He shivered violently as the video call cut out. He squirmed against his handcuffs and pushed his tongue against the gag in his mouth, but he couldn’t move any more than that.

It wasn’t ‘flu. But Goddess it felt like it.

It was withdrawal.

Laurence whimpered and swiveled his eyes up to Freddy.

Freddy reached around him to unfasten the gag, and tossed it aside. “Excellent performance, Laurence,” he muttered.

“You have no idea what you’ve done,” Laurence sobbed.

This wasn’t a future he’d thought to look for. Why would he have? He’d tried every method of breaking the news to Quentin but not once did he consider he wouldn’t be the one to do it.

His body shook. Sweat drenched his clothes until they glued to his body.

He just wanted to lie down.

A shot would make him better. Just one hit, then he could think straight.

He laughed weakly.

First time I’d be straight in my whole life.

The laughter just reminded him how much it hurt to breathe, to move, to exist, and he collapsed back against his cuffs, exhausted.

“Unfortunately, I am fully aware of what I have done,” Freddy rasped. He took a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed at Laurence’s forehead with it, then tucked it away again. “Be grateful I haven’t taken your amulet from you. I’m quite content to pretend that I don’t know what it’s for.”

Laurence took quick, shallow breaths. The pendant was a weight against his breastbone, hidden under his shirt, a constant protection against the magic of others. Without it he was vulnerable to spells from anywhere around the world, so long as the caster was able to target him.

“You gave Quentin’s blood to your dad,” he groaned. “Did you give him mine, too?”

“No.” Freddy heaved Laurence forward to unlock the cuffs. “Get up. We have to move.”

Laurence couldn’t refuse. His body did as it was told. He hunched over, trying to stave off the chills which wracked him, but it was no use. “Where are we?”

“It’s irrelevant. We aren’t staying.” Freddy hooked his arm around Laurence’s waist and took some of his weight. “One foot in front of the other. Let’s go.”

“Freddy, you could have killed him.” Laurence trembled as he walked. His whole face was sore. He felt like he had run out of tears. “If he’s blacked out, if he’s landed badly, if he’s hit his head on the way down… And what if he never comes out of it? Did you even think about that? Have you any idea?”

“I’m doing as I’m told,” Frederick hissed as he propelled Laurence out into a swimming pool.

No. No, not a pool. Just as wet as one, but they were still walking.

Rain, his brain managed to spit up.

It was so cold. So cold, and so wet.

“We’re still in England,” Laurence mumbled.

“Clever lad.”

Laurence doubled over and fell out of the rain. Leather pressed against his face, and soft cushioning caressed his body, so he curled up on it and closed his eyes.

One door slammed, and then another. An engine started.

Laurence’s comfortable bed moved.

“Why?” Laurence curled up until his knees were against his chest. “Why are you doing this to us?”

From somewhere behind him, Frederick sighed. “Go to sleep, Laurence. We have a way to go and I can’t be bothered to fend off your mess the entire time.”

Sleep sounded okay.

Smack sounded better.

* * *

Laurence stirred reluctantly. His bed was warm, comforting.

Not as warm as H.

Fuck, he hated this part of withdrawal. Every waking thought, every moment, was devoted to obsessing about scoring another hit. Even once the ‘flu-like symptoms passed, the non-stop thoughts remained.

He always sped through the ‘flu part pretty fast. It had to be his super-human healing. But the obsession? That wasn’t physical. His body couldn’t repair it.

So he was left with the repetitive, mind-consuming need for smack day-in, day-out.

No wonder junkies just went straight back to the needle. If nothing else, it made the constant stream of heroin, heroin, heroin go away for a while.

He screwed his eyes shut and tried to focus on something else, if only for a moment.

Are you okay?

It wasn’t words. He didn’t hear voices. But there was a sense, deep down, buried beneath all the desperation and need, that someone was concerned for his wellbeing.

“No,” he whimpered.

The sense shifted to deep concern.

What do I do?

Laurence bit down on his thumb until the pain chased away some of the constant chatter.

Someone wanted to help him, for fuck’s sake.

“I don’t know,” he whimpered. “Quentin… Quentin needs help…”

You need help. The feeling within him shifted to chiding. I will come.

“No,” he gasped.

The sensation was gone, though.

He was alone. And perhaps he always had been. Maybe he wasn’t even awake.

* * *

“Bambi?”

Laurence stirred.

The ache in his joints was gone. He seemed to have sweated out the rest of the physical symptoms if the wetness of his sheets was anything to go by.

Light spilled across the room and outlined a halo of bright red hair atop the silhouette which loomed over him.

Laurence recoiled and grabbed the sheets. He hissed.

“Great, you’re awake.” Mikey pulled a chair over and sat. “I’m guessing you don’t want to eat?”

Laurence forced himself to sit up and look around. “Bite me,” he snarled. “Where are we?”

“London.” Mikey pulled a tin from his pocket and tossed it onto the bed, without opening it this time.

There was no need. Laurence knew damn well what it was. He lashed out and flung it from the bed, and regretted it before the tin even hit the floor.

