Chapter 3 -- Unguarded Moments

When Ian left the sitting-room, he was not entirely surprised to find Cailean waiting for him just outside. She was standing in their normal posture, hands behind back, head bowed. She fell in next to Ian as he walked past without a word, following him to the room that had been set aside for her.

Cailean suddenly realized that he was limping. How badly did I hurt you?

Ian's mental voice was teasing. Probably not as badly as I hurt you, little one.

Cailean allowed herself a faint smile at this and followed him into the guest-room. She smiled again as she saw that a thoughtful servant had laid a first-aid kit on the bed-side table. She touched Ian's shoulder and nodded towards it.

"When the titans clash..."

"The heavens tremble." Ian smiled at her and opened the box, looking through the contents.

"Like old times." Cailean smiled and handed him an ice-pack.

How's your chest, Ian?

Painful. You bruised a rib.

Only one?

Ian glared at her and started to pull his shirt off, wincing. "Ah..." he groaned, stopping.

"Here, let me help you." Cailean stepped forward and gently helped Ian out of the shirt, frowning when it seemed to catch for no reason. She glanced around his broad shoulders, frowning.

Oh, Ian... she projected, tears springing to her eyes at the sight of a relatively fresh set of lash marks. More than one of the wounds had reopened during their fight. You should have told me.

If I had, you would have held back. He would have punished you. I've grown accustomed to his abuse, but I'm sick of standing by while he hurts you. 

Cailean stared at him with wide eyes. She blinked rapidly to fight back the tears that threatened. "Sit on the bed." She picked up a tube of antibiotic lotion. "Let me take care of this."

"Like old times..."

Ian sat on the edge of the bed, waiting patiently as Cailean vanished into the bathroom, returning several minutes later with a basin of warm, soapy water and several clean cloths. She would take care of his injuries and then he would take care of hers. Like old times.

Cailean sat behind him and began gently bathing the wounds, skillfully washing away the dried and caked blood. "Some of these are infected, Ian..." she remarked quietly as she worked, tenderly running her fingers over the swollen and discolored gashes, disgusted by this brutal assertion of their Master's dominance. It had nothing to do with the infractions themselves. Irons was only reminding Ian who was in control. "You'll want to take something for that."

Ian smiled, grateful for her quiet compassion. Most men would have been ashamed by the marks, by the fact that another controlled him so completely that he could be lashed with impunity. Ian was not ashamed. The lash-marks were simply another of the facts of his life.

As she patted the freshly cleaned wounds dry, she noticed something else. There were two different sets of fresh lash-marks here, both less than two weeks old. There was no point in asking who had ordered him beaten, or even in asking who had wielded the whip. The answer to both was the same. Irons. She asked the only question that mattered.

Why, Ian?

Twice I disobeyed him. Ian sighed as she began applying the cream.

Cailean frowned, angry, as she gently dabbed the cream onto his back. Applying the lash a second time, before the wounds from the previous application were fully healed, was not discipline. It was torture. Cailean shook her head in disgust. Honest discipline had never troubled her, but Irons was growing increasingly capricious with Ian. His behavior towards Ian was beginning to mirror many of his previous behaviors towards Cailean herself, and that horrified her for his sake.

Cailean sighed heavily. I wish you had told me, Ian.

You would have held back.

Ian... Cailean sighed deeply. "Here, let's look at your other injuries now."

"What of your own?"

"They can wait. They aren't pressing." Cailean smiled at him reassuringly, reinforcing the assurance mentally.

Ian nodded and allowed her to tend his other injuries. Cailean and Ian had always taken care of each other, physically as well as mentally. Patching each other's wounds was comforting, and as comfortable and familiar as the conversation that they were secretly carrying on.

You have such gentle hands. Thank you, Cailean.

As Cailean probed the extent of his injuries, Ian experienced a fleeting wish that the gentle hands against his chest could have belonged to another woman entirely. An image of Sara gently caressing his chest, with no interest whatsoever in his injuries, sprang to mind, bringing with it a confused flurry of emotions. He pushed the thought aside as quickly as it had sprung into his mind, troubled by it.

Cailean stared up at him curiously, confused by his emotion. Ian?

Forgive me, Cailean. Ian bowed his head, avoiding her eye. He had no idea where the images had come from. Such a lapse had never occurred before, and it startled and confused him. Besides, he had no right to show her such images after all that she had suffered at the hands of their Master.

Cailean swallowed hard, glancing up at Ian. Although her own mind was quick to read the images in the only context that she could understand, one of fear and dominance, the images as they appeared in Ian's mind seemed right, innocent. She could not begrudge him these desires, even if she would never feel anything similar herself. The knowledge that he was, after all, just a man only increased her love for him.

Does our Master know, Ian?

No. I do not even admit it to myself except in unguarded moments.

Cailean considered this in silence for several moments. Then guard yourself well, Ian. Our Master is jealous of our affections, and will not share them lightly, even with Lady Sara.

Ian sighed deeply. You are right, as always.

I know my Master.

Ian closed his eyes and bit his lip. I hate him.

Cailean smiled understandingly. No, you do not. You may wish you could, but you do not. She gently ran her fingers over his bruised eye. You love him, Ian, and it's only right that you should.

Cailean loved their Master as deeply as Ian himself did, as any abused child is likely to love the only parent they have ever had, no matter how cruel or emotionally distant. Except for each other, he was the only person they had ever had.

