FIC: That Middle Road (9/?)

[nilchance]

Title: That Middle Road (9/?)
Author: nilchance
Pairing: Misha Collins/Jeremy Sisto
Rating: Adult
Disclaimer: This isn't real.
A/N: Set in poisontaster's A Kept Boy 'verse.
ETA 8/27/09: This story deals with mental illness, specifically bipolar disorder, and with slavery as used in the AKB 'verse. There's also mention of child abuse, suicide, institutionalization and self-harm.



After months of the ventilator and the monitor, Jeremy's bedroom is eerily quiet. Misha can hear every creak of the house settling around them, every breath that Jeremy takes. He's no easy sleeper, twitching and struggling, mumbling into Misha's shoulders, but the sling of his heavy arm never strays. It reminds Misha too much of their crowded bed in Massachusetts, Sasha's little body sweating and kicking him, his mother cradling both of them in her skinny arm and her long leg like someone was coming to take them.

She was right about that, in the end. Misha tries not to think about it much.

Instead he thinks about the clues that he's been given to this current puzzle: the pills, Marisa's absence, the story Jeremy whispered to him about institutionalization and suicide. Too many secrets. Depression, maybe, some kind of mood disorder. Jeremy doesn't seem like the schizophrenia type. Maybe it should trouble Misha that his new master is bugfuck crazy, but hell, Vincent wasn't a statesman for sanity himself.

(A stab of pain deep in his chest like a heart attack, a gasping panicky grief because Vincent is gone-- he won't think about it, he won't go back there again.)

But it's a comfort to have Jeremy curled tight against his back, the rhythm of his breathing a way to set pace for Misha's own. He is physical in a way that Vincent never was, all heat and motion, and Misha feels embarrassingly aware of him. Of Jeremy's bare skin, the dark hair on his arms, the prayer beads of his knuckles and his wristbone, the single simple band of copper on his left ring finger. Of his restless sleep and the almost-words that he mumbles in his rough dark voice.

You know you don't have to have sex with me, right?

No, Misha hadn't known that. Why would he, when most owners would demand that he be ready for use right after the funeral? What naive world was Jeremy living in, that he'd think Misha would expect to be treated like a person instead of a slave? Especially given that in-- Misha glances at the electric red numbers of the alarm clock-- three hours, they'd be meeting Lord Burton to decide Misha's fate like an armchair or an abandoned pet cat.

Ha, deciding. Right. Misha's going to change hands again. He's not sure why Jeremy tried to hold out this long, aside from liberal guilt. But Lord Burton will push and keep pushing, shaking Jeremy down like a dog with a bone, and that'll be it.

It's not that Misha doesn't trust Lord Burton will look out for him; Tim loves (loved, damn) Vincent with a kind of awed devotion and will protect Misha like a souvenir, but... but the idea of travelling the roads of the Empire in a caravan of trailers with twenty-some people makes Misha's head ache. Too much driving, for one thing. And how many would know ASL? And who would take care of Jeremy until his Marisa comes back? If she comes back? There are plenty of people keeping Tim and his wife off of the railings of bridges.

He can't control any of this, a futile frustration squeezing Misha like God's fist. There'll be no sleeping around it, no quieting his mind with slow steady breaths.

Wait, Vincent whispers in his mind, watch.

Three hours.

He lingers awake, a referee for Jeremy's fights in his sleep. No surprise when Jeremy wakes before the alarm, easing away from Misha with a caution that makes Misha uncharitably want to laugh. Jeremy pads across the bedroom to turn off the alarm and disappear into the master bathroom. Vincent would always be very careful to maintain his own privacy, even with Misha attached to his hip and helping him into his pants every morning; Jeremy leaves the bathroom door wide open, sparing nothing.

Intimate as lovers.

Jeremy doesn't want him. Is that loyalty to Wendy and Zach? No, Misha would imagine they'd be living together and caring for the child if it was an exclusive arrangement. So then what did that say about Misha, that he'd been found unworthy to do the only thing a bodyslave is good for?

