Vivian was wary of Cyril's house guest. For so long, he was not allowed in to see him, and when the day finally came that Cyril suggested he should pay the boy a visit in the room where he was sequestered with his injuries, Vivian hesitated. He was afraid of what he would see. He imagined someone mangled beyond repair, with a broken face that would inspire pity in him, if not outright revulsion. He didn't want to have to feel ashamed of himself for his own reaction to the boy. And what if this boy was the kind of person who moaned endlessly about his pain and misery when he was in it? Then Vivian would feel a surge of irritation towards him, and that irritation would make him feel worse because he knew he should be patient with people who were suffering. It was just that he found it so hard to be patient with people sometimes. So he hesitated.

"Come along, Viv," Uncle Cyril urged him. "I'm sure your company will do him some good. Someone his own age. He must be sick to death of seeing no one but old men like me." He looked into Vivian's eyes, taking note of the expression there. "Don't worry. He's not so badly off as all that. I've been keeping him by himself for so long primarily because of his nerves." Cyril smiled. "Which reminds me, try not to say anything startling."

"I wouldn't," Vivian protested.

"Of course not, of course," said Cyril gently. "And don't make any sudden moves."

"I know, Uncle Cyril."

"And please-- do try not to remind him of what happened to him."

"Let's just go," said Vivian quickly.

"By all means." Cyril bowed his head in acquiescence. "Let us go." He led the way up the stairs with a wry smile on his lips.

Vivian had found Earnest St. Clair to be in far better condition than he'd imagined. He couldn't get out of bed, could, in fact, move only a very little, and much of his body was covered with bandages, but his face looked well enough. He still bore a few healing wounds on his cheeks and forehead, and his thin nose, which must have been broken, listed slightly to one side, but on the whole, Vivian realized with surprise, Earnest's was something of a pretty face, pale and sharp featured, with two gray eyes staring at him startled.

"This is Vivian Meredith," said Cyril, a hand on Vivian's shoulder. "Vivian, Earnest St. Clair."

Earnest's wide eyes widened a little further at the sound of Vivian's name. Vivian didn't know why, however. Perhaps Cyril had been telling the boy about him? That did not explain, however, the expression of undisguised alarm he saw in those wide eyes. Then Vivian remembered what Cyril had said about Earnest's nerves and decided the boy must be easily alarmed, that was all. "Hello, Earnest," Vivian said, careful to keep his voice low and even. "It's nice to meet you." He glanced at Cyril, who he saw was regarding him with quiet approval.

"Hello," Earnest replied warily.

"Uncle Cyril said you, ah-- might like some company?"

"Oh," Earnest said, and he seemed to relax somewhat, the trepidation fading from his eyes, his upper body, which tension had elevated the slightest amount, probably as far as it was possible for Earnest to raise himself, falling back against against the mattress with relief. He was watching Cyril as though seeking cues from him. Cyril smiled in return, and Earnest said guardedly, "Company would be-- welcome."

"I'll leave you two for a while then, shall I?" Cyril nodded to Earnest. "Until it's time for your medicine. Viv, do come and fetch me if you or Earnest need anything."

"All right, Uncle Cyril." Vivian lowered himself into the chair at Earnest's bedside as Cyril departed. He looked at Earnest. Earnest looked at him. It was clear that neither of them knew what to say. Vivian decided that it was up to him, as someone who was not incapacitated in any way, to forge ahead. "It's a pleasure to meet you at last."

"It is?" Earnest asked, narrowing his eyes, genuine surprise in his voice as well as an edge of suspicious disbelief.

Vivian was startled. The reply was so unlike any he had received to such an innocuous pleasantry that he couldn't help but laugh, forgetting what Cyril had said about the boy's nerves. Somehow, it charmed him, such an unlikely response. Convention was not something he cared a great deal for, and it seemed the same was true of Earnest. That was good to know; chatting with conventional people was a task Vivian found particularly tiresome. "Yes, I think so! It seems to be thus far, anyway, though one can never really tell at first. Sometimes the most sublime pleasures can become misery, I suppose."

