Fic: To The Victor, The Spoils (Part 5)
There are a thousand things to see; Felix doesn’t know where to look first.
He was prepared for a city, of course, but somehow he was expecting rough, wooden houses and dingy streets full of waste - but this, this is completely beyond anything he imagined. Wide-open cobbled streets, buildings made of wood, yes, but also - perhaps some kind of concrete? Bold colors everywhere, in clothing, on the walls. Felix tries to match it up with what he’s learned of the Romans so far - the graffiti contains names of public figures, ones he tries to memorize as fast as possible. Elections, some of them were definitely about politics-
“Amazing, isn’t it?” Antony murmurs in Felix’s ear.
The horse sidesteps beneath Felix, and he jerks, but Antony’s arms slip around his waist. “Easy now,” continues Antony, “they can tell when you’re nervous.”
The horse or the crowds, Felix wanted to ask, because the crowds were incredible. He thinks there might be more people living in this one city than in all of the Colonial Fleet - and every single one of them are out in the streets today, greeting the returning heroes, and the newly elected, what was it, people’s Tribune. Marc Antony.
Felix tries not to let his body react to the presence of Antony, pressing behind him. He can’t tell if Antony is erect, but he wouldn’t put it past him to be, and the thought makes Felix shiver with arousal. Antony has stayed away from him, for weeks, maybe - Felix hasn’t been able to keep track of the time - busy, with duties of being a general, with testing and implementing the stirrups that Felix has invented, just leaving Felix inside the caravan with the rest of the slaves.
The rest of the slaves. Felix swallows. He has to remember who he is - Antony’s mindset is dominating his, and that’s wrong. That’s wrong. Felix is a citizen of the Colonies. He has legal rights, and he’ll have them back, as soon as the Galactica’s crew finds him.
If they ever find him.
Just then, as Felix’s eyes scan across the crowd, a spasm of adrenaline wracks his center, a flash of recognition crystallizing inside his eyes. He twists, trying to see - déjà vu, intense déjà vu - but he doesn’t find the face, the face that triggered his memory.
Felix’s heart is racing, and he’s certain, certain that he’s right, that he didn’t delude this. It’s true.
“Steady on, my pet.” Antony’s hands move to the reins. “There’s nothing to be afraid of.”
And for once in his captivity here, Felix isn’t afraid, not at all. He’s nervous, and his pulse hammers from the possibility, the amazing possibility -
Because, buried within the crowds, he spotted the face of none other than Lee Adama.
- - - -
It makes sense, Felix reflects, as Antony helps him down from the horse. Rome has to be one of the biggest cities in the hemisphere, and the Galactica would send down a few people to check it out, have a look around at the native culture. Lee Adama was an odd choice, but not one that was entirely out of the question.
“Your mind is a million miles away,” says Antony, cupping Felix’s chin.
“I’m sorry,” Felix says softly, ducking his head. The slave mentality - it’s wearing on him.
“I have neglected you, haven’t I?” Antony says, thoughtfully. “Haven’t touched you in days. Do you miss it?”
It hits Felix, all at once, that this was another kind of test Antony was putting him through. He did this on purpose, to try Felix’s resolve or maybe just to see the reaction.
But still, it comes down to one thing, and one thing only.
“Yes,” Felix whispers, and he chooses living, grasping as much freedom as he can, over dying.
Antony kisses him, a hand cupping Felix’s cheek, and Felix is reassured. Antony hasn’t stopped wanting him yet. Felix is still safe.
Antony smirks. “Now, I must go through a very tiresome ritual.” He turns to two soldiers nearby - Titus Pullo and Lucius Vorenus, if Felix remembers correctly. The two soldiers who recaptured him the first time he tried to escape.
The first time. All it takes is the phrase, inside his head, and he feels his spine straighten, feel his resolve begin to focus again. He is Felix Gaeta; Lieutenant Felix Gaeta, and no one can take that away from him.
“Vorenus, Pullo,” orders Antony, “take young Octavian back to his mother, and bring this slave along, as well.” Felix sends Antony a questioning look, but all Antony does is stroke his cheek, a smile twisting the corners of his mouth. “Give Atia this letter.” He produces a scroll, and slides it into Vorenus’ hand. “Do I make myself clear?”
“Sir!” salutes Pullo.
“Yes, sir,” nods Vorenus.
Pullo helps Felix up onto the horse, then mounts behind him, the same way they rode when Pullo captured Felix before.