Hell, it's as if he wishes that Jeremy used him. Raped him, if one ignored the polite vocabulary surrounding slavery. It's no compliment to be somebody's convenient hole. But he's not even... he's never going to be touched except as some kind of eunuch. A breathing body pillow. A hairless cat.

Vincent never used him, not even once, but Misha isn't blind; he's seen enough of the glittering upper class world to understand that sex is a high form of currency. People sell themselves, kill or die for their lovers, and it's always been an intellectual curiosity that Misha can't understand. A field of study that's not his own. His mother explained hormones over Misha's first sticky set of sheets, of course, but she'd seemed obliquely embarrassed (for all her liberal views) and he'd avoided lingering on the subject. He could have asked Vincent for permission to masturbate or to find friendly company, but honestly, how mortifying.

But Jeremy doesn't want him. Lord Burton has a wife and two bodyslaves to take care of those needs. Whichever way this goes, Misha will never quite understand except for one small taste: Jeremy's hand on his throat, Jeremy's eyes searching his eyes, the tug of desire deep in his belly.

Whichever way this goes, he'll be alone.

The shower starts. Misha stays very still, memorizing every sound and scent, the whisper of detergent and perfume that must be Marisa's. If he doesn't move, no one can make him go. Childish games that he's outgrown by now, but he still holds his breath and closes his eyes like he's still counting the seconds between lightning and thunder, waiting for the crash.

****

Here they are, deciding Misha's fate, and the destination is as ignoble as possible: a trailer park. Early morning, dawn's pink light slanting over the horizon, is made ugly by the bark of dogs and the low-down smell of the sanitary pump.

It seems Jeremy is prepared for war, judging from his expression and the leather binder tucked against his body, and he's knocked back when Helena answers the door in a bathrobe.

Misha knows Helena and he should've been expecting that kind of volley. She runs with scissors.

"Morning, love," she chirps, running a hand through her messy dark hair. The bathrobe gapes, baring a long stripe of her naked torso; to Jeremy's credit, his eyes dart hastily away to give her some privacy. Is he guarding Helena's dignity, or is he thinking of his Marisa? Misha doesn't know him well enough to guess, although Jeremy has no trouble eyeing up Wendy.

Helena smirks, half-lidded, and steps back to wave them in. Jeremy turns to help Misha up the steps into the trailer, his cool fingers wrapping around Misha's arm to steady him. Misha can feel that touch even through his jacket.

The deck is stacked against them from the start, because the trailer's breakfast nook is already occupied by Lord Burton and his bodyslave, the red-headed sour man with his long pianist fingers. Danny, Misha thinks with chagrin, too familiar with the sharp edge of his tongue. And Helena's bodyslave Johnny is at the trailer's small coffeemaker, smoking his cigarillos out the window. The branded side of Johnny's face, the circular burn left by an irate master's cigar, is turned away from the door. It's epic staging on someone's part, calculated to throw Jeremy off.

Wonderful, Misha thinks, in a moment they're going to break into 'Ecstasy of Gold' like a spaghetti western.

Despite that momentary lapse by the door, Jeremy doesn't flinch. His jaw is set in a stubborn line as he smiles. "Lord Burton. Lady Bonham-Carter. Good morning."

Tim nods absently, his attention focused past Jeremy and onto Misha. It takes Misha a naive moment to realize that Tim's looking for bruises. Damages. Tim is a scarecrow of a man, but Misha thinks that the results will be frightening if Tim decides that Jeremy hurt him. So, gently removing his arm from Jeremy's grip, Misha signs, Is this a meeting or an ambush?

Tim blinks, a sign of understanding, and smiles shyly at the table.

Beside him, Danny gives his caustic laugh. "Cut out your tongue and you've still got your wits." His elegant hands, held low, shape out: Is your master as smart as you are?

"He likes to think so," Jeremy drawls. "Is yours?"

Danny looks down with false modesty, his smile showing teeth; Misha can see him glance quickly at Tim for information. Tim meets his eyes and shakes his head, then turns to Helena. "You wanna, y'know..."