"That's very true," agreed Earnest, with vehemence. He seemed to be more puzzled than affronted by Vivian's laughter, for which Viv was glad. "I hate pleasure."

Vivian laughed again. He didn't know whether it was the drugs that made Earnest reply in such a fashion or something else-- whatever it was, Vivian found it amusing. "Hate it? You're an ascetic, then?"

Earnest said nothing for a moment, fixing him with a clever look. "What do you think?" He could not move, but something about his expression asked Vivian to take in the entirety of him, the state he was in. "Don't I look it?"

"Yes," said Vivian simply. "You rather do."

"There you are, then," said Earnest, with a trace of disdain, and Vivian determined to like him at once.

It was something of a relief for Vivian to have someone to talk to. Fran was so often away, and even when he was present, he seemed distant-- in some ways holding Vivian at arm's length. Vivian could understand this, considering what Fran had experienced, the extent of the abuse he had endured, but it was hurtful to have the one he loved push him away when in pain instead of pulling him nearer.

Viv's own family was not much better company lately. His father was preoccupied with money problems, and Uncle Cyril was often helping him with them or absorbed in some business of his own. His sister Vera, of course, had never been much of a companion to him, not to mention his mother, who didn't speak to anyone. The two of them, Vera and his mother, kept each other company, but usually no one else, both silent, kindred creatures. When Vera did speak to him, it was to say something irritating and high-handed. Even Kingsley, who usually followed him around prattling at him-- which behavior he pretended to be annoyed at, but really, he was so fond of her-- even Kingsley had abandoned him. She had been skulking about the house, moping quietly, for weeks. He had no idea what was wrong with her; probably something to do with growing older, which had a curious effect on everyone, he'd noticed, himself included.

Earnest, however, was a captive audience. Not that Vivian was glad for the pain the boy had suffered, which had reduced him to this state, but it was pleasant to have someone whom he could depend upon to be there, someone who listened to him. Earnest did listen, and not because he was forced to lie there as Vivian talked; he was, to all appearances, genuinely interested in Vivian's words, watching him closely as he spoke, making short replies when appropriate. Despite his abrupt and uncensored first words to Viv, he remained quiet most of the time. Viv soon learned that Earnest did not like to talk about himself, other than to briefly mention his thoughts of the moment or his opinions on an abstract matter. He said very little about his actual experiences. Vivian could understand that. He'd been lead to believe the other boy's experiences had, for the most part, been rotten ones. Surprisingly, it was only, when Vivian began to talk about his cat, Cat, that Earnest was inspired to reveal something personal about himself.

Vivian was known among his acquaintances and friends for a tendency to babble on concerning animals he had encountered. He had pleasant things to say about the meanest, most mangy mongrel. Even if it tried to snap at his hand, Vivian would have sharp words on the subject of the owner, who had so sorely abused such a patently fine dog. Where Cat was concerned, Vivian's tendency to ramble in this manner was completely overblown. Cat was his little tortoiseshell kitten, and he still thought of her as a kitten though her kittenhood was truly years behind her. He doted on her, and her least whim struck him as fair fodder for conversation. Most people who knew Vivian rolled their eyes good-naturedly when he began one of his talks on the subject of Cat, and Vivian knew he was being tiresome, knew his listeners were humoring him, but he could hardly help himself once he got started. Earnest, on the other hand, watched him quite intently as he began to speak about his pet.

So intently, that Vivian stopped in mid sentence while relating the tale a marvelous exploit Cat had masterminded in one of her attempts to slay Vera's myna bird, an exploit which had been sadly thwarted by Vera and a broom. "Is-- something wrong?"

"I have a cat," ventured Earnest.

"You do?" Vivian let his story rest unfinished. He was as willing to hear other people speak about their own pets as he was to speak about his own, and was furthermore pleased that Earnest had volunteered this information about himself. Yet at the same time, he wondered why Earnest seemed upset as these words came, painfully, almost unbidden, to his lips. "What's your cat like?"

