A/N: Sorry for the delay in this chapter, I'd meant to post it earlier in the week but I've been a bit ill. I'll make an effort to post the next chapter in the next few days to make up for it. :)
It was cold and clear the next morning, and Saul woke up more anxious than he ever had been before any job, and with none of the thrill. He didn't know how how today was going to turn out, but there was no way it was going to be fun for anyone involved.
Once again he'd felt compelled to check on Rusty several times through the night, and once again he'd found Rusty under the bed, looking at him like he was some terrifying monster. At least the pillow and blanket he'd left there seemed to be getting used. He'd tried to explain that he'd put them there so Rusty would be warm and comfortable, but he'd much prefer if Rusty slept in the bed, but Rusty had looked at him suspiciously and he wasn't sure he'd been believed.
He sighed, second guessing himself. Maybe Rusty thought the pillow equated tacit permission for him to sleep there, or worse, maybe he thought that was what Saul wanted. He just didn't know. He couldn't follow everything going on inside Rusty's head. But he was at least trying.
They had to make a good impression this morning. He had to show them that there was no reason for Rusty to be locked up, and he was careful to wake Rusty in plenty of time for him to have a nice long shower, and pick out something for him to wear that would hopefully be comfortable and smart. He tried to get Rusty involved in choosing an outfit, but Rusty just stood there nervously, refusing to look at him or the clothes.
He had to try and stay relaxed or else he'd get Rusty upset too.
By the time they were ready Rusty still looked battered and starved and beaten, but he was clean and smartly dressed, his hair combed neatly, even if it was still too long. That alone would surely help make an impression on the social workers. Now if only he could get Rusty to eat something.
He made bagels and cream cheese for breakfast. Rusty didn't eat, but Saul had caught sight of the missing drawer liner when he'd been looking out clothes, and he'd seen the small parcel of food hidden down the back of the dresser, and after Rusty's shower he'd heard the rustle and when he'd come in Rusty had been looking anywhere except the drawers. He was satisfied that Rusty had eaten something at least.
He couldn't let this go on indefinitely, but right now it seemed the only solution that kept Rusty fed. He just worried about how fresh the food was. Now wasn't the time for the argument though, and he managed to get them out the door and driven round to the police station ten minutes before they were expected.
He turned off the engine and looked at Rusty seriously. "They need to know what happened. But if there's anything that makes you afraid or uncomfortable, just let me know and I'll stop it." He caught the sidelong wondering look that Rusty gave him. "Anything," he promised. "Wave your hand in the air...stamp your foot...just look at me and I'll know." He took a deep breath. "I promised I wouldn't let anyone hurt you, Rusty. I have no intention of going back on that. Ever."
He smiled warmly at the look of relief that flickered across Rusty's face. His word must be worth something at least.
"We should go inside," he said quietly. "Stick close to me."
He was conscious of the stares as they walked in. Rusty still looked bad enough to attract attention, and the child immediately dropped back behind him, head bowed and he doubted that Rusty could tell that the anger in the room was directed at Saul.
Walk into a police station with an obviously-abused child, you were going to get a few looks.
Wasn't for long at least. He gave their names at the desk and they were whisked through a door and led to a set of stairs down to the basement.
Rusty froze at the top of the stairs, staring down and shaking.
Saul sighed and glared at the cop escorting them. "We couldn't have done this somewhere else?" he muttered unfairly. He carefully stepped in front of Rusty, a few steps further down. "Rusty. It's not like that. I promise."
Rusty looked at him searchingly for a long moment, and he waited patiently until the suspicion cleared from his face.
"Come on," he said encouragingly, holding out his hand. Rusty didn't take it, of course, but he did gingerly walk past and continue downstairs.
There was a small know of people waiting for them. Saul recognised a few of them from the other night. "Mr Bergman, thank you for coming in," Mrs Warren said officiously.
"Of course," he said, inclining his head. "Rusty, I'm not sure if you'll remember, but this is Mrs Warren and Julie Metcalfe from social services."
Rusty managed to nod his head in an approximation of acknowledgement and Saul felt a burst of pride. He could see how much even the simple gesture was costing him, but he just wanted Rusty to feel he was being treated like a person.
And both social workers looked positively shocked. He guessed they hadn't thought Rusty capable of even that much. Honestly Rusty might not talk, but he wasn't stupid or uncomprehending. The sooner they understood that the better.
"Very good," Mrs Warren said uncertainly. "This is Lieutenant York, he's taken over the investigation."
The detective was an older man with a grizzled beard. He nodded at Saul politely. "I've read your statements. Very clear. We might be looking to clarify a few details, but I doubt it."