As they travel, Felix takes a moment to surreptitiously examine the young man with them - Octavian. His eyes are ice, Felix sees, and yet they conceal a very canny, very intelligent mind. Probably much more so than Marc Antony.
And now, Felix seems to be - well, a gift of some kind, to Octavian’s mother. Who seems to have some sort of connection with Antony.
Felix wonders what sort of woman could have produced a son like this.
- - - -
“Is he a Gaul?” Atia asks, cocking her head to the side, and examining Felix.
Felix feels very uncomfortable - disheveled, dirty, unruly, especially in this house, which seems a haven of cleanliness. As does Atia. Felix suddenly wishes, very badly, to have a bath of some kind.
“I don’t know, ma’am,” responds Pullo, “but he was captured in Gaul.”
Felix ducks his head a little lower, resolving not to meet Atia’s eyes. Submissive. He is a slave, he must remember.
“He doesn’t look like a Gaul.” Atia steps around behind him, her gaze appraising. Felix tries not to appear as disconcerted as he feels. She’s like a bird of prey, he thinks - and he wonders if the way Antony uses him is as common in this world as it seems, if Antony would let her touch his property. It makes Felix queasy, because he isn’t that way, he doesn’t want to be violated like that.
The noise of Atia clapping startles Felix out of his brief reverie. He glances up, and sees her rattle off orders to a slave, as though it hardly mattered - “Get him cleaned up,” she says. “And some new clothes, for heaven’s sake.”
The slave nods. “Yes, Domina,” and he gestures for Felix to follow him.
Felix jerks into motion, and as he makes his way after the slave, his and Octavian’s eyes slip into contact. It sends an electrifying jolt down Felix’s middle, because Octavian is fixing him with a calculating stare to rival Caesar’s, and it makes Felix nervous. Very nervous.
- - - -
“Take your clothes off.”
Felix stops dead.
The slave sighs. “I don’t have time for shyness. Just take them off.”
Felix swallows, and he forces himself to pull the tunic over his head. It’s an open courtyard - anyone could come by - but he supposes he doesn’t have any privacy anymore.
The slave’s stare is piercing, somehow, measuring Felix to some kind of mental standard. His eyes flash with a kind of lust that Felix is very much not comfortable with.
He urges Felix down on his knees, in front of a basin of water, and he dips a cloth inside, rubbing it along the skin of Felix’s back.
Felix stirs. “I can do that myself,” he says, tilting his head up to the other slave, keeping his voice firm.
The slave doesn’t respond, just keeps running the cloth over the dust and grime on Felix’s skin.
“I said,” Felix begins, but then there’s a grip on his neck, digging into his windpipe.
“Quiet,” snaps the slave, and he’s a lot bigger than Felix, stronger and more muscular. He lets go, and Felix gasps quietly, pulling air back into his lungs.
Felix guesses it’s probably just best to stay quiet.
It’s all very humiliating, though - the slave is very thorough, to the point of knocking Felix’s legs a little further apart and cleaning between them, as Felix fights to keep his body from responding reflexively to the touch. He’s half-hard when the slave finishes - and he catches a glimpse, though he wishes he hadn’t, and realizes that the slave has an erection, underneath his tunic.
He flinches, and tries to ignore what is happening to him for the rest.
Eventually, the slave stops, and passes him a clean tunic. It’s an improvement - Felix is much more presentable now - but he hopes he can get more thoroughly clean later. On his own, preferably.
- - - -
Once the slave is done, he leaves Felix alone with a snapped order not to “run off.” Felix waits in the courtyard for what seems like an interminably long time, then he slips back inside the house - the villa? - and tries to look as though he’s moving with a purpose. No one challenges him, and he’s able to explore. It’s a marvel of primitive architecture, really.
“You.”
Felix turns, his steps faltering, and he immediately realizes his mistake. He reacted guiltily; even if the person saying the word wasn’t suspicious before, undoubtedly he or she was now.
Instead of meeting the eyes of another slave, Felix instead meets the ice-blue gaze of Octavian.
“Dominus,” Felix murmurs.
“It’s Gaeta, isn’t it?” Octavian asks.
“Yes.”
“Come with me.”
- - - -
“You’re learned, aren’t you?” Octavian asks. “Educated.”
Felix marvels, because this is disconcerting too, almost as disconcerting as the washing - but, this time, it’s because Octavian is treating him as an equal. Felix feels the appreciation for the attitude wash over him, and he thinks it’s probably best to ignore it, but he can’t help it.
