Unconditionally Conditional - Part Three
Title: Unconditionally Conditional -- thank you, Avari!
Author: streamofwords -- OMG, streamedwords' secret smut alias
Pairing: Ambrose/Wyatt
Disclaimer: I own nothing. I am merely a humble fan girl.
Rating: NC-17 -- just 'cause it makes me feel like a bad ass.
Summary: Resistance Fighter Wyatt Cain finds himself being imprisoned by the sadistic Royal Court, facing a future of servitude. But is there an ally on his side?
Warning: Imprisonment, mind torture, slavery, AU
Note: Sorry, no sex in this one. Wait until next chapter, though. HOO BOY!
Cain tensed when he heard the lock of the door turning. He'd left the tub minutes ago, exploring through Ambrose's suite to try and find some clothes to wear. Of course, nothing here would possibly fit him, considering the differences in their body types. That, and Cain wasn't about to try and squeeze himself into one of those small leather Medic coats. He had settled for getting the blanket wrapped around his body again, easing back against one of the walls in the adjoining room as he peeked to see who was coming in around a corner.
It was just Ambrose returning. The Medic was wheeling in a large metal cart with three shelves. Cain's nostrils flared as he smelled delicious food wafting from it, his stomach clenching in response. He stepped out into sight as Ambrose turned to lock the door behind him, faintly amused. "I didn't know that delivering room service was in your job description."
The Medic flashed him a teasing glare, before pushing the cart past where Cain stood, stopping it in the living room. "Normally, it isn't. But I was asked to bring this in. These are gifts from the Queen, in her 'regret that my pet was so misused while entrusted to Zero's care'." Ambrose pointed to the domed tray on the top. "Feel free to help yourself. I'm far from hungry right now."
Cain watched as the man walked away from the tray, tugging off his white gloves. He saw Ambrose toss them into a trash bin, before disappearing into the other room. With a shrug, Cain reached for the dome, removing it from the top of the silver platter beneath. The food was unrecognizable, but after taking a few taste tests of the different dishes, Cain found them all to his liking. He took the platter off the tray, placing it down on the short table in the middle of the living room. Sitting on the floor in front of it, he promptly began to eat.
Ambrose returned, tugging on a fresh pair of black gloves. He smirked as he saw that Cain had already eaten half the platter. The Medic strolled over, seating himself on the floor opposite of the man and his food. "The chefs here are the best in the realm. The Queen collects them."
Grunting around a mouthful of food, Cain didn't doubt that claim. He took a break between spooning another helping into his mouth, asking quietly, "What's happened with Zero?"
"Demoted. I tried to champion for more, but he's too important to be simply executed like I'd requested." Ambrose answered, somewhat impressed by how fast Cain was devouring the food. He watched the man continue to drive through the delicacies. "He's been put in the slave pens for a few days, as a lesson. Once that's done, he'll be back to just a standard level Trainer until the Queen is satisfied that he has reformed himself." The Medic rolled his eyes, proving that he didn't expect that to happen.
"What happens to me?" Cain asked as he drank down a full cup of wine that Ambrose set down for him.
Ambrose shrugged. "Nothing. Oh, I wouldn't expect an apology from anyone anytime soon, but there isn't going to be any consequence against you, aside from more bitter behavior from Zero. The Queen understood how upset I was to find out about what Zero had done to you. I was able to convince her that I no longer trusted anyone else to see to your training. I demanded that I be the one allowed to train you. She agreed."
He leaned back against the couch behind him with a low sigh. "So now you'll be in my complete care. You will remain at my side when we are in public, and stay in here the rest of the time, for your own safety."
"I thought that you didn't know anything about training people?"
With a quiet chuckle, Ambrose averted his eyes. "You could say that I learned by example. Since you're cooperative with me, we should be able to at least pull off looking like we're operating by the rules. In private, it will be informal. Like now. I really don't have any interest in having a slave of my own." He shook his head. "In public, though, it's different. There is a certain manner of conduct which we will be expected to follow."
"Like what?" Cain asked, putting his utensils down for now as he listened to Ambrose speak.
"For one, you'll be expected to behave like a slave." Ambrose smirked. "Fortunately, I don't have a reputation for being an exhibitionist, so you won't have to worry about any repeat performances like that one in the chamber. Unless the Queen asks again. Can't be helped, in that instance. Aside from that, you'll just be doing tasks for me; carrying things, fetching things that I might need, being a good little assistant. I am not a demanding 'master'."
"Sounds to me like I'm pretty damn fortunate that you spoke up, then."
"Oh, most certainly." The Medic gestured around vaguely. "There'll be times when I don't need your help, at which point you will be joining some of the other slaves at one of the building sites. No one bothers them much, not even the foreman. It'll keep you from having to stay in here all the time, so you won't get cabin fever."
Cain nodded. Building was something that he enjoyed doing. "Anything else?"