That was a relief.
"And this is Dr Lassiter," Mrs Warren went on, turning to the plump young man at her side. "He's a child psychologist, here to carry out the actual assessment."
He was conscious of then tension by his side, the way Rusty was fearfully not looking at Dr Lassiter, even for a second.
"Very good," Dr Lassiter said, smiling at Rusty. "Pleased to meet you, young man. They've got us set up in the other room, if you'd just like to step this way?"
It was a basic interview room. Saul gazed unhappily at the bare walls, the concrete floor, the metal table and chairs bolted to the floor. Not the sort of place he was comfortable in. And for Rusty it had to be all too reminiscent of the place he'd just left. There was a large mirror along one wall. Two way, he knew. But there was a few touches out of the ordinary. The pad of paper lying on the table was all the colours of the rainbow, and there was a crate of what looked like toys and books placed neatly under the table.
"I have a few quick questions before I get started, Mr Bergman," Lassiter started genially. "I've read Dr Mayhew's reports as well as the initial reports from the night he was brought into the hospital, and the social work statements for Friday, as well as his school records, and we'll have a more in depth discussion afterwards, but first of all, how would you rate Robert's comprehension? How much of what you say does he understand?"
He glanced down at Rusty who was staring at the floor, as if he was pretending he couldn't understand a word. "The majority," he said firmly. And the things Rusty didn't understand...they weren't about comprehension so much as they were about trust.
"I see," Lassiter nodded, making a note. "And is he quick to follow instructions?"
"Generally," he said. "There are a few things..." he trailed off awkwardly, thinking of Rusty's refusal to eat.
"That's okay, we'll get into specifics later," Lassiter said quickly. "Now, does the boy attempt to communicate? Either vocally, by gesture or sign, or in writing...?"
"Gesture and facial expressions, mostly," Saul said reluctantly. "He can write, but he seems unwilling."
"I see," Lassiter nodded again, scribbling away. "Thank you, that's very helpful. Now you can wait with Mrs Warren and Lieutenant York - "
" - I'm going to stay here," Saul said firmly, and he'd swear Rusty breathed a sigh of relief.
Lassiter pursed his lips. "New to this, are you? You can sit in the room, but please don't interfere."
He nodded as if that was obvious, secretly knowing that he'd interfere the second he felt a need to.
The door slammed shut and Rusty made a conscious effort not to look. He already knew there was no way out.
Saul sat down in the chair in the corner, ready to watch. Secretly, he found that a relief. Saul had said he wouldn't let them hurt him too much, and he believed that. He'd stop them going too far – he'd punched Dr Mayhew, after all. But all his attention was on Dr Lassiter as he sat down behind the table.
"Come and sit down," Dr Lassiter said, his attention on the file in front of him.
This, at least, he understood. He walked over slowly and knelt on the floor at Dr Lassiter's feet, his hands clasped obediently behind his back, his head bowed and his mouth open, ready, waiting and submissive.
He'd sat like this for hours, sometimes, beneath the desk while Dr Mayhew worked. Dr Mayhew said it was good for him. Helped him to develop patience and focus.
There was a strangled cry from behind him, and he heard Saul stand up and he knew that somehow he'd done something wrong. "Rusty," Saul said, his voice choked, and he couldn't separate out the emotion.
Dr Lassiter was looking down at him thoughtfully. "Please take a seat on the chair," he clarified calmly, and at least he didn't seem to think Rusty had done anything wrong.
But he could see the anger and pain on Saul's face when he scrambled to his feet and turned round, and Saul didn't say anything as he placed the cushion on the chair and waited until Rusty was sitting down. Briefly, he dropped a hand onto Rusty's shoulder, squeezing lightly, and it felt like...no. It was a warning, that was all. A promise of pain to come.
Dr Mayhew had taught him to always start off kneeling at his feet at any assessment or therapy session. Said it showed respect and obedience. He promised that if Rusty showed him how well he could follow instructions, he'd be able to write in his reports that Rusty was making progress, and maybe he'd get a few privileges. Some of the other kids got to have books and candy, and write letters, and even, sometimes, be taken on trips outside.
He'd assumed this assessment was going to work the same way, and that was because he was stupid. He should have known better. Right now, he was Saul's responsibility, and that meant that Saul got to decide who used him, and by presuming like he had, he'd just gone and offered himself to another man without Saul's permission.