Felix nods. “I am.”
Octavian nods back, a frown creasing between his eyebrows. “I can’t help but wonder, by your attitude, if your culture isn’t more advanced scientifically than our own.”
Felix bites his lip. Octavian has no idea. “I’d like to know,” Felix says, cautiously, “why you aren’t treating me like a slave.”
Octavian shrugs. “There are those who believe slaves and plebes may no more hold an intellectual belief than they may fly. For the most part, it’s true.”
Felix half-laughs, and he thinks about the fleet full of ‘plebes’, plebes who elected Gaius Baltar as their president.
“I see you agree,” Octavian smiles. “I’d like to think, though, that I have a more discerning eye than that.” A slave offers Octavian wine, from a tray, and he takes a goblet. “Wine?” he asks Felix.
Felix takes the goblet, more out of politeness than anything else. “It is possible, though,” says Felix.
“For a plebe to think?” Octavian asks.
“No,” says Felix. “For a man to fly.”
Octavian cocks his head to the side. “Explain.”
Felix thinks for a moment. “Do you know,” he says slowly, “when the weather changes, sometimes, and you have to pop your ears?”
Octavian nods. “Of course.”
“Well,” Felix continues, “that’s because of a change in air pressure.” At Octavian’s look, he goes on. “That is, air is a material substance, just like anything else, and it can be packed in tighter or less tight, just we don’t have the ability to perceive it.”
Octavian is listening. Felix takes a breath.
“When there’s less air in a particular place, more air wants to rush in and fill it,” he explains. “That’s what creates the wind.”
“And here we are thinking it’s the gods,” murmurs Octavian.
Felix spares a second to smile, and he lets his mind sink back into its element. “When air is moving, like the wind,” he says, “it’s by definition more empty than when air is still.”
“So, there’s wind to try and fill the wind?”
Felix nods. “Yeah,” he says.
“Go on,” says Octavian.
“The way you make a man fly,” says Felix, “is you have to build a set of wings. Not flapping wings, like birds, but wings with a specific design - curved on top, and flat on the bottom.”
“That way the air has more distance to travel over the curve, therefore moves faster and is more empty,” says Octavian slowly, “but how does that produce flight?”
“It does,” Felix states, firmly.
“You’ve seen this happen?” asks Octavian.
It’s pretty fair to say that Felix has. “I have.”
Felix lingers there, speaking with Octavian, and it’s not until much later that he realizes that Octavian’s interest may have been carefully calculated, enough to discover the potential of Felix’s knowledge. Felix feels a sinking sensation in his stomach - but, on the bright side, undoubtedly Octavian will oppose anyone who tries to kill him.
It doesn’t really comfort him, though.
- - - -
Later, after darkness has fallen, Antony returns. After a brief conference, he retires back to Atia’s room, and soon some very pornographic sounds echo their way through the house.
Felix sits very still, against a wall inside the courtyard. He’s incredibly alone, right now.
“Gaeta.”
Felix snaps his head up, looking for the source of the noise. There’s no one there, and Felix’s eyes narrow, but then: “Gaeta, up here!”
Felix tilts his head, and there’s Lee Adama, his head just barely over the edge of the wall dividing the house from the street, outside. “Major Adama?” Felix hisses, and Lee drops down to the ground, in a surprisingly agile move. “What are you doing here?”
Lee draws him over to a more secluded corner. “I thought it was you,” he says, in a low tone, “but I wasn’t sure. My gods, we thought you were dead.”
Felix sets his jaw. “You found the Marine’s body?”
Lee nods slowly. “Kara tried to search for you, but you’d vanished. Once they got the Raptor fixed, they went back up into orbit.”
Felix breathes, struggling against the incredible rush of anger. It was entirely their fault that this ordeal had happened to him, and he had to leave, had to get out, now…
“Felix.”
Felix shoves Lee back into the corner, into the deeper shadows, and he turns. Antony’s silhouette steps into the doorway to the main house. “Ah, there you are,” says Antony. “Come inside.” His gaze is turning hard, Felix thinks, even though he can’t see so well in the darkness. “Now.”
Felix just barely manages not to look over at Lee, because that would be very telling, telling indeed, and that’s the last thing Felix wants. Antony could probably take apart both Felix and Lee with one hand tied behind his back…and Felix wants to leave, very much, but he can’t, not yet.