"There is the matter of your attire." Ambrose pursed his lips together, eyeing the blond. "You'll be expected to wear the standard uniform of a Council Member's slave." He rose, moving to withdraw an armful of black from the bottom rack of the cart. With a tiny smirk, the Medic unfurled a pair of black leather pants, dangling them in front of Cain. "Apparently, no one ever thought to put too much color variety in the uniforms around here."
"Um..." Cain glowered uncertainly at the pants, "there IS more, right?"
Ambrose nodded, that smirk spreading as he held up a strip of black in his other hand, which Cain saw was a collar. "Pants plus accessory." The Medic tossed them onto the couch behind the blond, shaking his head. "Look at it on the bright side -- at least you won't have to worry about finding things to match. There's some shoes, too. That's it."
"I guess it's better than walking around naked." The blond reasoned, trying to convince himself that he could tolerate wearing the stuff. Cain fingered the hem of the leather pants, still doubtful.
That made Ambrose laugh, which Cain found to be a pleasant sound. It made him smile, despite everything that had happened to him. Ambrose delicately patted him on his left shoulder, gesturing to the platter. "Finish eating, then get dressed. I'll take you on a tour of the facilities. You might as well start getting a feel for the Palace."
"Sure." Cain murmured, before he resumed clearing off the rest of the platter, enjoying the comfortable silence that fell between him and the Medic.
~~~~~~~~~~~
Once they were outside, Ambrose underwent a personality change which amazed Cain. This was what he had glimpsed of the Medic when the man came to examine him in his cell. Cold, detached, impersonal. Ambrose walked stiffly down the corridor from his suite, silently beckoning for Cain to follow.
Cain still felt uncomfortable in the leather pants, which were too tight in his opinion, considering how little they left to the imagination. He kept tugging at the collar around his throat, convinced that it was choking him, though Ambrose would occasionally raise a gloved hand to slap his fingers away from the leather. "Stop that, or they'll downgrade you to a pair of skimpy underwear."
Hearing that was enough to keep Cain from fussing with it much afterwards. It still bothered him, but he tried to let himself phase it out of the forefront of his mind. He kept pace with Ambrose, staying behind the man, as that was what he had been instructed to do. The Medic had said that Cain was expected to keep behind him at all times, as a sign of ownership. Cain found it harder to manage than he'd thought, since his longer strides kept inching up to the Medic's side.
By the time they left the residential area, they had found a pace which suited him better, so that Cain could walk without having to lurch his steps and avoid colliding into Ambrose's back. They had come out into a multi-layer area, a miniature city that stretched up out of sight, and down below. There were lights on in some of the places, which Cain realized were work stations, shops, and storage rooms. At the center of the circular spire was a beam of green light which shot up from somewhere far below. Cain stared at it in wonder.
"That's the Beam. It's the energy source which runs the power through this place. You are standing in the core of the Palace, the very heart of its operations. We call this the Central District." Ambrose explained softly. "Here, you'll find whatever you are looking for, if it exists in the realm. There are businesses, restaurants, brothels, bars. Everything from clothes to cars, for those who are allowed to purchase. Many of the Palace's slaves work in those places. They don't get paid for their work, so all the purchases become profit once the cost of importing them is covered."
"So the upper crust lives comfortably off the sweat and effort of their working class." Cain remarked.
"That's not an uncommon way for society to operate." Ambrose pointed out, gloved fingers touching to Cain's arm. "Come on. I'll show you the Slave Quarter. You can see examples of how you are expected to behave. It will be easier than me trying to explain. Demonstration is a useful tool for education."
They stepped into an elevator which took them down towards the lower levels. Ambrose leaned against the side of the box the whole way there, keeping his distance from Cain. The blond noticed it, frowning. "Did I do something wrong?"
"No, not at all." Ambrose answered, allowing that detached mask to slip for a moment as he smiled faintly. "I just hate this part of the Palace. Too many bad memories."
"Bad memories? You mean that..?" Cain trailed off.
"I didn't start out a Medic, Wyatt. I started out as a slave, same as you." Ambrose had focused his eyes towards the doors of the elevator, their color darker than usual in his unhappiness. "It was only because of the Queen and her daughters that I have come to be in this position. They happened upon me one day while touring the Slave Quarter. I guess they found me charming enough to take back up with them."
"You were the Queen's slave?"
"Yes. I was just a general service slave for a year before she found me. Then I was her personal slave for nearly ten years. She was a slightly better person back then. I asked her why she had chosen me to serve her, and she told me that something about my eyes broke her heart." Ambrose smirked to himself, humorless. "I was a good servant. She found out that I was highly intelligent -- I was a scholar before I was captured, and eventually decided that I would be better put to use in the Medic field. Being good at my job, and having an in with the Queen, I managed to work myself quickly up to the lead position which I have now. That ranks me up with the Royal Council, which is why I have such special privileges."
Cain nodded. "It doesn't sound like you had such a rough times of things."
