Title: Hear to See
Author: roguegal17
Summary: Keep your eyes shut. It's safer that way.
Disclaimer: I do not own any the characters within this story, but if I did, then Season 2 would have progressed quite differently. Plus Season 3 might have existed.
Rating: PG-13 occasionally veering into R. Nothing too explicit, just thoughts rightly deemed unpleasant.
Feedback: Please do. If you don't have time now, come back later. I'll be here. Or you can email me if you'd rather, at roguegal17@yahoo.com.
PART 1/4
Silence pervaded the coolness of the house and outside the leaves had yet to fall.
*
The light muffled swish on the stairs was just enough to wake the young boy currently sleeping at the end of a great hall. Eyes became instantly alert. Everything stopped. Everything. Even with the blood thrumming in his ears, he could still make out the individual footsteps as Irons approached. 5…6…7…and then nothing. His breath held, Ian waited for the tell-tale creak in the floorboards – signifying how the night would turn out. He squeezed his eyes shut, but a hot tear still escaped onto his cheek as the wood floors betrayed Irons' intentions for the evening.
*
He could be strong. He could endure - no - he WOULD endure. Panic slowly blossomed in his eyes. Soft, smoky voices sounded through his chaotic mind. They were trying hard to quell the raging storm, which threatened to crumble Ian's already fragile existence. "Fooocuuusss…breeeaaath…resume thy slummmbeeerrr…" the voices cajoled. "Survival isss for the strooonnnggg…overcoooome thy enemy aaaand thy…" He shut them off, they were no longer comforting. Their vague promises held little value right now.
*
He didn't understand, not for a long time. He then stopped trying and just accepted. It was too much, even for him.
*
There were other things to think about now, as he curled into a tighter ball and slowed his near erratic breathing. Mere moments later his entire body stilled and it was as though he had never woken up at all. He was getting better at delaying it. He could tell.
*
The padding of footsteps stopped completely and was replaced by the sickening sound of metal on metal.
*
Silence.
*
And then it came, the resounding echo of the key as it smacked against the floor skittering a few feet away. He could hear muttering. Ian began to thank whatever god or goddess provided the night's waning moon. Little to no light filtered into the great hallway. Irons would never find the key now.
*
He did not even finish his prayer. Even through clenched lids, his keen eyesight could make out the harsh artificial light that illuminated the frame of his doorway. Ian's heart sank as the realization hit him. He had been too hasty earlier that day. He'd heard the whirring noise of the video camera and left as quickly as he could. He hadn't tampered enough with the electrical paneling in the hallway; the light switch still worked. It still worked. His head hurt more now. The darkness wasn't going to keep him covered in its complete embrace. His pulse threatened to increase its speed, but this thought was terminated as his newly acquired meditative skills kicked in. Ian slowly regained his center and smoothed out his energy. He'd been so sure he was getting better at postponing it. Why not now too?
*
The wind sighed, glancing through the eaves of the mansion dictating that the night would indeed feel long.
*
The weight shifted slightly on his bed and a cool hand gently pushed an errant curl behind his ear, lingering at the wet spot on his cheek. He felt Irons' fingers hover under his nose for a moment, testing the evenness of his breathing. To see if he was truly sleeping as soundly as he seemed to be. Ian knew the right responses now; Iron's tactics would not fool him again.
*
With that obstacle passed, he heard the clink of ice and glass on the oak nightstand beside his bed. It was Amaretto tonight; he'd smelled it on Iron's fingers only moments before and was surprised the old man had chosen something so sweet. Strong and biting seemed to suit his tastes of late.
***
He was good at pretending. Nanny checked his little suit each morning, running her perfumed hands over every angle, dispelling any lint or dust. And he was good at pretending he didn't want to run and scream until his head hurt again. He was good at pretending. Her smooth fingers lifted and prodded his gums in an attempt to check his teeth, roughly turning his head side to side. He pretended he didn't want to shrink into his jacket and disappear from the "wrongness" of it all. Instead he stood tall and straight like a good boy should. And he was a good boy. Always.
*
Eyes closed. Head down. Eventual slumber awaits.
*
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A/N: Scooter was kind enough to return the favor and beta for me. She did an awesome job by encouraging me and being very patient. I've been enjoying myself reading other's stories, so I thought I would finally join in the fray. Oddly enough I had planned my first piece to something much lighter, but that didn't quite happen. I need to do something happy though, to balance it all out. I think I have something in mind, once this story is done. Thank you for reading this. It was cathartic to write it.