This was Mikey’s fault. All of it. Oh, sure, Freddy was the one who was fucking him over right now, but if Mikey hadn’t gotten Laurence hooked on smack to begin with this would be a thousand times more bearable.

There was a simple solution. A way to stop Mikey fucking offering him a shot every time he woke up.

Laurence flung the sheets aside and launched himself at Mikey, fingers seeking his throat. He pushed off against the mattress and dragged Mikey to the floor, legs wrapping around him so fast that by the time they both hit the carpet he was stuck to Mikey like a barnacle.

Mikey squealed in surprise and clutched at Laurence’s arms. “Bambi,” he wheezed.

Laurence snarled and shifted his hold. He looped one arm around Mikey’s chest and prepared to move the other. Once he was secure, he would be able to snap Mikey’s neck.

Except his body froze.

He howled like a caged animal even as his muscles began to relax of their own accord.

Mikey wriggled free and bounced away, huffing as he leaped to his feet.

Frederick stepped into the room, his features twisted in displeasure.

Mikey shot him a look of gratitude mingled in with another emotion.

Love.

Laurence gasped and sagged against the carpet. “Goddess,” he breathed. “You’ve gotta be shitting me.”

There was the truth. The connection he hadn’t been able to discern earlier. The undercurrent that ran between viscount and drug dealer. It was electric and invisible.

“Leverage,” he said as he banged his forehead against the carpet. “Oh, man. That’s what you meant, isn’t it? Your dad didn’t just threaten you. He threatened Mikey. And you two…” He couldn’t bring himself to say it.

The idea of Freddy loving anyone was like trying to jam a square peg through a round hole.

Laurence laughed weakly. “He threatened Mikey, didn’t he? That’s why you’re doing all this.”

Frederick pursed his lips, then picked up Mikey’s chair and settled it upright so that he could sit. He crossed his legs and held his head high. “I could make you forget that,” he mused. “But it seems so pointless. Yes, he threatened Michael. Not to kill him, no. That pleasure was reserved as a threat against myself alone. But he threatened to ruin him unless I did the same to you. So, you see, my options were limited.”

Laurence rolled onto his back and stared up at the ornately carved ceiling. The tin was so close he could smell it, so he stared fixedly at the chandelier instead. “Quentin’s going to kill you,” he rasped.

“I doubt it. Icky can’t even protect himself in a firefight. I really thought he’d pull his finger out, you know, but he just stood by and let Miss Torres kill him.” Freddy tutted. “Bloody idiot. I trusted him, and he let me down.”

Laurence swiveled his eyes toward Freddy. “You could’ve stopped Wilson,” he whispered.

“Not without revealing more about myself than I cared to. I misjudged Icky’s pacifism. That was my error, for which I can only apologize. I would apologize for this, too, but you wouldn’t accept it. And why should you?” Frederick shook his head and crinkled his nose. “No. I’m afraid breaking you was only part of Father’s orders.”

“Let me guess,” Laurence snapped. “You have to kill me.”

“Nothing so gauche.” Frederick quirked an eyebrow. “But I do have to break Icky’s will, I’m afraid.”

“Yeah, well I’m guessing you managed that one!” Laurence rolled onto his front, but it put him eye to lid with the damn tin. He ran his tongue along his teeth then bit the tip of it, but he couldn’t push himself up like he’d planned.

The tin held him as surely as any cuffs.

“It’s impossible to tell. He has yet to regain consciousness. I thought perhaps you might like to see him.”

Hope flared in Laurence’s chest. He managed to look up, then lever himself to his feet. “He’s here?”

Frederick inclined his head. “Don’t be silly. I’m not about to put myself in the same building as Icky. I wouldn’t even wish to be within the same time zone. I have absolutely no defense against him.” He flicked a finger toward Mikey. “But Michael will take you to him.”

Laurence narrowed his eyes and flexed his fingers. He could think of ten different ways to kill Freddy right here, right now, but he wouldn’t be able to make a single one of them happen. Freddy could freeze him in place in a split second.

Which meant he’d allowed Laurence to come close to hurting Mikey. Either to let him feel like he had some power here, or because it amused him.

“Why?” Laurence bared his teeth. “Why would you let me near him?”

“That should be obvious. I won’t allow him to harm Michael, and he won’t wish to harm you. You can evaluate his mental state, and then we’ll know how much further there is to go.”

The logic, the sheer heartlessness of it made Laurence’s blood run cold.

“Well?” Frederick stood and met Laurence’s eye. “Do you want to see him, or do you want to stay here?”

Laurence licked his lips as he struggled to think.

Run.

Go get high.

Get out of here. Take the tin and go. Just go. The door’s right there. You’ll feel so much better. All of this will go away, you’ll be able to think clearly. You can get high and then you’ll be able to make a plan. Just run now, go, and then you can fix this.

Just shoot up and you can fix all of it.

His hands shook with the effort of answering a simple fucking question, and he sat heavily on the edge of the bed.

“I want to see him,” he whimpered.

Goddess forgive him, he needed to see Quentin.