Ambrose scoffed, jaw clenching. "Those eleven years were hell. Pure hell. I was a slave, a pawn, a plaything. Zero likes to rub it in my face even now about the things he was allowed to do to me in the past. I was trained by him, same as you. And mistreated by him, the same as you, too. He still refuses to acknowledge me as an equal, considering my history. If not for my medical oath not to take a life, I would have ended him years ago."
"Sorry. I didn't mean to bring up all that heavy stuff on you. We can drop it, if you'd like."
"It's fine. With them knowing how I was treated in the past, it gives me allowance to keep them all at a distance now. They know better than to try and scale the walls I have built up." Ambrose's fists clenched, leather creaking. "I prefer it that way. Which is why I.." He held up one of those gloved hands, indicating it, "Well, you were wondering about why I wear these things. That's one of the reasons."
Cain was silent after that, berating himself for getting them fixed on that topic of conversation. The Medic had done so much for him already, and Cain was rubbing salt into the man's wounds. He felt like an ass. Their silence continued until they reached their destination, elevator doors sliding open before Ambrose stepped out with Cain in tow.
The Beam was stronger in the center of this portion of the Palace, but there weren't nearly as many lights as there had been in the upper levels. This gave the darkened place a green tint, since that central power source was one of the few sources of illumination. There were lamps here and there that glowed pale yellow, yet they weren't enough to shake the seedy atmosphere of the Quarter.
Ambrose was walking hurriedly now, as if wanting to get this part of the tour over with as quickly as possible. Cain increased his pace to keep up, looking around them to the open faces of the different businesses which were down here. He saw a small cafe, tables placed out in a small adjoining courtyard. A woman was reading a book, seated at one of the tables with a cup of something steaming near her elbow. Her other hand was curled absently around the neck of a man kneeling at her feet, which Cain identified as a slave from his attire -- the slaves of lesser ranked people still had the collar and pants, but they were green to match the color of the place.
The next building over, there were a pair of female slaves that were in the middle of sex, while two men who appeared to be their owners looked on with interest. Cain found himself lingering to appreciate the display as well, though Ambrose quickly yanked on his arm to get the blond back on track. No one else seemed to pay much interest to the spectacle, as if it were as commonly seen as that woman had been reading her book. Cain marveled, wondering what kind of sick joint this place was if public displays of sex were so uninteresting to the residents here.
Ambrose took him around the full circle of the Quarter, pointing out slaves here and there for Cain to note. He wanted Cain to notice their posture, how they held themselves, how they served the fully clothed people who were visiting this place. Ambrose explained to Cain that this was how he would be expected to act while they were in public, in order to keep up appearances. Cain tried to memorize what he could, though the information and observations which Ambrose kept droning on about were too much for his brain to process right now.
They came towards the end of the loop, to where a large metal corral stood. There were slaves of all sorts inside of it, Cain saw them through the planks that held them in. He frowned as he looked up at the sign above it. Slave Pens. They had people in there as if they were cattle on a farm, instead of human beings. Ambrose was going to walk past it without a glance, but something inside of it caught his attention. He stopped Cain with a hand against the blond's chest, before the Medic went sauntering up to the gate of the pens.
Clasping his gloved hands behind his back, Ambrose cocked his head sharply to the side, addressing one of the people leaning heavily against the gate. His voice was coldly teasing. "Aw. That looks like it hurts something fierce."
"Shut up." The man growled back at Ambrose, a hand sweeping out to try and strike at the Medic, who danced back away with a low chuckle of amusement.
Cain realized that it was Zero inside the pen. They had shaved his hair off in order to stitch up the split which Ambrose's hit had caused, and judging by Zero's dire mood, Cain wagered they hadn't bothered to give him much for the pain. Ambrose retaliated to that attempt at hitting him by kicking the gate beside where Zero's head was resting, the metal resonating loudly. Cain took great satisfaction in seeing the Trainer's face twist up in agony, as Zero retreated to clutch his head.
With a sniff, Ambrose waved Cain onward. "Let's head back up. Zero obvously isn't feeling social today, for some reason."
"Yes, Sir." Cain murmured, half-saluting the other's command. He caught Zero's painfilled eyes through the gate, and winked at him with a smirk. Zero was still snarling out threats even when they were inside the elevator.
Ambrose was able to hold that cold composure for only a few seconds after the doors had shut, before he had bent over, clutching at his stomach as he laughed uncontrollably. Cain, feeling good about the situation, joined in with his own quiet chuckle. They almost were unable to compose themselves by the time they'd returned to the upper levels, but Ambrose eventually pinched him out of his good humor, Cain rubbing his arm where the Medic's pinch had left the skin there sore. Winking quickly, Ambrose whispered, "Now I'll show you where I work, and then we'll retreat to my suite for lunch. Though I assume that you're not hungry after single-handedly conquering my breakfast."
"Lunch sounds perfect." Cain said with a nod, letting the Medic lead him out the doors towards the new territory.