“Yes, sir,” Felix says to Antony, and he trails him inside the villa.
- - -
He was prepared for a city, of course, but somehow he was expecting rough, wooden houses and dingy streets full of waste - but this, this is completely beyond anything he imagined. Wide-open cobbled streets, buildings made of wood, yes, but also - perhaps some kind of concrete? Bold colors everywhere, in clothing, on the walls. Felix tries to match it up with what he’s learned of the Romans so far - the graffiti contains names of public figures, ones he tries to memorize as fast as possible. Elections, some of them were definitely about politics-
“Amazing, isn’t it?” Antony murmurs in Felix’s ear.
The horse sidesteps beneath Felix, and he jerks, but Antony’s arms slip around his waist. “Easy now,” continues Antony, “they can tell when you’re nervous.”
The horse or the crowds, Felix wanted to ask, because the crowds were incredible. He thinks there might be more people living in this one city than in all of the Colonial Fleet - and every single one of them are out in the streets today, greeting the returning heroes, and the newly elected, what was it, people’s Tribune. Marc Antony.
Felix tries not to let his body react to the presence of Antony, pressing behind him. He can’t tell if Antony is erect, but he wouldn’t put it past him to be, and the thought makes Felix shiver with arousal. Antony has stayed away from him, for weeks, maybe - Felix hasn’t been able to keep track of the time - busy, with duties of being a general, with testing and implementing the stirrups that Felix has invented, just leaving Felix inside the caravan with the rest of the slaves.
The rest of the slaves. Felix swallows. He has to remember who he is - Antony’s mindset is dominating his, and that’s wrong. That’s wrong. Felix is a citizen of the Colonies. He has legal rights, and he’ll have them back, as soon as the Galactica’s crew finds him.
If they ever find him.
Just then, as Felix’s eyes scan across the crowd, a spasm of adrenaline wracks his center, a flash of recognition crystallizing inside his eyes. He twists, trying to see - déjà vu, intense déjà vu - but he doesn’t find the face, the face that triggered his memory.
Felix’s heart is racing, and he’s certain, certain that he’s right, that he didn’t delude this. It’s true.
“Steady on, my pet.” Antony’s hands move to the reins. “There’s nothing to be afraid of.”
And for once in his captivity here, Felix isn’t afraid, not at all. He’s nervous, and his pulse hammers from the possibility, the amazing possibility -
Because, buried within the crowds, he spotted the face of none other than Lee Adama.
- - - -
It makes sense, Felix reflects, as Antony helps him down from the horse. Rome has to be one of the biggest cities in the hemisphere, and the Galactica would send down a few people to check it out, have a look around at the native culture. Lee Adama was an odd choice, but not one that was entirely out of the question.
“Your mind is a million miles away,” says Antony, cupping Felix’s chin.
“I’m sorry,” Felix says softly, ducking his head. The slave mentality - it’s wearing on him.
“I have neglected you, haven’t I?” Antony says, thoughtfully. “Haven’t touched you in days. Do you miss it?”
It hits Felix, all at once, that this was another kind of test Antony was putting him through. He did this on purpose, to try Felix’s resolve or maybe just to see the reaction.
But still, it comes down to one thing, and one thing only.
“Yes,” Felix whispers, and he chooses living, grasping as much freedom as he can, over dying.
Antony kisses him, a hand cupping Felix’s cheek, and Felix is reassured. Antony hasn’t stopped wanting him yet. Felix is still safe.
Antony smirks. “Now, I must go through a very tiresome ritual.” He turns to two soldiers nearby - Titus Pullo and Lucius Vorenus, if Felix remembers correctly. The two soldiers who recaptured him the first time he tried to escape.
The first time. All it takes is the phrase, inside his head, and he feels his spine straighten, feel his resolve begin to focus again. He is Felix Gaeta; Lieutenant Felix Gaeta, and no one can take that away from him.
“Vorenus, Pullo,” orders Antony, “take young Octavian back to his mother, and bring this slave along, as well.” Felix sends Antony a questioning look, but all Antony does is stroke his cheek, a smile twisting the corners of his mouth. “Give Atia this letter.” He produces a scroll, and slides it into Vorenus’ hand. “Do I make myself clear?”
“Sir!” salutes Pullo.
“Yes, sir,” nods Vorenus.
Pullo helps Felix up onto the horse, then mounts behind him, the same way they rode when Pullo captured Felix before.
