Current mood:

accomplished

Fic: A Kept Boy 72/?
Fandom: CWRPS
Pairing: Jeff/Jensen, Jared/Jensen
Rating: Adult
Warnings: Slavefic AU. Sexual, mental and physical abuse of adults and minors. Dark themes, adult concepts and language.
Disclaimer: This is in no way a true story.
Word Count: 3,125
AN: Master list of previous chapters found here. Cast of characters can be found here. Banner by the lovely and generous bloodquartz. Podfic version read by the amazing superstitiousme (found here, courtesy of the very kind general_jinjur). And don't forget the other really awesome stories to be found at whatwekeep.

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On first—and even second—glance across the half-empty restaurant, Jeff doesn't recognize Robin. He doesn't think he can really be blamed for it, though. The woman in front of him doesn't much resemble Robin from four years ago and it's an effort to keep his smile steady and warm when she waves at him from across the room. Ditto his voice, when he gets close enough to greet her: "Robin."

"Jeff, hey."

She stands, but makes no gesture to tell him what he should be doing, here. They were once as intimate as it was possible for two people to be and now he doesn't know whether to shake her hand or hug her or what. The measure of fucked upped-ness goes up another few notches, especially as Robin's gaze cuts to Jensen, a half-step behind him. There's no question about who—what—Jensen is, even without the collar.

This isn't the kind of place that sees a lot of body-slaves—a deliberate choice on Jeff's part—but he also agreed to meet Lady Saldana for drinks later to make up for their canceled dinner—canceled by her—and he wasn't about to leave Jensen in the car like a pet dog. Hell, he wouldn't even leave a dog in the car like that. Jeff flexes his fingers, still feeling where they were so recently linked. It's stupid to miss holding hands with Jensen, though, so Jeff pushes it out of his mind, gesturing Jensen to one of the chairs.

After an awkward moment of standing in place, Robin reaches up and shucks the skullcap that had hidden her blonde hair, scratching the bristly spikes underneath and looking vaguely embarrassed.

The Robin of Jeff's memory had long hair; thick, beautiful hair that he'd loved to bury his hands in, curl around his fingers, lustrous and a few shades paler than golden. Now it's chopped short—not cute-pixie short, but more like someone took scissors to it while drunk in the dark—and its shade has turned sickly, nearly white, like something killed by frost. It goes with her currently gaunt, brittle-looking frame, but it's definitely not the woman from memory.

She laughs self-consciously, catching his gaze. "This is a little weird, huh?"

"Yeah, a little." Jeff grins and shakes his head. "It's good to see you. I'm glad you called." He opens his arms, letting the question show in his face and body. Robin hesitates, tensing all over before she visibly and forcibly relaxes, stepping into him. Unlike Mary Louise, Robin was never tiny, never felt delicate, but she does now, making Jeff feel ungainly and like he could break her at any second. Even Mary-Louise never felt like glass. Jeff's throat closes up, thick and clogged with questions he doesn't know how to ask.

Robin pats his arms and Jeff pulls back.

He pulls out her chair a little, remembering only too late that she never liked that sort of chivalry from him. But she sits and lets him chivvy her up to the table without protest and Jeff frowns a little, trying to add up all these pieces. "How are you?"

It feels like a stupid question to ask—she's obviously not well—but Jeff is absolutely flummoxed for anything better to ask her and, for obvious reasons, he can't ask Jensen, who is infinitely better than him at this. Robin's lips crease as if she can read his thoughts—and she was always good at that—but she only says, "I'm fine. I'm good. How are you?"

Jeff shrugs. "I'm good. My mom's visiting, and you know how that goes," Robin grimaces in agreement, "but other than that, things are good." Despite his concern about Robin, he feels a surge of warmth, even as he avoids glancing at Jensen. "Things are really good."

"That's great. I'm happy." All at once, Robin makes a face. She flags the waiter. "Can I get some water, please?"

"Of course."

"Me, too." Water has never sounded quite so good.

Robin picks up her purse from the floor and digs through it, coming up with a crumpled tissue. "My throat gets so dry," she explains, clearing her throat and then spitting discreetly into the tissue. "I usually carry a bottle, but I left it in the car." She grimaces.