"Put some clothes on?" she finishes for him, and sighs. "Danny, try not to be an utter bitch until I get back."

Danny mimes zipping his mouth shut, which could be called an unfortunate choice of gesture if one didn't know Danny. Knowing him, Misha calls it a deliberate choice of gestures. But Danny meets Misha's eyes steadily, more respect than Misha's had since... well. Since before the car crash. Even Jeremy seems to see Misha as more victimized slave than intelligent equal.

He misses his voice now. He misses his words, all the books he's read and the lessons he's learned lost in translation.

Funny, Misha signs. You fucker. I'm dumb, not stupid, isn't that the phrase?

Danny cracks a smile and signs back, I don't think there is a phrase.

I'll make one, then.

I imagine you will, Danny answers, and rises from the booth. How he manages to scoot gracefully is beyond Misha, particularly given the plastic sheen of his prosthetic left leg just hinted between the hem of his jeans and the beginning of his battered running shoes. With all the aplomb of a maitre de, he gestures Jeremy towards the vacant chair. "Master Sisto."

Where Jeremy was all quick rambling words and amiable distraction before is gone, replaced by thoughtful quiet. After a moment, Jeremy sets his folder on the table and holds his hands palms out. 'Trust me,' the gesture says, subtle manipulation that Misha would've thought beyond Jeremy's ken. "I'd like to skip coffee and begin, if it's good by you."

Tim studies Jeremy for an awkward moment, though Tim is often immune to awkwardness that would make anyone else flinch. Then he cracks a smile. "I need coffee to operate, but yeah." Glancing at Johnny's back (tense with how hard he's listening to the proceedings) and Danny's face, Tim seems to soften a little with familiar fondness. "Give us the room, guys, please."

Danny hesitates, absently reaching back with one hand to grasp Johnny's waistband. Johnny swats at him and, without losing a beat, turns to hand Tim a fresh cup of coffee. His fingers linger on Tim's hand. A signal?

"No," Jeremy says, so suddenly that even Misha jumps. "No. They can stay."

Tim tilts his head. Asks bluntly, "Why?"

Jeremy smiles. "Only fair, since I think Misha should be here. We're deciding his fate."

Misha tries not to whip a look at Jeremy, but it's a near thing.

Tim blinks again, pursing his lips in that thin way that says he's thinking hard, then nods. "Fair," he echoes. "Huh. Thought you were a, y'know, an accountant."

"I contain multitudes," Jeremy quips, dropping into the offered booth. There's a strip of seat left, and Jeremy nods Misha into it.

It's a sign of the meeting to come, depending on which side Misha chooses. Either choice has its consequences; he knows Burton to some extent, but does he trust him not to retaliate? He can't. And Jeremy...

Jeremy will fight, but Jeremy will lose.

Faltering on his bad knee, Misha winces his way down to a kneeling position on the floor between them. How he's going to get back up is another issue entirely.

Jeremy doesn't say anything, but he meets Misha's eyes. Something passes between them, something like recognition. It's as if Jeremy's looking to Misha for a reminder. For strength. Then it's gone. Jeremy steeples his long long fingers together, looking at Burton again. Steepled fingers, Misha thinks, a sign of confidence. He hopes it is, anyway.

Damn. He's really hoping for Jeremy to win, a dangerous germ of hope that could slither around to bite him if Jeremy loses.

"I'm sorry for your loss," Jeremy says, catching Tim off guard like an unfriendly shove in a crowd. In the reflection of the trailer window, Misha sees Johnny and Danny both wince. "Vincent was a good man."

"You didn't know him." Tim lifts the coffee, glaring at it instead of Jeremy. Not an auspicious start. "You took his bodyslave while he was dying. Not exactly respect."

"I saved Misha from being sold off into those meatgrinders Commerce calls a retirement option."

"There's a note in Vincent's will that says the kids couldn't do that."

"In case of Vincent's death. The heart monitor was still going. By the funeral, Misha would be off hauling uranium and you'd never find him."