As far as the adults were concerned, he didn't own his body. That was what Stuart and James had tried to beat into him, when he'd been struggling too much for Dr Mayhew's liking. He didn't own his body, and furiously he'd longed to ask them if his mind was his own, but he figured that as far as they were concerned he didn't have one anyway, and if they thought that he did, they'd probably try and find some way of controlling that too.
He couldn't control what happened to him. But that didn't mean he couldn't want it to stop. He wanted to run away, someplace without any people, without any touching, without anything. Some day, when he was older, he'd find a place like that. (Without Danny?)
But however he felt, he knew that offering himself like that had to be bad. It was like giving away Saul's property, after all, and Dr Lassiter had specifically asked how well he followed instructions, and right away he'd managed to mess up. That was two reasons for Saul to be angry. There was no way he was going to escape a beating here.
He resolved to focus on the rest of the session, determined not to let anything else slip by him.
"Alright," Dr Lassiter was saying smoothly. "We're going to talk about what happened to you the day you were taken away from the Institute, but first of all, I'd like to get to know you better, so I'm going to ask you to do a few things. Is that alright?"
He nodded dutifully. He'd been asked to do 'a few things' before.
"Good," Dr Lassiter smiled. "Now, none of this is going to be bad, but if you're confused, or if something upsets you, I want you to let me...and Mr Bergman...know. So if you feel upset and you want to take a break, just lay both your hands flat on the table. Do you think you can do that?"
He nodded again.
"Try it now," Dr Lassiter encouraged.
With a mental sigh, he laid his hands on the table, and his left hand lay flat enough, but his right hand...he tried his best to force his twisted fingers flat, and it hurt -
" - Stop." Saul's hand was clamped lightly around his wrist, lifting his hand up from the table and examining his fingers carefully. "Oh, Rusty." Saul looked down at him sternly. "Don't hurt yourself. Dr Lassiter didn't mean you to hurt yourself. Did you, Doctor?" The words were sharp with biting anger, but they weren't directed at him, and he was amazed to hear Dr Lassiter sounding flustered.
"No, of course not. I'm sorry, it's the signal I usually use with patients...I hadn't realised the damage to his hand was so extensive."
He'd been really bad. He could only hope that the reasons for the punishment weren't in Dr Lassiter's files.
"How about you just lay both hands on the table but don't try and force it flat," Saul suggested, talking to him now. "Would that hurt?"
No. He shook his head, and he had no intention of actually using the signal – he figured that there were bound to be consequences if he did – but it was nice to think that even if he was going to do something disobedient and sissyish, Saul still didn't want him hurt unnecessarily.
"Good," Saul said with a soft smile. "Remember, I'm just over here."
He wasn't totally sure if Saul was talking to him or the doctor. Maybe both.
"Alright then," Dr Lassiter said again. "The first thing I want you to do is to draw yourself."
Draw...himself? He stared down at the light yellow sheet of paper and the pack of colouring pencils that were passed across the table to him, and tried to figure out just what this was about. This wasn't like any of the things he'd been asked to do before...
Still, he'd decided to obey all instructions to the best of his ability, so he picked up a pencil in his left hand and got started. He'd got an unwilling glimpse of himself in Saul's bathroom mirror when he was stepping out of the shower that morning, so it wasn't too difficult. The only problem he really had was figuring out whether he should include the welts and bruises, but in the end he decided that accuracy was probably the name of the game, and tried to put in at least the major ones. He tried not to blush when it came time to shade in the marks over his thighs and penis, able to feel Dr Lassiter's steady gaze on him.
The end result didn't look very appealing, but then, he supposed he didn't look very appealing. On the other hand, he was trying to make a good impression. Which was more important – being accurate or being enticing? He bit down hard on the inside of his mouth. He'd already automatically drawn his mouth open and his lips puffy and – hating himself for it – he picked out a red pencil and coloured in his mouth a darker red.
(Like he was wearing the lipstick that Dr Mayhew had made him put on when he was teaching Rusty how important it was to take as much in his mouth as he could. The further down the marks were left, the more bread Rusty got, and when he finally managed to leave a red stain right the way down at the base, he got an entire cheese sandwich all to himself, and even though his throat was so bruised it felt like razor blades, he managed to choke it down. They'd covered the importance of swallowing in an earlier lesson.)
Dr Lassiter smiled at him. "All finished?" he asked, taking the drawing and studying it closely. "Very good, thank you. Now," he said, pulling out a stack of cards with pictures on. "I wonder if you could put these in order to tell a story?"