~~~~~~~~~~~
The hell which he'd been put through in his first week at the Palace began to fade in his memory, as time progressed on. Cain went unbothered by everyone else here, and even after Zero was released from the Pens, he also gave the blond a wide berth. He was able to actually enjoy himself for the most part, considering the situation. When Ambrose didn't need him for anything in the Medical Sector, Cain joined the other slaves at the many building sites around the Palace, where they were either constructing new facilities or performing maintanence on parts of the structure which needed it. Cain was able to put his focus into something that gave him a sense of accomplishment by the end of the day.
When evening came, both he and Ambrose were free from their duties, though the Medic remained always on call for emergencies. They would meet back in Ambrose's suite, which Cain had been given a key card for, to enjoy the rest of the evening between themselves. Often, after dinner was finished, they would stay up for hours playing cards, or Ambrose might read by himself while Cain dozed, and sometimes Ambrose would satisfy the blond's curiosity by explaining more about the medical field. He had books full of good information, which Cain often looked at, wanting to get more insight into what Ambrose had committed himself to.
He even went to the Medical Sector with Ambrose sometimes, just to watch the man at work. Cain would sit quietly, like an obediant servant, while Ambrose tended to those who walked into his lab, or were brought in with injuries. It was impressive to watch the Medic work. No matter how minor or severe the injuries were, Ambrose handled his patients with professional efficiency. There were many slaves from the work sites who came in, injured from an accident on the construction site. The Medic handled them with the same distant but exemplary treatment that he did the Free people who passed across his table.
Ambrose's cold demeanor would only diminish when children were brought to him. Cain would see him become more like the man of their private time, the Medic smiling and making faces at them to cheer away their tears as he administered their treatment with the utmost care. The first time Cain saw Ambrose perform a small sleight-of-hand trick that had a brightly colored candy appear in the palm of a white-gloved hand, the blond was nearly as amazed by it as the child had been. He'd not expected something like that from the Medic. It was times like these when Cain began to realize the depth to the other man, who aside from mentioning a few things about his past at the Palace here and there, spoke nothing of himself no matter how often Cain asked him.
On occasion, they would rush someone in, slave or otherwise, and it would be a major emergency. Ambrose remained unfailingly calm, despite the extent of the injury, commanding the Medics around him in a firm voice that belied the chaos around him. Sometimes, he would send Cain away when the situation became too intense, the blond having to wait outside. Usually, the technology at their fingertips would be enough to fix the situation. Cain would watch the Medics wheeling out the patient, the crisis averted, a few of them congratulating a relieved Ambrose as they left.
The technology didn't always save them. Cain saw them wheeling the covered body out of Ambrose's lab when that happened, silent from their failure. He would walk in to find the lead Medic pulling off leather gloves that were slick with blood, Ambrose staring at the empty table with miserable disbelief. They had all the power in the realm, but they still couldn't save everyone with it.
Cain would find the Medic to be completely withdrawn on the nights when that happened, even in the privacy of the suite. Ambrose refused to openly admit how much it bothered him, despite how obvious it was to the blond. So Cain would try to do what he could to comfort the Medic through some indirect means. He'd draw a warm bath for Ambrose, make sure to have just the right kinds of soaps there that he knew the man liked. Ambrose would undress in front of Cain, climb into the water, and sit like a mannequin, without much life to him. Cain normally retrieved one of Ambrose's beloved books from the other room. Ambrose enjoyed poetry the best. So the blond would read some of them to the Medic, in his own awkward fashion, stumbling over half the phrases.
Still, by the end of it, Ambrose would smile gratefully at his attempts. That made Cain feel good, knowing that he had gotten through that melancholy cloud.
There were some nights where it was Cain who needed the pampering, though he never asked for it. If the work at the site was too stressful, or if he remembered the fact that he was a slave here, or just in the event that his mood had taken a turn for the worse, Ambrose would happily return the favor. Then it would be Cain in the bath, and Ambrose's gloved hands would even go so far as to massage out the tension in the blond's shoulders, while the Medic would recite some of those poetic passages from memory. The sound of Ambrose's voice, so familiar and gentle, would be enough to relax him until he was drowsy.
That was as far as their intimacy went. They did not touch each other sexually, Ambrose maintaining a distance from Cain for most of the time. When it came time to sleep, they would share the bed, the Medic staying to his own side, body covered in his soft pajamas. He had even managed to get Cain a pair to match, which the blond was thankful for. It felt nice to be able to feel fully clothed, even if it was only for a few hours at night.
Ambrose would curl up, always the first to fall asleep. Cain would follow only when his thoughts would allow him. There were some nights where he would be about to sink into slumber, and Ambrose would shift in his sleep. The Medic's hand would reach for him, bare fingers having to touch Cain before he could settle. Cain thought it better not to mention it to Ambrose, instead enjoying the human contact when it was allowed, those fingers reminding him of a pleasure that his body was forgetting. He would fall asleep with the warm weight of Ambrose's hand on his chest.