Beneath the table, Tim's foot is jittering. Jeremy is steady as a knifethrower's hand.

"The heart monitor," Tim echoes, grief raw under his flat voice. When Johnny starts to move towards him, to try comfort, Tim twitches back to life and waves Johnny off. "I'm fine. M'fine. Um. Give me a sec."

"Sorry," Jeremy murmurs after a moment. If Misha didn't know about Marisa, he'd have trouble believing him.

Tim shoots him a look, then sighs and takes a long swig of coffee. When he speaks again, he's his normal blunt self. "Why do you care? How'd you get into this?"

"I knew Vincent. I--"

"Yeah, yeah." Tim waves a hand, nearly sloshing his coffee onto their laps. "No. Don't you have your own bodyslave?"

Misha's heart lurches stupidly. He puts a hand up to still it; out of the corner of his vision, he sees Danny turn to watch him through narrowed eyes.

"I do," Jeremy says after too long of a pause. "She's sick. I needed a temporary replacement. I found him. He needed..."

"Saving?" Helena slams the trailer's sliding privacy wall into its hiding place with a bang, nearly pulling it off its tracks. She's replaced that dressing gown for sleek black traveling pants and what looks like Tim's half-buttoned shirt. "I think you underestimate Misha."

"I think you weren't there," Jeremy says, his eyes on Helena so he doesn't see Tim wince like the words are an arrow to his heart.

"Mm." Helena settles one hand on Tim's shoulder, reaching past him to get a cigarette that Johnny lights for her. "And you were. I see. However, we all have spent more time around Vincent than you, and therefore around Misha. You didn't know him well before he lost his voice, and you don't understand. Misha is more clever than you think."

"I know he's clever." Jeremy rests his hands on the folder. He's more unsettled than he seems. His eyes flick to Misha and then away again. "I think he's fucking brilliant. But that's not the point--"

"It is the point. It's exactly the point." Gesturing with her cigarette, Helena says fiercely, "He's our kind, not yours."

Raising his eyebrows, Jeremy asks, "And what kind is that?"

Helena snaps her fingers in fast succession, punctuating her words. "Tricky. Quick. Angry. Too smart, too observant, too defiant. You want to waste him on parties and your bedroom duties--"

"You don't know what I want."

Helena stops, and the quiet falls heavily. Her smile is wicked. "So enlighten me, darling."

Jeremy looks at her, eyes hooded, then deliberately picks up the leather binder and tosses it over one shoulder. It hits the wall hard enough to rival Helena's entrance. "I spent last night on the phone with my lawyer and my Agent, coming up with strategies for this, but... fuck it. I think Misha should decide."

What?

It's been years since someone surprised Misha; he feels it unfurl slow in his chest like origami, and he smiles before he can duck his head to hide it. Ah, bless Jeremy, and Jeremy's good heart. Bless him for trying.

Helena blinks. Tim spins his coffee between his hands, studying whatever he sees in his creamer.

"You know." Holding his hands up, Jeremy smiles. "He's clever. And it's his future, not mine. Not any of ours."

"Grand theatre," Helena snarks, but her expression is thoughtful.

Jeremy shrugs, leaning back against the booth. His body language speaks of relaxation, but Misha can see the taut lines of his thighs under the table, and the jitter of his left foot. "Check the binder. All the prep is there."

"Sudden change of heart," Helena says, moving a little towards the binder like she intends to read through it.

Jeremy doesn't look like he's bluffing, but Misha realizes that he's holding his breath until Tim holds out his arm and blocks Helena mid-step. They exchange a look, and Helena huffs out a breath before sinking back on her heels. Letting his arm drop, Tim says, "What if he doesn't choose you?"

Another shrug, more stiff this time. It's not of their business, that shrug says, and fuck you for asking. "I'll go."

"Hm." Tim squints, staring at Jeremy; there's more than a little of Vincent in his expression, and it hurts Misha's heart. "If he doesn't choose you, will you get another bodyslave?"

Jeremy doesn't move, but his expression draws thin. He looks years older, like sitting here and bargaining is costing him by the minute.