It went on like that. Dr Lassiter seemed to have no end of meaningless tasks for him to do. After the story cards, he was asked to look at twenty or so silhouette pictures of a man and a boy touching in various ways, from a hand on the shoulder to a hug, to the man using the boy's mouth and body. Dr Lassiter asked him to separate them into good and bad touches for the boy, and since it was made clear that the boy wasn't supposed to be him it didn't take him long to figure out it was a trick question. They were all bad.
After that there were logic puzzles, and math and English worksheets like in school, and more drawings, and then Dr Lassiter gave him a couple of dolls and asked him questions about Dr Mayhew and about the institute.
"What was Dr Mayhew doing to you when Mr Bergman came in," Dr Lassiter asked. "Show me with the dolls."
The memory flooded his mind again. The pantingsweatinggrunting, the weight of the hand on his head, the damp, sticky bedsheet pressed against his face, suffocating him, the raw fresh agony from each thrust, knowing from the speed that it would be over soon, then Danny screaming... He worked the dolls like the doctor wanted and he felt unbearably filthy.
"You already know this," Saul said, an edge to his voice.
"We need to have a clear a picture as possible," Dr Lassiter said without looking round. "Now. Was any part of him inside you at this point? Show me on the doll again."
There was a strange sort of buzzing inside his head, over the shame and disgust. Anger, he identified dully. He was angry.
He dropped the dolls onto the table.
"That's okay," Dr Lassiter said earnestly. "We'll come back to that. For now, I just want to know if before that anyone had committed sexual acts with you. By that I mean, had anyone touched you here or here," He indicated on the doll. "Or put any parts of their body inside yours?"
The question wasn't even funny. They did already know this. He leaned back in his chair, crossed his arms and stared at Dr Lassiter blankly, like he didn't understand. Sometimes, stupid was the best defence.
"Someone at the institute?" Dr Lassiter pressed. "How many people?"
He continued to stare blankly.
"How many?" Dr Lassiter said again, and the question cut through him. How many people had to use you? How many people have you pleased?
"Dr Lassiter, can I have a word please?" Saul cut in coldly.
Dr Lassiter looked exasperated, but when he looked over at Saul, he quickly stood up and they huddled in the doorway, and Rusty only heard scraps of the conversation.
"...not a good idea..."
"...the police need to know...arrest..."
He tensed. Were they talking about arresting him?
Eventually, Saul walked back into the room and knelt by his chair, looking up at him. "The police want to know who else at the Institute hurt you, Rusty," he said earnestly.
They didn't want to hurt him. Hurting him was for his own good, and if he was hurt it was his own fault. Everyone always said so.
"They want to know so they can lock them up in prison right along with Mayhew," Saul went on.
Dr Mayhew was still in prison? Rusty felt a sort of uneasy surprise. It had been three days now. He'd been sure Dr Mayhew would have explained everything by now. Talked his way out of it somehow. He imagined Dr Mayhew locked up in a bare concrete cell, in the dark, and he knew he should be taking pleasure in the image, but truthfully, it frightened him.
Saul had said they didn't want Dr Mayew doing that to any other child. Maybe he'd used someone else, someone who wasn't 'born for it'. Maybe that was why everything had changed.
"If you can't tell us who, if you can even tell us how many, that would help," Saul added persuasively.
He didn't want to tell. He wasn't supposed to tell. He was so tired and he was filthy again, just sitting here he'd somehow got filthy, and they had to be able to smell it on him, and he just wanted this all to be over.
"Okay," Saul said softly, reaching out and touching his hand very, very lightly, for less than a second. "It's okay." He stood up and turned to face Dr Lassiter. "Enough," he said. "We can continue this another day if we have to."
"One more thing," Dr Lassiter said, and Rusty almost giggled, because he really wasn't Columbo. He passed a sheet of light blue paper across the table to Rusty. "Draw something happy. Please."
He glanced up at Saul quickly, unconsciously checking if that was okay, but Saul was smiling.
Happy. He struggled to imagine the feeling. Something wonderful, something fleeting, something that slipped out of reach. Everything he thought of – all the good memories – Danny - it was all tainted by the knowledge that he'd never deserved it, that he ruined everything he touched.
He stared down at the paper for a long, long time. Then he picked up a white pencil and carefully, meticulously, drew over every inch of the page.
Blank. Nothingness. Safety.
"Thank you," Dr Lassiter said gravely, taking the 'drawing'. "Mr Bergman and I are going to step outside for a moment now. Please feel free to play with anything in that box."
He nodded, not meaning it.
"I'll be back soon, Rusty," Saul said, standing by his chair. He was staring at the picture Rusty had drawn, and when Rusty looked up, Saul looked so sad.
Somehow, he felt guilty.