As they travel, Felix takes a moment to surreptitiously examine the young man with them - Octavian. His eyes are ice, Felix sees, and yet they conceal a very canny, very intelligent mind. Probably much more so than Marc Antony.
And now, Felix seems to be - well, a gift of some kind, to Octavian’s mother. Who seems to have some sort of connection with Antony.
Felix wonders what sort of woman could have produced a son like this.
- - - -
“Is he a Gaul?” Atia asks, cocking her head to the side, and examining Felix.
Felix feels very uncomfortable - disheveled, dirty, unruly, especially in this house, which seems a haven of cleanliness. As does Atia. Felix suddenly wishes, very badly, to have a bath of some kind.
“I don’t know, ma’am,” responds Pullo, “but he was captured in Gaul.”
Felix ducks his head a little lower, resolving not to meet Atia’s eyes. Submissive. He is a slave, he must remember.
“He doesn’t look like a Gaul.” Atia steps around behind him, her gaze appraising. Felix tries not to appear as disconcerted as he feels. She’s like a bird of prey, he thinks - and he wonders if the way Antony uses him is as common in this world as it seems, if Antony would let her touch his property. It makes Felix queasy, because he isn’t that way, he doesn’t want to be violated like that.
The noise of Atia clapping startles Felix out of his brief reverie. He glances up, and sees her rattle off orders to a slave, as though it hardly mattered - “Get him cleaned up,” she says. “And some new clothes, for heaven’s sake.”
The slave nods. “Yes, Domina,” and he gestures for Felix to follow him.
Felix jerks into motion, and as he makes his way after the slave, his and Octavian’s eyes slip into contact. It sends an electrifying jolt down Felix’s middle, because Octavian is fixing him with a calculating stare to rival Caesar’s, and it makes Felix nervous. Very nervous.
- - - -
“Take your clothes off.”
Felix stops dead.
The slave sighs. “I don’t have time for shyness. Just take them off.”
Felix swallows, and he forces himself to pull the tunic over his head. It’s an open courtyard - anyone could come by - but he supposes he doesn’t have any privacy anymore.
The slave’s stare is piercing, somehow, measuring Felix to some kind of mental standard. His eyes flash with a kind of lust that Felix is very much not comfortable with.
He urges Felix down on his knees, in front of a basin of water, and he dips a cloth inside, rubbing it along the skin of Felix’s back.
Felix stirs. “I can do that myself,” he says, tilting his head up to the other slave, keeping his voice firm.
The slave doesn’t respond, just keeps running the cloth over the dust and grime on Felix’s skin.
“I said,” Felix begins, but then there’s a grip on his neck, digging into his windpipe.
“Quiet,” snaps the slave, and he’s a lot bigger than Felix, stronger and more muscular. He lets go, and Felix gasps quietly, pulling air back into his lungs.
Felix guesses it’s probably just best to stay quiet.
It’s all very humiliating, though - the slave is very thorough, to the point of knocking Felix’s legs a little further apart and cleaning between them, as Felix fights to keep his body from responding reflexively to the touch. He’s half-hard when the slave finishes - and he catches a glimpse, though he wishes he hadn’t, and realizes that the slave has an erection, underneath his tunic.
He flinches, and tries to ignore what is happening to him for the rest.
Eventually, the slave stops, and passes him a clean tunic. It’s an improvement - Felix is much more presentable now - but he hopes he can get more thoroughly clean later. On his own, preferably.
- - - -
Once the slave is done, he leaves Felix alone with a snapped order not to “run off.” Felix waits in the courtyard for what seems like an interminably long time, then he slips back inside the house - the villa? - and tries to look as though he’s moving with a purpose. No one challenges him, and he’s able to explore. It’s a marvel of primitive architecture, really.
“You.”
Felix turns, his steps faltering, and he immediately realizes his mistake. He reacted guiltily; even if the person saying the word wasn’t suspicious before, undoubtedly he or she was now.
Instead of meeting the eyes of another slave, Felix instead meets the ice-blue gaze of Octavian.
“Dominus,” Felix murmurs.
“It’s Gaeta, isn’t it?” Octavian asks.
“Yes.”
“Come with me.”
- - - -
“You’re learned, aren’t you?” Octavian asks. “Educated.”
Felix marvels, because this is disconcerting too, almost as disconcerting as the washing - but, this time, it’s because Octavian is treating him as an equal. Felix feels the appreciation for the attitude wash over him, and he thinks it’s probably best to ignore it, but he can’t help it.