There's no good answer to that; yes and Tim starts a legal battle, no and Jeremy agrees to be a hermit until Marisa recovers-- and Misha can't help thinking of the bridge where Jeremy almost died. Of the pills and the hospital. It's as good as putting him back on that bridge and pushing.

Misha would yelp 'bad form' if he could, but his hands fly up. Not fair, he signs emphatically, realizes he doesn't have anybody's attention, and smacks both hands down on the table. Bodyslaves are required in the circles he's in, you know that, and you can't ask him to quit his job and lock himself in the basement until his girl recovers. That's bullshit.

All of them stare at Misha like he'd sprouted a third eye. Jeremy is frowning; Helena called it right, Jeremy didn't know who Misha really is. But he's about to find out.

Let me choose, Misha signs, and stops just shy of using Tim's given name. They're master and slave, despite Tim's guilt and aspirations. I know my own mind.

Tim softens at once, and jerkily covers Misha's hand with his own. It's a fleeting touch, Tim flinching like a half-tamed animal even if he's the one to initiate contact. It took Vincent years to gain that much ground. "Fuck, of course you-- of course. 'M sorry. I just..."

Just thought like a master. No, that's uncharitable; Tim thought like he'd thought about Vincent, a silent vegetable who needed outside help to mop up his piss.

It's all right, Misha soothes, and cranes (painfully) to look at Helena. Is that agreeable to you, Lady?

Helena is watching him, eyes half-lidded and mouth drawn. She wants him for something, for her own crusade; she's seeing her weapon slip away from her hands. But she knows that he's won Tim. Is she willing to fight her husband and Vincent's memory?

"Yes," Helena says finally. "I agree. He's all yours."

It's like a cat's cradle, a handful of delicate strings wound around his weaving fingers. One slip and it unravels but god, the patterns are beautiful. He has Tim and so that thread pulls in Helena. It's only Jeremy now, Jeremy who surprised him.

"Okay," Jeremy says, exhaling the word and giving them a creaky smile. "Okay. Misha?"

Yes, he wants to yell, idiot. Instead he signs, I'd like to go with you.

It takes Jeremy a moment to thaw from expectant, polite blankness; when Misha says yes, he sees that ice crack and expose the darkness within. Jeremy didn't expect to win, and he knew where he'd go without a bodyslave to hold him up. Like this, dressed up and stubborn and fornal, he doesn't look sick. He doesn't look like a man who was hospitalized or who nearly took his own life. But he is.

Please help me up, Misha adds, mostly to occupy the silence.

"Oh, Jesus, sorry!" Jeremy jerks into motion like a dusty automaton, his hands hovering for a second before taking hold of Misha's extended wrists. The touch sears up Misha's spine, reminding his body that it's made of nerves. "Sorry. Here. Come sit by me."

It hurts to stand, Misha's knee nearly buckling beneath him; he falls into the seat against Jeremy's side and feels the heat of him under his rumpled clothes. So narrow despite his broad shoulders, underfed and sleep deprived and sloppy, warm and alive. Feel me, feel my body, Misha thinks a little pettily, you feel what you're missing.

Hesitantly, Jeremy puts an arm across the back of the seat. Misha smiles to himself and feels Helena, watching.

***

As they're leaving, Tim giving Jeremy a handshake and the legal papers that are his claim to Misha, Helena corners Misha against the stove. She smells like cigarettes and desert water, her skin tinged with the metal of the trailer. "Why?" she husks, "why him?"

Misha doesn't shy away from the intensity of her stare. Signs, he needs me. You don't.

Helena makes a dismissive sound and turns away. She's hurt, for all her vinegar and her Eartha Kitt imitation. Without looking at Misha, she says, "He's no altruist. You are his selfish charity. I... I had great plans."

Great plans, Misha's had. He's too ready for the small plans now. He would tell her, but she won't see his hands. Instead he takes Jeremy's help down the stairs, and he goes.