Jeff shakes his head. "You don't have to explain."

Robin's mouth quirks sideways ruefully. "No. Of course not. I'm just..." She swirls the hand with the tissue in it. "I don't know why I'm so nervous."

"It's been four years and we haven't talked." Jeff spreads his hands. "I think that pretty much requires some weirdness, don't you think?"

Robin laughs, and it's easy and mellow as ever. Which, strangely, only makes it worse, more surreal. That rich, throaty laugh shouldn't come from that wasted body. "Yeah, I guess it does. Okay. So let's be less weird.

"It is good to see you, Jeff. It's been a long time." She reaches across the table to touch the back of his hand. "I'm sorry to drag you out like this, but I'm glad you came. Thank you."

"Robin—" Jeff fumbles with what to say. He doesn't want to get into a rehash of their relationship; the flip side of the passion and fire that had fueled them had been an equally red-hot, bristling anger and distrust. But it was Robin that left; it was Robin who couldn't take what Jeff was, not the other way around. It was Robin who moved all the way to Arizona, just to get away from him. "Just because we're over doesn't mean I stopped giving a crap," Jeff says finally, a hell of a lot more diplomatic than what he started with. "You know that. Of course I came. I'd come any time you called."

Robin coughs, an ugly, dry sound. She nods through it and shortly, the waiter comes back with the pitcher of water, pouring both goblets on the table full. Robin gulps at it gratefully. "I know that. I do," she says indistinctly, before clearing her throat. "That's probably the biggest reason why I didn't."

It's a Robin type logic, one Jeff's always found impossible to argue with, as much as he'd like to. "But you know I have to ask the question, Rob. What made you call now?"

Robin rolls her eyes, though it doesn't seem to be directed at him, specifically. "You know, I knew this would be awkward, but I didn't realize how awkward." All at once, her expression changes, a graveness that goes all the way into her eyes as she regards him. "I need your help, Jeff."

Though Jeff had vaguely toyed with the notion that it might be something of the kind, it still comes as a surprise. The tensions in their relationship had come from its inequality; like it or not, Jeff has always come from money, from power—however minor it seems in the larger schemes of the Empire—from privilege. And Robin doesn't.

It never fazed Jeff all that much—which Robin always argues is another function of his privilege—but it had been a huge stumbling block for Robin. Fiercely independent, prickly, volatile Robin, who'd hated even the merest suggestion that Jeff might use his money, power or privilege on her behalf.

"I know, shocking, right?" Robin's expression is mocking though, again, Jeff doesn't think it's aimed at him. Jensen's leg presses subtly against Jeff's shin and he realizes he's jittering his leg under the table. Reluctantly, Jeff stills, pressing back against Jensen's solidity. "If there was another way…"

Jeff holds up a hand and shakes his head briefly. "Robin. I know all this. I know you wouldn't have come to me if it wasn't important—dire. And I know you really, really wish you didn't have to come to me at all. I get it, okay?" He smiles to try and take the bite from it, though it does still sting, even after all this time.

"Yeah, okay." Robin sits back in her chair, looking at him with an expression strangely like frustration. "I'm sorry. This is hard, you know. This is what I promised myself I'd never do. I never wanted to have to ask you for anything…"

Her gaze flicks past him, suddenly, toward the restaurant's door, and the frustration melts into something resembling dismay. "Dammit, I told her to wait…"

Jeff turns to look where she's looking and sees a woman standing near the hostess's podium. The woman must spot Robin, because her expression clears and she comes in their direction. As she moves, Jeff glimpses the little boy with her.

It's not like a movie. Looking at the kid, there's no lightning bolt moment of recognition.

"Mom!"

He's a kid. Brown haired, kid-faced and little. He could be anyone's kid and in the normal run of things, there's nothing about him that would've made Jeff look at him twice.

"Hey, baby." Robin grunts when the kid leaps at her, climbing into her lap.

