okay. It's enough to know you're near."

"Guaranteed," Kieran said with a nod to the bars, getting the ghost of a smile for it. Released from the role of comforter -- and its attendant sneaking temptations -- he got up and started stretching out. "I'll try not to make too much noise."

"I don't care. Make noise. So if I fall asleep I'll still dream you're here."

So Kieran made a point of slapping his feet against the floor as he did some forms, feeling a bit of an idiot, but at the same time oddly glad. That puzzled him. It wasn't a good time to be glad. But there was an unfamiliar joy in being trusted so much, untrustworthy as he was. Either Ash was a singularly trusting soul, or his crush was based on something real. Kieran chose to believe the former. The latter would mean it was already too late to keep from wrecking what was left of Ash's life.