Comments

[wyoluvr.livejournal.com]

YAY! i can't tell you how happy it makes me to see more of the world on my friend's list when i wake up.

[nilchance.livejournal.com]

Aww, yay! ;) Thank you.

[rivers-bend.livejournal.com]

I love all the undercurrents in this! And the straight-up plot of it, of the horrible image of negotiation of a person's life, the twists you gave it.

And Helena's plans are so sinister-sounding. I cannot help but see Bellatrix in her words there.

[nilchance.livejournal.com]

Helena is crafty, I think, and her ideals definitely outweigh her situational ethics. Yes. She's a bit dangerous to know.

Thank you!

[trishabooms.livejournal.com]

A wise choice Misha, clan Burton in way too flaky.

[nilchance.livejournal.com]

*laughs* Well YES. I think it's Tim's innate flakiness.

Thank you!

[cha.livejournal.com]

it makes me happy :)

[nilchance.livejournal.com]

N'aww, I'm glad! Thank you.

[veritas-st.livejournal.com]

I just read all 9 chapters of this and I am completely capitvated.

Outstanding work and I cant wait for more.

xx

[nilchance.livejournal.com]

Thank you so much!

[dragondie.livejournal.com]

It's nice to see how sharp Misha can be now that he's started to really wake up. The terrible situation that Misha has been in in regards to sex also really comes through. The toss up between rape and never being touched at all even by yourself is a real mindfuck.

[brknhalo241.livejournal.com]

I had read the one shot but didn't know there was a series until poisontaster mentioned it. Read the whole thing in one shot and it's wonderful. I love the complexity of the relationship and seeing how they are both making small changes in the presence of each other. Friending you so I can keep aware of updates...have to see where this goes!!

[bathsweaver.livejournal.com]

Oh, thank you. Loved this, Jeremy's planning and Tim and Helena' staging, everyone fighting for Misha, for their idea of what's best for him, and then Misha turning it around and demanding his own choice. <3

Especial love for Tim and Helena with their sneakiness and tricks--setting the scene and laying traps in every corner. <333

[embroiderama]

Man, I loved the look at a different part of the Master-level society--the seriously kooky people. And oh Misha. I just love this chapter so much.

[hederahelix.livejournal.com]

I had an unspeakably crappy day.

This really, really brightened it.

I adore all the complex interactions among these folks.

[lomer.livejournal.com]

Wonderful story!

[graceandfire.livejournal.com]

I just love, love, love the way you portray Misha. He's just so...snarky in a dry way, and he's so smart and practical and bossy and tired and just...love.

And the relationship building between Jeremy and Misha is just lovely and funny and sweet and fascinating to watch unfold.

And the scene with Burton and his circus? Too awesome for words to properly describe.

[spiderweb-wine.livejournal.com]

(here following Poisontaster's rec) Beautiful. I really like "He would tell her but she won't see his hands." Misha's silence creates spaces in the narrative, and it's different. Different is good!

Thanks for a good read. :)

[cookiemom6067.livejournal.com]

You're really fulfilling a desire I had to know more about the Jeremy/Marisa/Misha/Wendy/Zach subplot of AKB. Thanks so much for writing it, and I hope it stays somewhat in sync with the other story arc. I'm so happy to see regular updates of both this story and Poisontaster's.

Wonderful writing and characterization; I like the subtle details that you incorporate into your writing. Very enjoyable.

Poor Misha - he and Jeremy need each other, for more than caretaking. I hope Jeremy doesn't have the same difficulty coming to an understanding with Misha as Jeff did with Jensen. It is a very tricky part of this entire universe - the technical inability of a body slave to give consent, regardless of his or her actual feelings. Here, we have Jensen and Misha both feeling desires for their masters. Jensen's finally gotten his wish, and I hope the same for Misha. Sounds like it's been DECADES since he's had any sort of sexual fulfillment, and that's sad!!!!