"I'm sorry," the woman apologizes. "But he was getting so fretful and I really got to get going, I've got a meeting…"

There's nothing special about the kid at all and Jeff doesn't see himself in the kid the least little bit, but even so…

He knows.

He knows.

"It's fine," Robin says to her chaperone, shaking her head in reassurance. "It's fine, really. You go on, I've got him. And thanks so much, Lexi. I'm sorry I had to ask. Jeff," Robin says, her face tight and a warning in her eyes as she redirects her gaze to him, "I'd like you to meet your son. This is Bodhi."

"Hi, Bodhi," Jeff says dutifully, automatically—which is a good thing, because Jeff doesn't have a single coherent thought in his head. Bodhi, who was looking at him curiously, turns his face into his mother's neck shyly, cuddling closer.

Jeff stares at the kid—Bodhi—his son—for…well, he doesn't know for how long. Then, startling even himself, he laughs. Not his usual honking giggle, but something sharp and barking. With edges.

Jensen breaks the protocol of non-entity to put his fingers over the hand Jeff's got resting on his thigh. It's reflex for Jeff to turn his hand, grab onto Jensen tightly, the only solid thing in his world.

"God," Jeff says, still laughing, even though none of this is funny. "I know things went bad with us, Rob, but Jesus." He drags his gaze almost unwillingly from the kid to Robin's drawn face. Softer, brows pinching in over his nose: "Do you really hate me that much?"

"I don’t hate you." Robin sighs, shifting Bodhi around on her lap. Bodhi whines protest, trying to keep his face tucked against Robin's body. Finally, she just lets him sit. "I don't hate you, Jeff. It was never about that."

"You'll excuse me if I don't think hiding a kid—my kid—from me for the last four years is exactly a loving gesture," Jeff says, struggling not to raise his voice and scare the kid further. He opens his mouth to say something else, but he's again run out of words and there's nothing except the grinding ache of this revelation.

"Were you ready to order?" the waiter asks diffidently, looking apologetic.

"I don't want anything," Jeff says tiredly. "Do you?"

"I'd like some soup. And the kid's chicken strip meal. Do you want milk?" Robin asks Bodhi.

Bodhi shakes his head without lifting it from her shoulder. "No. Want soda."

"Can he get a small Sprite?"

"Of course."

When the waiter moves off, neither one of them says anything. Jeff realizes he's crushing Jensen's hand and forces himself to let go. His palm is sweaty and his knuckles ache. Jensen glances at him, eyebrows pinching in over his nose, but he sits back in his chair, folding his hands in his lap.

"I don't hate you," Robin says again, finally, bouncing Bodhi slightly on her knee. "When I found out I was pregnant, I already knew we were over. And I know it's selfish, I know that, but I didn't want to share him with you. Okay? He's mine. I wanted him to be mine."

"Then what are we doing here?" Jeff asks, leaning back. "Why the f—" Jensen and Robin look at him and he edits, lowering his voice, "Why am I here?"

"Because I'm sick."

"You're sick, mama?" Bodhi lifts his head and clutches at the collar of Robin's shirt. "What's wrong?"

"If you like," Jensen interjects, "I could take Bodhi to see the fish tank up front."

"Would you like that, Bod? You wanna see the fish?"

"Yeah!" Bodhi sits upright, giving Jeff his first good look at the kid. He looks a lot like Jeff imagines Jeremy looked at that age; a pouf of messy brown curls and a round, alert face with big brown eyes. Jeff can't really remember what he looked like when he was that young.

"Bodhi, this is…?" Rather than look to Jeff, Robin looks at Jensen. Who looks at Jeff.

"This is Jensen," Jeff supplies. "Can you say Jensen?"

Jensen, Bodhi and Robin make nearly identical expressions. "He's four, Jeff." To Bodhi, "Can you show your dad how many fingers that is?"

Bodhi smugly holds up four fingers.

"Awesome. Okay, kiddo. Go with Jensen and see the fish. Count how many there are and then come back and tell me, okay?"

"Okay," Bodhi says gamely and slides off Robin's lap. Jensen holds out his hand and Bodhi grabs three of Jensen's fingers.