Felix nods. “I am.”
Octavian nods back, a frown creasing between his eyebrows. “I can’t help but wonder, by your attitude, if your culture isn’t more advanced scientifically than our own.”
Felix bites his lip. Octavian has no idea. “I’d like to know,” Felix says, cautiously, “why you aren’t treating me like a slave.”
Octavian shrugs. “There are those who believe slaves and plebes may no more hold an intellectual belief than they may fly. For the most part, it’s true.”
Felix half-laughs, and he thinks about the fleet full of ‘plebes’, plebes who elected Gaius Baltar as their president.
“I see you agree,” Octavian smiles. “I’d like to think, though, that I have a more discerning eye than that.” A slave offers Octavian wine, from a tray, and he takes a goblet. “Wine?” he asks Felix.
Felix takes the goblet, more out of politeness than anything else. “It is possible, though,” says Felix.
“For a plebe to think?” Octavian asks.
“No,” says Felix. “For a man to fly.”
Octavian cocks his head to the side. “Explain.”
Felix thinks for a moment. “Do you know,” he says slowly, “when the weather changes, sometimes, and you have to pop your ears?”
Octavian nods. “Of course.”
“Well,” Felix continues, “that’s because of a change in air pressure.” At Octavian’s look, he goes on. “That is, air is a material substance, just like anything else, and it can be packed in tighter or less tight, just we don’t have the ability to perceive it.”
Octavian is listening. Felix takes a breath.
“When there’s less air in a particular place, more air wants to rush in and fill it,” he explains. “That’s what creates the wind.”
“And here we are thinking it’s the gods,” murmurs Octavian.
Felix spares a second to smile, and he lets his mind sink back into its element. “When air is moving, like the wind,” he says, “it’s by definition more empty than when air is still.”
“So, there’s wind to try and fill the wind?”
Felix nods. “Yeah,” he says.
“Go on,” says Octavian.
“The way you make a man fly,” says Felix, “is you have to build a set of wings. Not flapping wings, like birds, but wings with a specific design - curved on top, and flat on the bottom.”
“That way the air has more distance to travel over the curve, therefore moves faster and is more empty,” says Octavian slowly, “but how does that produce flight?”
“It does,” Felix states, firmly.
“You’ve seen this happen?” asks Octavian.
It’s pretty fair to say that Felix has. “I have.”
Felix lingers there, speaking with Octavian, and it’s not until much later that he realizes that Octavian’s interest may have been carefully calculated, enough to discover the potential of Felix’s knowledge. Felix feels a sinking sensation in his stomach - but, on the bright side, undoubtedly Octavian will oppose anyone who tries to kill him.
It doesn’t really comfort him, though.
- - - -
Later, after darkness has fallen, Antony returns. After a brief conference, he retires back to Atia’s room, and soon some very pornographic sounds echo their way through the house.
Felix sits very still, against a wall inside the courtyard. He’s incredibly alone, right now.
“Gaeta.”
Felix snaps his head up, looking for the source of the noise. There’s no one there, and Felix’s eyes narrow, but then: “Gaeta, up here!”
Felix tilts his head, and there’s Lee Adama, his head just barely over the edge of the wall dividing the house from the street, outside. “Major Adama?” Felix hisses, and Lee drops down to the ground, in a surprisingly agile move. “What are you doing here?”
Lee draws him over to a more secluded corner. “I thought it was you,” he says, in a low tone, “but I wasn’t sure. My gods, we thought you were dead.”
Felix sets his jaw. “You found the Marine’s body?”
Lee nods slowly. “Kara tried to search for you, but you’d vanished. Once they got the Raptor fixed, they went back up into orbit.”
Felix breathes, struggling against the incredible rush of anger. It was entirely their fault that this ordeal had happened to him, and he had to leave, had to get out, now…
“Felix.”
Felix shoves Lee back into the corner, into the deeper shadows, and he turns. Antony’s silhouette steps into the doorway to the main house. “Ah, there you are,” says Antony. “Come inside.” His gaze is turning hard, Felix thinks, even though he can’t see so well in the darkness. “Now.”
Felix just barely manages not to look over at Lee, because that would be very telling, telling indeed, and that’s the last thing Felix wants. Antony could probably take apart both Felix and Lee with one hand tied behind his back…and Felix wants to leave, very much, but he can’t, not yet.
“Yes, sir,” Felix says to Antony, and he trails him inside the villa.
- - -