[angiepen.livejournal.com]

Excellent. I figured Misha would end up with Jeremy, but this is well enough written that I was tense anyway through the last few chunks. :)

Angie

[paleogymnast.livejournal.com]

This is my favorite part of this story yet (and one of my favorite installments in AKB by any author)--it's so revealing and intriguing. Looking back over the course of this arc, you've shown Misha recovering, healing, changing, and becoming the new person he's going to be... early on he was as Jeremy assumed him to be--a bit victimized, a lot lost--but now, now he's waking up and finding his own voice for the first time since we've met him and it is so intricate and complex, I really, really want to know more about him and his history, and at the same time I feel so strongly for him fearing a life alone, untouched, unloved, without sex... so painful, but it makes his character so viscerally appealing. Thank you for this!! I am looking forward to reading more. :)

ETA: Also, I am completely fascinated thinking of "Danny" and "Johnny" as body slaves for Lord Burton and Helena Bonham Carter... it adds a degree of twisted reality to this 'verse that is brilliant.

That middle road

[argentine65.livejournal.com]

All the scene was so good: first, Misha thinking about his previous life and not having sex and his troubled "master" with his hospitalization, his pills and his almost suicide. Then the Burtons, so well defined and ready to fight (she has plans???, I wonder)And then Jeremy asking to let Misha decide. Wonderful. Thank you for sharing. Martha

[liselisa.livejournal.com]

I really like the way that you (and poisontaster) are dealing with the issues of agency and consent within this system.

I think that Jeremy's really got the jump on Jeff (and Tim) here, trusting that Misha is the best judge of his own needs and desires, and how they can be fulfilled. It's an interesting situation, since Jeremy seems to be the least guilt-ridden about his relationship with slavery, that Jeff and Tim feel the responsibility (and the right) to take control of the situation and manipulate it to what they think is best for everyone involved. They don't seem to realize that they're denying Jensen and Misha agency in their efforts to protect them from being exploited, like they can't really tell the difference between lack of capability and lack of opportunities to use it. Kudos to Misha for standing up for himself int hat regard.

Okay, my feedback has turned into meta, but the main point is that I'm really enjoying this, on a lot of levels.

[nola-nola.livejournal.com]

Thanks so much for this!

[niccy07.livejournal.com]

Whoohoo! Misha got a choice!

[tigbit.livejournal.com]

Awesome chapter. Eee! Man, I'm so in love.

Childish games that he's outgrown by now, but he still holds his breath and closes his eyes like he's still counting the seconds between lightning and thunder, waiting for the crash.

I sort of want to marry this line and have its little word babies. UNF. So well placed at the end of that section, such a great way to move into the confrontation with Burton. That's exactly how I felt too -- definitely a breath-holding, nervous anticipation.

And I'm so, so happy you wrote out the whole bit with Burton. Incredibly fascinating and I know it was probably a bitch to work out, but it's so well done and important to see everyone's motivations.

Thanks so much for writing! This is an amazing story. Yay! :D

[elizaria.livejournal.com]

This chapter was wonderful.

And I desperately loved that last line about small plans. I could love these characters I think.

[fufaraw]

I am caught and bemused by this verse, by Jeremy and his friends and his life, and by Misha and his internal monologue, and his outward communication. I love how you draw them. How you reveal them, a mannerism, an unspoken thought, a reckless reaction at a time, and the ripples, large and small, those actions have on others. It's lovely, even when its sharp and cold and ugly, and I'm privileged to visit whenever you post an update.

So thank you.

[vofpracticality.livejournal.com]

It is so nice to see Misha standing up (figuratively speaking of course) for himself.

[superstitiousme.livejournal.com]

I'm hopelessly addicted and in love with this story. can't wait for more. Thank you for sharing your work! <3

TMR 9

[auroramama]

I love that the scary people here, the masters Misha doesn't want to go with, aren't scary because they're trying to do harm. Wonderful complexity, and Misha's thoughts and signs are hypnotic.

[lady-roma.livejournal.com]

Yay, Misha! way to stand up for yourself and remind everyone that you are more than a slave, you are a human being who knows what he wants! Kudos to the "masters" who are willing to listen and abide by those wishes! Well done!