"Her name is Buttons. I've had her since I was quite small. I-- forgot about her, though. Until just now." His gray eyes were clouded, lips pursed in a frown. The rest of the house was quiet. The servants seldom came near the guest room, unless summoned. It was Cyril who tended to Earnest for the most part, as he knew the servants, who were strangers to the boy, set him on edge. "I don't know how I could have forgotten."

"A lot has happened to you lately. It's no wonder."

Earnest shook his head, then winced a little, as he'd shaken it too roughly. "That's no excuse. I mean-- Father was always saying he would drown her. You don't think-- you don't think he would actually have done that, do you? When he realized he hadn't managed to kill me? It would be-- be my fault if she died. Because I forgot about her." His voice was not so harsh as it had been on that day Vivian had first come to visit him in his room. Vivian's openness, his friendliness, the stories of his life: these have served to wear away at that harshness.

The concern in Earnest's voice moved Viv, as did the plight of the cat who had been left behind. Anger was rising within him, anger at Earnest's father, a man he already hated by repute for what he had done to Earnest. That he had also threatened an innocent animal did nothing to soften Vivian's heart, but hardened it with resolve. He rose to his feet, knocking the chair by Earnest's bed to one side. "Your fault? How would it be your fault? He's the one to be held responsible, not you!"

Earnest stared at Vivian, giving a nervous laugh at the undisguised display of his anger, cowering slightly, or as much as he was able, his fear manifesting itself as a quaking through his limbs, his bandaged hands moving a little closer to his face, a shadow of the way Vivian imagined they must have flown up to protect his face when his father had tried to beat him to death. "Please, please-- don't be upset."

Vivian made himself calm down, forcing his angry voice into a soothing tone. The thought of Earnest afraid of him was unpleasant, to say the least. "No, no, I'm not upset with you at all. I'm upset with him."

"Don't be upset. It isn't worth it. I'm not worth it. Please." But Earnest grew calmer. His hands came to rest; the trembling stopped.

Vivian did not return to his seat, but he did not raise his voice in anger again. "What does Buttons look like?"

The question calmed Earnest further, and he was able to answer with only the faintest hint of distress in his voice. "Oh, she's rather small? But round. And white. With black splotches on her chest and tail. I thought they looked like buttons, when I was younger. They don't, really."

Vivian nodded gravely. "She sounds lovely."

"You don't think he would have-- I mean, who would--" Earnest broke off as he recalled that he was speaking about the man who had attempted to strike the life out of him with a fireplace poker. "She didn't do anything to offend him. She was only mine."

Viv, who had experienced true brutality only once in his life, and that at the hands of someone he barely knew, could not imagine what Earnest's life must have been like, raised by such a person. It must have been horrible. It was no wonder Earnest hesitated to trust anyone. Viv wished he could do something for him. He knew he couldn't change the past, but that didn't mean he was powerless. "I should-- I should really be getting home. It's almost dinner time."

Earnest accepted this announcement without question or censure, only watching Viv inscrutably as he normally did with those gray eyes. "All right." Thinking of cats as he was, Vivian realized that a cat was precisely what Earnest reminded him of. An oriental cat, with a thin, odd, sharply angular face and wide eyes, eyes that watched Vivian full of some feeling-- but a feeling almost inhuman: unreadable, feline. Yes, he was very like a cat. Contrary as a cat could be, and aloof-- and beneath his surface, frightened in the way only cats who have been badly injured can be. Or so Viv thought. Reading other people had never been something he was skilled in.

"I'll come back tomorrow, shall I?"

"If you like."

Despite what Vivian had told Earnest, he did not go home for dinner, instead seeking out Cyril at once, his steps guided by a purpose which was all at once clear to him. He found Cyril in his study, poring over some paperwork with a bored air. Cyril looked up at once, alert, eyes fixing on Vivian. "What is it? Is Earnest all right?"

"Uncle Cyril-- can you take me to Earnest's house? That is, your brother-- Earnest's father's house?"

Cyril regarded him with perplexity drawing a vertical line between his eyebrows, just above his nose. "Leigh's house? Why would you ever want to go there? It's one of those places which are better avoided, trust me."

"I know-- I'm sure it is. But Earnest's cat is there, and we have to go and get her."