"Are you dying?" Jeff asks, once Bodhi and Jensen are far enough out of earshot. It comes out as harshly as his voice and he clears his throat.

"No." Robin shakes her head, looking aside and down as her jaw tightens. "I mean… I'm in remission right now. I'm okay."

"Then what is this, Rob? I mean…" Another laugh, as shaky and barking as the first. "What am I supposed to do with all this? You're sick, we've got a kid…I've got a kid, a four-year old son…" All at once, Jeff's throat closes up, his headache burning into his eyes. He blinks hard, trying to force it all back. "I don't know how many more shocks I can take today."

"I know." Most of his memories of Robin are of her anger. At the time, he called it passion, but its font and fire comes from the anger burning through Robin's core. It feels weird to see it now only in glimpsed embers like a blaze cooling to ash. "I'm sorry, Jeff. I know how lame that sounds, believe me, but I am so sorry."

"Is it money?" Without Jensen or anything else to occupy his hands, Jeff traces the sinuous lines of the cutlery. "Do you need money?"

"I don't want your money, Jeff, Christ!" The old irritation flares, touchy and offended pride. "I can't believe you think I would come all this way just to ask you for money."

"What do you want me to think, Robin? I don't know why you're here. I don't know what you want. I'm trying to be cool about this; I think I've been damned cool about this whole thing so far, but goddamn it, Robin. You don't get to have a moral high horse here when you've been keeping a son—my son from me for the last four fucking years!"

"I don't want to fight with you, Jeff," she says and then glances up as the waiter comes to them with Robin and Bodhi's lunch.

Jeff gulps water, as if that's going to have any effect on the roiling of his stomach. "Then what do you want? Why are you here?"

"I need you to take Bodhi."

Of all the things Jeff might have guessed Robin would say, that didn't even make the list. He laughs again, always prey to that same, inappropriate giggle at the worst moments. "You…you what?"

Robin leans forward, planting her elbows on the table between the dishes. "I told you I've been sick. The truth is, I've been sick for a while, fighting this for the last couple years."

"But you said you're in remission."

"I am in remission. But the treatment hasn't been cheap. And I'm carrying my own insurance, which isn't cheap either, especially since my ability to work has been sporadic." Robin grimaces and leans back again, picking up her spoon.

"Rob, if you need money…"

She shakes her head. "I told you that I don't want your money," she says, softer than before. "I can handle my own bills. I can pay my own way." She jabs at her soup like she's expecting sharks. Then she sighs. "Point is that I'm carrying a heavy load of debt. And I got myself into it, I'll get myself out, but if I don't…" She glances across the restaurant and Jeff knows she's looking at Bodhi, counting fish with Jensen. "You know how this goes," Robin says, even quieter than before. "To Commerce, he's an asset. A goddamn asset." Her mouth twists.

Jeff is still in free-fall, unable to light on one emotion for more than thirty seconds at a time and still completely unsure of his connection to this child, but he doesn't have to be a father to feel sick at the thought of Commerce getting their hands on Bodhi. "Yeah," he says inanely, scrubbing either side of his mouth with his fingers.

"If it's just me…" Robin starts and cuts off. She coughs, bringing the napkin up to cover her lips. "I can deal with anything, you know that. I can handle it, if it's just me. But Bodhi…" She looks at him, a plea in her gaze that Jeff remembers all too well, if in slightly different circumstances. "I can't let anything happen to him, Jeff. He's all I've got in the world. And I can't keep him safe. And you can." She says the words as if they taste bad, bitter. And doubtless they do.

Please, if you've ever felt anything for me at all, I need you to buy our son.

"And I know…" Robin bites her lip, her voice wavering unsteadily. Jeff reaches across the table and takes her hands, feeling the coldness of her skin, how tautly the skin is stretched over the bone. "I know this is a shitty thing to do, Jeff. It's shitty and low-down and I'm horrible for doing this to you, but he's my son." Her eyes well up and then spill over, huge, shameless tears. "He's our son."

"Robin," Jeff says helplessly as she cries, "Robin, hey. Hey. It's okay. It'll be okay. Robin, hey…"



Part 73