Author: streamofwords -- OMG, streamedwords' secret smut alias
Pairing: Ambrose/Wyatt
Disclaimer: I own nothing. I am merely a humble fan girl.
Rating: NC-17 -- just 'cause it makes me feel like a bad ass.
Summary: Resistance Fighter Wyatt Cain finds himself being imprisoned by the sadistic Royal Court, facing a future of servitude. But is there an ally on his side?
Warning: Imprisonment, mind torture, slavery, AU
Note: Sorry, no sex in this one. Wait until next chapter, though. HOO BOY!
Cain tensed when he heard the lock of the door turning. He'd left the tub minutes ago, exploring through Ambrose's suite to try and find some clothes to wear. Of course, nothing here would possibly fit him, considering the differences in their body types. That, and Cain wasn't about to try and squeeze himself into one of those small leather Medic coats. He had settled for getting the blanket wrapped around his body again, easing back against one of the walls in the adjoining room as he peeked to see who was coming in around a corner.
It was just Ambrose returning. The Medic was wheeling in a large metal cart with three shelves. Cain's nostrils flared as he smelled delicious food wafting from it, his stomach clenching in response. He stepped out into sight as Ambrose turned to lock the door behind him, faintly amused. "I didn't know that delivering room service was in your job description."
The Medic flashed him a teasing glare, before pushing the cart past where Cain stood, stopping it in the living room. "Normally, it isn't. But I was asked to bring this in. These are gifts from the Queen, in her 'regret that my pet was so misused while entrusted to Zero's care'." Ambrose pointed to the domed tray on the top. "Feel free to help yourself. I'm far from hungry right now."
Cain watched as the man walked away from the tray, tugging off his white gloves. He saw Ambrose toss them into a trash bin, before disappearing into the other room. With a shrug, Cain reached for the dome, removing it from the top of the silver platter beneath. The food was unrecognizable, but after taking a few taste tests of the different dishes, Cain found them all to his liking. He took the platter off the tray, placing it down on the short table in the middle of the living room. Sitting on the floor in front of it, he promptly began to eat.
Ambrose returned, tugging on a fresh pair of black gloves. He smirked as he saw that Cain had already eaten half the platter. The Medic strolled over, seating himself on the floor opposite of the man and his food. "The chefs here are the best in the realm. The Queen collects them."
Grunting around a mouthful of food, Cain didn't doubt that claim. He took a break between spooning another helping into his mouth, asking quietly, "What's happened with Zero?"
"Demoted. I tried to champion for more, but he's too important to be simply executed like I'd requested." Ambrose answered, somewhat impressed by how fast Cain was devouring the food. He watched the man continue to drive through the delicacies. "He's been put in the slave pens for a few days, as a lesson. Once that's done, he'll be back to just a standard level Trainer until the Queen is satisfied that he has reformed himself." The Medic rolled his eyes, proving that he didn't expect that to happen.
"What happens to me?" Cain asked as he drank down a full cup of wine that Ambrose set down for him.
Ambrose shrugged. "Nothing. Oh, I wouldn't expect an apology from anyone anytime soon, but there isn't going to be any consequence against you, aside from more bitter behavior from Zero. The Queen understood how upset I was to find out about what Zero had done to you. I was able to convince her that I no longer trusted anyone else to see to your training. I demanded that I be the one allowed to train you. She agreed."
He leaned back against the couch behind him with a low sigh. "So now you'll be in my complete care. You will remain at my side when we are in public, and stay in here the rest of the time, for your own safety."
"I thought that you didn't know anything about training people?"
With a quiet chuckle, Ambrose averted his eyes. "You could say that I learned by example. Since you're cooperative with me, we should be able to at least pull off looking like we're operating by the rules. In private, it will be informal. Like now. I really don't have any interest in having a slave of my own." He shook his head. "In public, though, it's different. There is a certain manner of conduct which we will be expected to follow."
"Like what?" Cain asked, putting his utensils down for now as he listened to Ambrose speak.
"For one, you'll be expected to behave like a slave." Ambrose smirked. "Fortunately, I don't have a reputation for being an exhibitionist, so you won't have to worry about any repeat performances like that one in the chamber. Unless the Queen asks again. Can't be helped, in that instance. Aside from that, you'll just be doing tasks for me; carrying things, fetching things that I might need, being a good little assistant. I am not a demanding 'master'."
"Sounds to me like I'm pretty damn fortunate that you spoke up, then."
"Oh, most certainly." The Medic gestured around vaguely. "There'll be times when I don't need your help, at which point you will be joining some of the other slaves at one of the building sites. No one bothers them much, not even the foreman. It'll keep you from having to stay in here all the time, so you won't get cabin fever."
Cain nodded. Building was something that he enjoyed doing. "Anything else?"