Ian sighed, torn between his love for his master and his love for his sister. But the things he does to you...

Ian was not adequately experienced in such matters to fully understand the nature of the things that Irons did to Cailean, and Cailean had always carefully guarded the exact nature of the incidences from Ian, but he understood the pain and shame she felt when he held her in his arms afterwards, and he knew that no woman should be forced to feel such things.

Cailean smiled reassuringly and patted his shoulder. The things he does to me are his right, Ian. Let us think on lighter things tonight.

Ian bowed his head. Why has he called you here? Your training has been complete for months yet he has made no move to recall you until now. Why?

I don't know. I don't think either of us shall like it, but we will do as we always have. We will serve our Master. No matter what he asks of us. She grinned at him.

How can you smile when you say that?

You'll see. Cailean's mental voice was teasing, but also strangely grave.

Ian stared at her, startled and a little worried. Cailean?

I love you, brother. She abruptly closed her mind to him.

Cailean? Ian demanded, startled by the abrupt discontinuity. Cailean?

Cailean ignored him with studied disinterest. He knew she could hear him, but she refused to admit him. Even after their brief time back together, it was a horrible, depressing thing to be alone in his own mind.

Let me in, Cailean! Ian pled, scared by her behavior. The playfulness in her tone before she had shut him out had been ominous.

"All done, Ian. You'll survive, but I think we'd better restrict our sparring to verbal for a few weeks if you want your back to heal up properly." She rose and searched the first-aid kit, doing her best to ignore his mental pleas, although hearing Ian in distress was upsetting for her as well. "Ah, antibiotics." She tossed him the bottle.

Ian caught it instinctively, staring at her in confusion. It was the first time ever that she had refused to admit his thoughts into her mind. She was hiding something from him, and that scared him. The only other thing she had ever hidden from him was her memories of her experiences with Irons.

"Cailean..." he began, rising, forgetting how likely it was that the room was bugged.

"Are you going to help me or not, brother? I think I broke a finger with that first punch I landed." Cailean eyed him warningly and jerked her eyes in the direction of the mirror. The most likely location of the camera.

Ian shook his head and nodded towards the bed. He carried the first-aid kit with him to the bed and sat down next to Cailean. It was no ordinary first-aid kit. In addition to bandages and antibiotic cream, it contained a wide array of drugs, from aspirin to antibiotics to morphine, and a minor array of surgical supplies, including sutures. Which was just as well, Ian observed, since Cailean's mouth was definitely going to need a few stitches.

He examined her hand first, wrapping and splinting the finger. "Boxer's fracture. You'll be signing checks with your right hand for a while."

She rolled her eyes. "Wonderful."

"Painkiller?"

She shook her head. "Not right now, I think."

Ian nodded and turned his attention to her lip.

Ah... she hissed mentally as he touched it.

Sorry. Talking to me again?

Cailean ignored this. How many stitches?

Just one or two. For a big, brave girl like you, that shouldn't be a problem. His voice was teasing, loving.

Ian picked up the sutures and expertly stitched her split lip before turning his attention to her other injuries. They had both come out of it less damaged than the sitting-room, but neither of them would be back up to full strength for some time. It was better than some of their previous matches, though. Once they had pummeled each other for better than an hour before Ian had passed out from exhaustion. Cailean, although she had been hurt far worse than Ian, had won by default.

This time, the damage was more evenly distributed between the two. The matched set would remain matched.

"That bruise is going to hurt you for some time..." Ian's voice was gentle as he ran his fingers over the livid area on her torso.

She nodded. "It's not the worst you've ever given me." She squeezed his shoulder, smiling.

I've missed you, Ian. It's good to have a Friendly around.

A Friendly? Ian smiled. You talk like a soldier, baby sister.

Ex-soldier, Ian... Cailean reminded him. She smiled and winked. Now I'm just a harmless little debutante.

Harmless? Ian rubbed his black eye and regarded her wryly. Right.

Cailean smiled and rose, extending her hands to Ian. "Do you dance much any more, Ian?"

He shook his head regretfully. "I've been at something of a loss for partners since your departure, Cailean." He smiled in fond remembrance.

"Well, then, let us remedy that. Dance with me, Ian." She smiled up at him.

It's been too long, baby sister.  He wrapped his arms around her.

She smiled and leaned into his arms, careful not to touch his back as she slid her own arms around him. There was no longer any need for words, spoken aloud or mentally. Ian and Cailean were just glad to see each other and to be able to share a simple, happy moment in time.

Irons watched the two dancing over the security monitor with a frown. He would have expected, after ten years of separation, that the two would have had much to talk about. In fact, he had been counting on it. Instead, they limited what few remarks they did make to the injuries that they had inflicted on each other. He shook his head thoughtfully. Perhaps the bond between them was not as strong as he had thought. Perhaps, after having almost given up, he had finally managed to help them master their emotions. Cailean, fresh from her own training, seemed far more amenable to that aspect of it than Ian had been, and now he seemed to be taking his cues in that regard from her. That was good news.

Irons smiled to himself and leaned back into his chair, placing his feet on the desk. He stared at Ian and Cailean dancing and smiled. Not many could have so utterly dominated two such creatures as these. His creations were lethal, yes, but loyal as well. And completely under his control.

"Life is good..." he muttered languidly, his smile widening.

It never even occurred to him that there might have been more going on in the room then he had seen and heard via the monitor. This was their silent victory over him. He had monitored their every private moment for their entire lives, and he did not know them at all.