The perplexed line between Cyril's eyebrows disappeared, replaced by a composed, if thoughtful, understanding. "I see." He was no stranger to Vivian's fondness for animals.

"Earnest said Leigh might drown her. And perhaps he already has, but we-- we have to see, don't we? We have to see, at least."

"Earnest has a cat? He hasn't mentioned it to me before."

"He forgot." Vivian felt he should defend Earnest's forgetfulness. "So much has happened to him, it's no wonder, really. But I started telling him about Cat, and that reminded him."

"Yes, I suspect it would," said Cyril, who had heard his share of stories about Cat. He put his paperwork to one side, folding his hands in his lap, patently pondering the situation. His reluctance to visit his brother was written across his face. "You think it imperative that we fetch this animal?"

"Yes, I do." Viv's tone was firm.

"I see." Cyril paused, his head falling a little to one side as he regarded his lover's son. This slender, dark-haired boy who could be as somber as he could be suddenly merry. He found, to his woe, that Percy's children as difficult to refuse as Percy himself was. "How about this? I will go alone while you wait here."

"That's a terrible idea. Animals don't like you, Uncle Cyril. Even if you find her, you'll never be able to coax her into coming with you."

Cyril reflected. That was true. It wasn't that he disliked animals, but he had no great liking for them, and they seemed to regard him with the same coolness. When Cyril and an animal were introduced to each other, the result was, without exception, mutual snubbing. "I'd rather not introduce you to Leigh, to tell you the truth. He is the worst of my brothers. It is not that I am ashamed to have him in my family-- any family might harbor a monster, as you well know-- but I'd rather you not have to deal with him, even for a moment. He is unpredictable, and while he can manage to be civil, I would hate for him to say or do something which might upset you." In truth, Cyril was more than a little concerned that Leigh might say something crude concerning his relationship with the boy's father. Vivian did not know that Cyril and his father Percy were lovers. He thought them no more than friends. Cyril would have thought that the boy would have figured the truth out by now, but he could be rather dense where such things were concerned.

"That's quite all right," said Vivian, with resolve. "I won't be upset. It's necessary. Who else can fetch her?"

Cyril nodded. "Who else indeed? You have me there." He gave a slight sigh, knowing that he had already acquiesced in his heart, that he might as well have already been in the carriage rattling away towards Leigh's home. "You must promise, however, not to tell your father about this affair. I don't know that he would necessarily disapprove, but it's better to be safe and not unsettle him."

"All right." Vivian nodded easily. Keeping a secret from his father was not something he balked at. He loved his father, but there was no need to tell him everything. "Can we go now, then?"

Cyril did not rise from his seat yet, still regarding Vivian. "You and Earnest have grown rather close, haven't you? I hadn't realized quite how much time you've been spending here, since you're always up in that room with him."

"Yes-- I suppose so." Vivian faltered slightly. "We do talk a great deal. Well, I talk and he listens, mainly."

"Earnest is a good listener," Cyril agreed. "Perhaps too good, I fear? Especially when he listens to the wrong person. But there's no danger of that with you." Cyril gave the boy a fond smile. "No, you are most assuredly the right sort of person for him to listen to." He rose, then, straightening his coat, pulling on his sleeves, smoothing down his hair. "Yes, we'll leave this minute. There's no sense putting it off." Ordinarily, he would have changed his clothes and otherwise perfected his appearance before paying someone a call, but this was Leigh. There was no need to try and make himself presentable for Leigh. Not all the toiletries and grooming and fine clothes would make him presentable in his youngest brother's eyes.

No, that wasn't strictly true. There had been one thing, hadn't there?

"How much further is it?" Vivian asked, interrupting his thoughts. His hands were pressed together between his knees, his shoulders sloping forward, face pallid above his black coat, all black and white like a drawing in ink on pale paper.

"Don't worry, Viv. He can't harm you." I'd kill him, Cyril added silently. I already long to kill him, but that would actually drive me to it.