"There is the matter of your attire." Ambrose pursed his lips together, eyeing the blond. "You'll be expected to wear the standard uniform of a Council Member's slave." He rose, moving to withdraw an armful of black from the bottom rack of the cart. With a tiny smirk, the Medic unfurled a pair of black leather pants, dangling them in front of Cain. "Apparently, no one ever thought to put too much color variety in the uniforms around here."
"Um..." Cain glowered uncertainly at the pants, "there IS more, right?"
Ambrose nodded, that smirk spreading as he held up a strip of black in his other hand, which Cain saw was a collar. "Pants plus accessory." The Medic tossed them onto the couch behind the blond, shaking his head. "Look at it on the bright side -- at least you won't have to worry about finding things to match. There's some shoes, too. That's it."
"I guess it's better than walking around naked." The blond reasoned, trying to convince himself that he could tolerate wearing the stuff. Cain fingered the hem of the leather pants, still doubtful.
That made Ambrose laugh, which Cain found to be a pleasant sound. It made him smile, despite everything that had happened to him. Ambrose delicately patted him on his left shoulder, gesturing to the platter. "Finish eating, then get dressed. I'll take you on a tour of the facilities. You might as well start getting a feel for the Palace."
"Sure." Cain murmured, before he resumed clearing off the rest of the platter, enjoying the comfortable silence that fell between him and the Medic.
~~~~~~~~~~~
Once they were outside, Ambrose underwent a personality change which amazed Cain. This was what he had glimpsed of the Medic when the man came to examine him in his cell. Cold, detached, impersonal. Ambrose walked stiffly down the corridor from his suite, silently beckoning for Cain to follow.
Cain still felt uncomfortable in the leather pants, which were too tight in his opinion, considering how little they left to the imagination. He kept tugging at the collar around his throat, convinced that it was choking him, though Ambrose would occasionally raise a gloved hand to slap his fingers away from the leather. "Stop that, or they'll downgrade you to a pair of skimpy underwear."
Hearing that was enough to keep Cain from fussing with it much afterwards. It still bothered him, but he tried to let himself phase it out of the forefront of his mind. He kept pace with Ambrose, staying behind the man, as that was what he had been instructed to do. The Medic had said that Cain was expected to keep behind him at all times, as a sign of ownership. Cain found it harder to manage than he'd thought, since his longer strides kept inching up to the Medic's side.
By the time they left the residential area, they had found a pace which suited him better, so that Cain could walk without having to lurch his steps and avoid colliding into Ambrose's back. They had come out into a multi-layer area, a miniature city that stretched up out of sight, and down below. There were lights on in some of the places, which Cain realized were work stations, shops, and storage rooms. At the center of the circular spire was a beam of green light which shot up from somewhere far below. Cain stared at it in wonder.
"That's the Beam. It's the energy source which runs the power through this place. You are standing in the core of the Palace, the very heart of its operations. We call this the Central District." Ambrose explained softly. "Here, you'll find whatever you are looking for, if it exists in the realm. There are businesses, restaurants, brothels, bars. Everything from clothes to cars, for those who are allowed to purchase. Many of the Palace's slaves work in those places. They don't get paid for their work, so all the purchases become profit once the cost of importing them is covered."
"So the upper crust lives comfortably off the sweat and effort of their working class." Cain remarked.
"That's not an uncommon way for society to operate." Ambrose pointed out, gloved fingers touching to Cain's arm. "Come on. I'll show you the Slave Quarter. You can see examples of how you are expected to behave. It will be easier than me trying to explain. Demonstration is a useful tool for education."
They stepped into an elevator which took them down towards the lower levels. Ambrose leaned against the side of the box the whole way there, keeping his distance from Cain. The blond noticed it, frowning. "Did I do something wrong?"
"No, not at all." Ambrose answered, allowing that detached mask to slip for a moment as he smiled faintly. "I just hate this part of the Palace. Too many bad memories."
"Bad memories? You mean that..?" Cain trailed off.
"I didn't start out a Medic, Wyatt. I started out as a slave, same as you." Ambrose had focused his eyes towards the doors of the elevator, their color darker than usual in his unhappiness. "It was only because of the Queen and her daughters that I have come to be in this position. They happened upon me one day while touring the Slave Quarter. I guess they found me charming enough to take back up with them."
"You were the Queen's slave?"
"Yes. I was just a general service slave for a year before she found me. Then I was her personal slave for nearly ten years. She was a slightly better person back then. I asked her why she had chosen me to serve her, and she told me that something about my eyes broke her heart." Ambrose smirked to himself, humorless. "I was a good servant. She found out that I was highly intelligent -- I was a scholar before I was captured, and eventually decided that I would be better put to use in the Medic field. Being good at my job, and having an in with the Queen, I managed to work myself quickly up to the lead position which I have now. That ranks me up with the Royal Council, which is why I have such special privileges."
Cain nodded. "It doesn't sound like you had such a rough times of things."
