Part Twelve

Judy's demands for the return of her star player were becoming far too regular and increasingly hostile. So much so that Robert wished he could avoid taking her calls.

Between her asking for Michael's return to America, and Johnny's insistence that the boy should have been thrown out of the castle the moment he regained consciousness (if not before), Robert couldn't help wondering if he was doing the right thing.

Of course you are! He assured himself for the hundredth time. Michael had been seriously wounded, the likes of which not even Ray could sympathise with, and Robert had saved his life. The least Judy and Johnny could do was allow him some time to appreciate and understand that life.

But he had made the mistake of falling in love, and if he wasn't careful... if he didn't plan every move way ahead of time... he might very well do something foolish - and that was all Judy needed to give her an excuse to take Michael back.

The telephone screamed into the silence of early morning once again, and Robert was tempted to palm the woman off on poor Gustav when he brought the receiver to his master.

It was selfish of him, he knew, and he despised himself because of it - but he was glad Michael had had a relapse, even if he didn't show it. It meant he got to keep him for a little while longer. Telling Judy his intentions to do so, however, was going to be difficult.

She'd had the nerve to yell at him during their last phone conversation, and the memory put him in a foul mood for the present one. He had no doubt she would yell at him again when he told her Michael would have to stay for another few days.

A few days...

Was that all that was left?

How was he going to let him go after that?

Judy wanted to know why, how, when... things he was not prepared to explain - and his refusal to answer only made her angrier.

"No more excuses, Robert! I'm sure he's well enough to travel already. I'm going to give you the benefit of the doubt this time, but Emily and I will be there next week to pick him up - with or without your doctors' permission."
"Judy, I-" He cut his sentence short upon realising it would only be said to dial tone.

So, he had a week. Seven precious days...

Everything was blurry... and cold. Very, very cold. All he could see was an expanse of white with ghosts of other colours bleeding into it. There was someone else with him, he could sense them... and he heard the soft crunch of them kneeling on the icy ground. More white as he tried to see who it was. White... and orange.

It hurt so much - the cold against his wounds. Clinging to his consciousness with everything he had, he didn't even have the strength to cry out when a sharp finger was thrust into one of the gashes on his outstretched arm.

"Had enough, All Star?"

The voice that had eluded Michael in Russia screamed as he woke up with a start. His nightmare's end could not have come at a worse time. Robert was standing in the doorway; his stony face was etched with anger and Griffolyon glowed with the very same emotion from his vest's pocket.

"Tala?" He spat the name as if the very thought of saying it disgusted him. "Tala was the one who hurt you?"
Michael shook his head, still separating past from present. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"You just screamed for him to stop."

"So?" The bed-ridden boy argued back. "Not that it's any of your business, but maybe I was having a nightmare about Trygle being stolen."
"And maybe you should not lie to me."
"Let it go, Robert. It happened so long ago, and I'm almost completely recovered. If I ever see him again, I'll kick his sorry ass."
"It is that sort of reckless behaviour which got you into this in the first place."

"Are you saying you're not even a little glad I got into this?" He seductively raised a burgundy eyebrow.
Robert frowned, clearly not impressed. Yes, he was glad - but damned if he was ever going to admit it. He repeated his question, louder in the hope it would receive a better answer. "What I want to know is if Tala was the one who hurt you?"

"No... I mean, I don't know." Vicious welts were no more than pale scars as he looked at his arm where the Demolition Boys' captain had prodded him. "I remember him touching me after I fell..."

That was all the information Robert needed. Confirmation that Tala was at the scene of the attack doubtlessly meant his team had been there as well. The chivalrous code bred into him demanded he exact revenge. But how? And when?

"Robert?"
"I have to take care of some arrangements, if you will excuse me." The nobleman's mind was elsewhere as he made to leave the room. "Stay here. I will have someone bring some breakfast to you momentarily."
"But I'm..." Michael's sentence trailed off as Robert disappeared around the doorframe. "...okay."

Deciding not to wait, the All Star jumped down from his bed, surprised and relieved when his knee didn't give way. Throwing on his usual attire, which was, as always, washed, ironed and folded on the small table under his window, he made his way downstairs without any problems.

Heading toward the dining hall with a familiarity like he had lived in the castle his entire life, he found the door shut and the surrounding corridors strangely absent of servants.

"Mikey..." Enrique's hand clamped down on his shoulder from behind. "You might not want to go in there."
"Why?"
"Johnny's... uhh, a bit cranky this morning."
"Worse than last night?"
"Oh yeah." The Italian shrugged it off like it happened all the time. "So to be safe, let's go eat in the south dining room. Oliver's made some wicked pancakes for us."
"Johnny doesn't scare me." Michael snorted proudly, marching forward.

Scared him? No. Annoyed him? Yes. Going into the room knowing full well what was awaiting him was as stupid as walking into a hornets' nest and expecting not to get stung. But Michael did it - determined to prove that he wasn't going to let some malignant little rich kid intimidate him.

"I thought I told you to piss off, Enrique!" Johnny bellowed the moment the door opened, his frown growing deeper when he saw who was in place of his team mate. "You?!"
"Yeah, me." Michael spat back, equally as hostile.
"What do you want?" The Scottish boy stabbed his unfortunate breakfast, almost daring to snap his knife blade in half as it hit his plate with a loud crack. "And it better be good."

"I'm here for breakfast."
"Go eat with Oliver and Enrique, and leave me the hell alone."
Michael pulled up a seat opposite his rival. "And miss out on your delightful company?"
"You're playing with fire, Parker."
"And you're all talk, McGregor."

Johnny raised an eyebrow, his lips twisting into a wry smile like he'd just sucked on an extra-bitter lemon. "You wanna try me?"
"Oh, please." Michael chuckled. "You against me? I'm the best blader in America-"
"You're talking to the British champion, you know - and you're not impressing me."
"Care to take this to the stadium?"
He leapt up. "It's about time I put you in your place. Ready to lose?"

Enrique was on his way back to Oliver when Johnny, with Michael in pursuit, passed him. Interested in finding out what the pair were up to, he changed his course and followed them to Robert's training room.

In the south dining room, Oliver sipped at his cup of tea, waiting for his friend to return. He wasn't particularly concerned it was taking so long - Enrique didn't have much of an attention span, and had probably wandered off to something which promised him more excitement than eating pancakes and drinking tea.

He sighed, watching the steam from his cup dance and quickly disperse in front of him. It was then he noticed Robert standing opposite him, waiting to be acknowledged by the dreamy boy.

"Oh, Robert! I didn't see you there." His face lit up in a huge smile. "Sit down, and have something to eat."
"Where are the others?"
He shrugged. "Enrique went to see Johnny in the dining hall."
Satisfied with the answer, his captain took a seat and leant over the table, gesturing for him to do the same.

"Can I ask you something personal?"
"Of course!" He chirped with an enthusiasm that worried Robert.
"I have never been... intimate with another man before. Is there anything I should know?"
The effeminate boy frowned, taking a dramatically angry sip of his tea. "What makes you think I'd know?"
"Oh Oliver, please. Save the innocent act for someone who does not know you."
"Fine!" He huffed. "I've never been on top though - and that's where you want to be, right?"
Deep red stained Robert's cheeks. "Well, what did this other fellow do to you?"

"Wow." Oliver's teacup never made it back to his lips. "You're serious?"
"I would not ask if I was not."
"I don't know what to tell you, Robert..."
"Whatever you say will not leave this room, you have my word."