"I'm not worried, I just--" Vivian drew in a quick sharp breath. "Yes, maybe I am worried." He was thinking about Earnest, lying crippled in Cyril's guest room. The fact that he was going to see the man who was responsible for Earnest's state set him on edge, prodded him with sharp needles of worry. He couldn't imagine himself in the position Earnest had found himself in at that man's hands. The closest he could come was remembering-- but thinking about things that had happened to him did no good, and he tried to push the shadows of his own memories from his mind. This outing had nothing to do with him. It was a rescue mission. "Just a little worried."

As though sensing the uneasy course Viv's thoughts were taking, Cyril rested a hand on his shoulder. "You're not within his power, so he can't touch you." He smiled, to reassure. Vivian was a little like Earnest in that he felt things very deeply and kept his old wounds close, not wanting to share them, brooding over them. "Our contact will be brief, I'm sure. Leigh can't stand talking to me any more than I can stand talking to him." Vivian nodded and turned to stare out the window of the carriage, which he continued to do for the rest of the journey.

The first thing Vivian noticed about Leigh Atwater's house was the oppression. A pall hung over everything. The air was quietly heavy yet charged, as though a thunderstorm were on its way. The servants who opened the door for them wore wary, closed faces like masks. They had stared bleakly at the prospective visitors as Cyril had given his name. At first, it had seemed that Vivian and Cyril would be refused entry, but Cyril, with a few fierce words concerning his lineage and the urgency of his call, swayed them, and they were led into the sitting room and deposited there to await Leigh. Neither Cyril nor Vivian sat, both of them on tenterhooks, not knowing when their wait would be over. Cyril stood with his arms folded over his chest, uncharacteristically grim faced and quiet, and Vivian, for his part, felt no desire to engage in conversation. He glanced around the sitting room on the off chance that he would spy a cat there, but no.

They were left waiting just long enough for their guard to drop slightly, so that Vivian started and Cyril looked up sharply when someone entered the room. It was a man of medium height and stocky build. An undeniably solid man, with none of Cyril's racing hound leanness, yet with something of Cyril in him nonetheless, a resemblance haunting his eyes, his nose, the curve of his lips, and the shape of his jaw. His eyes were a muddied green brown, his hair of a brown darkness, sprouting thick and wiry from his head, curly strands obviously unruly by nature, but curtailed to a severe shortness to keep them in check. He was in his shirtsleeves, the golden buttons of his vest strained a little over the magnitude of his chest. Viv felt uneasy, thinking of the physical strength someone of that build must have.

"What are you doing here?" the man asked without preface, his gaze focusing on Cyril.

"I appreciate the warm welcome. Have you really told your household staff that I'm to be denied entry to your home?"

"Yes." Leigh's voice-- for this must have been Leigh-- was deeper than Cyril's, a very deep, almost bottomless voice, but his intonation was similar to Cyril's in the way that people raised in the same household speak similarly, their speech patterns influenced by their shared parents, the voices they'd heard speaking to them when they were very small, from which they had learned to talk. "And someone's head will roll for having let you in."

Cyril held up a hand, the palm facing his brother. "Please. Let all involved keep their heads. I take full responsibility for my entry."

Leigh spoke as though he had not heard Cyril's words, turning to Vivian. "Who's this?" Vivian felt cowed by the man's scrutiny and shifted uncomfortably, lowering his eyes so as not to be obligated to meet Leigh's gaze. "This one's a little young even for you, isn't he, Cyril?" Leigh asked. Vivian blinked.

Cyril's eyes narrowed. "This is Vivian Meredith."

"I see." Leigh nodded, his expression slightly smug. "Meredith's son. So--"

Cyril knew what was coming next. He knew his brother that well. Leigh was about to say something along the lines of, So you've tired of the father and now you're fucking his whelp. Cyril could not allow this to be said, so he spoke quickly, loudly, cutting into Leigh's deep voice with his own higher, sharper voice like a knife. "Leigh, we've come for the cat!"

The unexpectedness of this exclamatory statement was thankfully enough to stop Leigh's sentence from being completed. His brow furrowed. He was younger than Cyril, yet his brow bore deeper furrows. "Cat? What cat?"

"Earnest St. Clair's cat."