Ambrose scoffed, jaw clenching. "Those eleven years were hell. Pure hell. I was a slave, a pawn, a plaything. Zero likes to rub it in my face even now about the things he was allowed to do to me in the past. I was trained by him, same as you. And mistreated by him, the same as you, too. He still refuses to acknowledge me as an equal, considering my history. If not for my medical oath not to take a life, I would have ended him years ago."
"Sorry. I didn't mean to bring up all that heavy stuff on you. We can drop it, if you'd like."
"It's fine. With them knowing how I was treated in the past, it gives me allowance to keep them all at a distance now. They know better than to try and scale the walls I have built up." Ambrose's fists clenched, leather creaking. "I prefer it that way. Which is why I.." He held up one of those gloved hands, indicating it, "Well, you were wondering about why I wear these things. That's one of the reasons."
Cain was silent after that, berating himself for getting them fixed on that topic of conversation. The Medic had done so much for him already, and Cain was rubbing salt into the man's wounds. He felt like an ass. Their silence continued until they reached their destination, elevator doors sliding open before Ambrose stepped out with Cain in tow.
The Beam was stronger in the center of this portion of the Palace, but there weren't nearly as many lights as there had been in the upper levels. This gave the darkened place a green tint, since that central power source was one of the few sources of illumination. There were lamps here and there that glowed pale yellow, yet they weren't enough to shake the seedy atmosphere of the Quarter.
Ambrose was walking hurriedly now, as if wanting to get this part of the tour over with as quickly as possible. Cain increased his pace to keep up, looking around them to the open faces of the different businesses which were down here. He saw a small cafe, tables placed out in a small adjoining courtyard. A woman was reading a book, seated at one of the tables with a cup of something steaming near her elbow. Her other hand was curled absently around the neck of a man kneeling at her feet, which Cain identified as a slave from his attire -- the slaves of lesser ranked people still had the collar and pants, but they were green to match the color of the place.
The next building over, there were a pair of female slaves that were in the middle of sex, while two men who appeared to be their owners looked on with interest. Cain found himself lingering to appreciate the display as well, though Ambrose quickly yanked on his arm to get the blond back on track. No one else seemed to pay much interest to the spectacle, as if it were as commonly seen as that woman had been reading her book. Cain marveled, wondering what kind of sick joint this place was if public displays of sex were so uninteresting to the residents here.
Ambrose took him around the full circle of the Quarter, pointing out slaves here and there for Cain to note. He wanted Cain to notice their posture, how they held themselves, how they served the fully clothed people who were visiting this place. Ambrose explained to Cain that this was how he would be expected to act while they were in public, in order to keep up appearances. Cain tried to memorize what he could, though the information and observations which Ambrose kept droning on about were too much for his brain to process right now.
They came towards the end of the loop, to where a large metal corral stood. There were slaves of all sorts inside of it, Cain saw them through the planks that held them in. He frowned as he looked up at the sign above it. Slave Pens. They had people in there as if they were cattle on a farm, instead of human beings. Ambrose was going to walk past it without a glance, but something inside of it caught his attention. He stopped Cain with a hand against the blond's chest, before the Medic went sauntering up to the gate of the pens.
Clasping his gloved hands behind his back, Ambrose cocked his head sharply to the side, addressing one of the people leaning heavily against the gate. His voice was coldly teasing. "Aw. That looks like it hurts something fierce."
"Shut up." The man growled back at Ambrose, a hand sweeping out to try and strike at the Medic, who danced back away with a low chuckle of amusement.
Cain realized that it was Zero inside the pen. They had shaved his hair off in order to stitch up the split which Ambrose's hit had caused, and judging by Zero's dire mood, Cain wagered they hadn't bothered to give him much for the pain. Ambrose retaliated to that attempt at hitting him by kicking the gate beside where Zero's head was resting, the metal resonating loudly. Cain took great satisfaction in seeing the Trainer's face twist up in agony, as Zero retreated to clutch his head.
With a sniff, Ambrose waved Cain onward. "Let's head back up. Zero obvously isn't feeling social today, for some reason."
"Yes, Sir." Cain murmured, half-saluting the other's command. He caught Zero's painfilled eyes through the gate, and winked at him with a smirk. Zero was still snarling out threats even when they were inside the elevator.
Ambrose was able to hold that cold composure for only a few seconds after the doors had shut, before he had bent over, clutching at his stomach as he laughed uncontrollably. Cain, feeling good about the situation, joined in with his own quiet chuckle. They almost were unable to compose themselves by the time they'd returned to the upper levels, but Ambrose eventually pinched him out of his good humor, Cain rubbing his arm where the Medic's pinch had left the skin there sore. Winking quickly, Ambrose whispered, "Now I'll show you where I work, and then we'll retreat to my suite for lunch. Though I assume that you're not hungry after single-handedly conquering my breakfast."
"Lunch sounds perfect." Cain said with a nod, letting the Medic lead him out the doors towards the new territory.
~~~~~~~~~~~
The hell which he'd been put through in his first week at the Palace began to fade in his memory, as time progressed on. Cain went unbothered by everyone else here, and even after Zero was released from the Pens, he also gave the blond a wide berth. He was able to actually enjoy himself for the most part, considering the situation. When Ambrose didn't need him for anything in the Medical Sector, Cain joined the other slaves at the many building sites around the Palace, where they were either constructing new facilities or performing maintanence on parts of the structure which needed it. Cain was able to put his focus into something that gave him a sense of accomplishment by the end of the day.
When evening came, both he and Ambrose were free from their duties, though the Medic remained always on call for emergencies. They would meet back in Ambrose's suite, which Cain had been given a key card for, to enjoy the rest of the evening between themselves. Often, after dinner was finished, they would stay up for hours playing cards, or Ambrose might read by himself while Cain dozed, and sometimes Ambrose would satisfy the blond's curiosity by explaining more about the medical field. He had books full of good information, which Cain often looked at, wanting to get more insight into what Ambrose had committed himself to.
He even went to the Medical Sector with Ambrose sometimes, just to watch the man at work. Cain would sit quietly, like an obediant servant, while Ambrose tended to those who walked into his lab, or were brought in with injuries. It was impressive to watch the Medic work. No matter how minor or severe the injuries were, Ambrose handled his patients with professional efficiency. There were many slaves from the work sites who came in, injured from an accident on the construction site. The Medic handled them with the same distant but exemplary treatment that he did the Free people who passed across his table.
Ambrose's cold demeanor would only diminish when children were brought to him. Cain would see him become more like the man of their private time, the Medic smiling and making faces at them to cheer away their tears as he administered their treatment with the utmost care. The first time Cain saw Ambrose perform a small sleight-of-hand trick that had a brightly colored candy appear in the palm of a white-gloved hand, the blond was nearly as amazed by it as the child had been. He'd not expected something like that from the Medic. It was times like these when Cain began to realize the depth to the other man, who aside from mentioning a few things about his past at the Palace here and there, spoke nothing of himself no matter how often Cain asked him.
On occasion, they would rush someone in, slave or otherwise, and it would be a major emergency. Ambrose remained unfailingly calm, despite the extent of the injury, commanding the Medics around him in a firm voice that belied the chaos around him. Sometimes, he would send Cain away when the situation became too intense, the blond having to wait outside. Usually, the technology at their fingertips would be enough to fix the situation. Cain would watch the Medics wheeling out the patient, the crisis averted, a few of them congratulating a relieved Ambrose as they left.
The technology didn't always save them. Cain saw them wheeling the covered body out of Ambrose's lab when that happened, silent from their failure. He would walk in to find the lead Medic pulling off leather gloves that were slick with blood, Ambrose staring at the empty table with miserable disbelief. They had all the power in the realm, but they still couldn't save everyone with it.
Cain would find the Medic to be completely withdrawn on the nights when that happened, even in the privacy of the suite. Ambrose refused to openly admit how much it bothered him, despite how obvious it was to the blond. So Cain would try to do what he could to comfort the Medic through some indirect means. He'd draw a warm bath for Ambrose, make sure to have just the right kinds of soaps there that he knew the man liked. Ambrose would undress in front of Cain, climb into the water, and sit like a mannequin, without much life to him. Cain normally retrieved one of Ambrose's beloved books from the other room. Ambrose enjoyed poetry the best. So the blond would read some of them to the Medic, in his own awkward fashion, stumbling over half the phrases.
Still, by the end of it, Ambrose would smile gratefully at his attempts. That made Cain feel good, knowing that he had gotten through that melancholy cloud.
There were some nights where it was Cain who needed the pampering, though he never asked for it. If the work at the site was too stressful, or if he remembered the fact that he was a slave here, or just in the event that his mood had taken a turn for the worse, Ambrose would happily return the favor. Then it would be Cain in the bath, and Ambrose's gloved hands would even go so far as to massage out the tension in the blond's shoulders, while the Medic would recite some of those poetic passages from memory. The sound of Ambrose's voice, so familiar and gentle, would be enough to relax him until he was drowsy.
That was as far as their intimacy went. They did not touch each other sexually, Ambrose maintaining a distance from Cain for most of the time. When it came time to sleep, they would share the bed, the Medic staying to his own side, body covered in his soft pajamas. He had even managed to get Cain a pair to match, which the blond was thankful for. It felt nice to be able to feel fully clothed, even if it was only for a few hours at night.
Ambrose would curl up, always the first to fall asleep. Cain would follow only when his thoughts would allow him. There were some nights where he would be about to sink into slumber, and Ambrose would shift in his sleep. The Medic's hand would reach for him, bare fingers having to touch Cain before he could settle. Cain thought it better not to mention it to Ambrose, instead enjoying the human contact when it was allowed, those fingers reminding him of a pleasure that his body was forgetting. He would fall asleep with the warm weight of Ambrose's hand on his chest.