Pure Innocence (5 page)

He sighed as he heard the clatter of the
nurse’s trolley a little later, before they even pushed the door
open. Oliver forced his heavy eyelids up at the intrusion.
“Remember you can get some proper rest when you’re back with me.”
Damon was pleased at the answering smile he got. It was enough. It
was enough for now.

He stood back while the nurses pulled the
curtains around the bed and tried very hard not to resent being
excluded. But then, Oliver was having his catheter removed, it
would be embarrassing enough without an audience. Damon remained
quiet, looking over the parking lot below, until the noise of the
curtain drawing back pulled him from his thoughts and he
turned.

He met Oliver’s tremulous gaze. He hadn’t
been wrong when he’d thought Oliver gorgeous. He was slim, way too
thin really, but his face fairly glowed, and he loved the shy smile
that accompanied the anxious eyes. Warm, brown, and framed by thick
lashes. They looked huge in his pale face. “Does that feel better?”
The nurses had washed Oliver and sat him in the chair next to the
bed. His arms had been taken out of the sling contraption that had
just been keeping them shy of his body so they were supported, but
couldn’t be knocked.

Oliver followed his glance to where his arms
were now resting on his knees. “Ugly, aren’t they?”

Damon shook his head. “I know it’s hard, but
you’ve got to remember three boys are dead.” He walked towards him.
“And you’re very much alive.”

Oliver’s eyes dropped quickly, and Damon
wanted to curse at his outspokenness. He never coddled his subs,
never, and he had to stop treating Oliver like one. The poor kid
had been through enough without Damon getting on his case. He just
hated that Oliver thought he wasn’t as every bit gorgeous as Damon
knew he was.

Damon sat on the bed. “I’m sorry, I don’t
mean to be so thoughtless.”

Oliver raised his shocked eyes. “You don’t
have to apologize to me for anything.”

Oliver dipped his head. If Damon hadn’t been
concentrating, he would have missed the next few words. “You
rescued me.” Damon saw the shy smile. “The nurses told me.”

Damon shrugged. “I can’t take the credit. Do
you remember Adam? Joe?” Oliver shook his head. “Adam was taken the
last day, and they both very cleverly worked out a way for Adam to
escape and get help. I was the nearest to the warehouse, because I
thought Adam must be near the club.” He didn’t add that he had
rushed in as the feds had arrived so no one had gotten the chance
of telling him he couldn’t—he wasn’t about to let someone tell him
he had to step back from the finish line when he’d been running
with the case all year.

Oliver swallowed and Damon picked up his
water that the nurse had just freshened for him. Oliver sipped
gratefully. “It’s just…” He closed his mouth around the straw and
took a few more sips. “I’m going to be a lot of work for you.”
Damon heard the catch, knew it was a question and knew Oliver
needed reassurance.

Damon set the glass down. “Okay, let’s get
this out there now, so you can quit worrying.” He took a deep
breath. “I have been incredibly lucky in my life, and it’s my turn
to give something back.” He shrugged helplessly. He couldn’t put
into words the possessiveness he felt for Oliver. “I feel guilty I
was so slow. I had the bastard in front of me so many times and I
didn’t know. I’m better than that.” He hesitated. “Thought I was
better than that.” Three boys dead, one, at least, he should have
prevented.

He felt a bandage scrape across his arm, and
looked up. Oliver moved, and Damon gazed into quiet brown eyes.
Oliver was trying to offer comfort. The state he was in, the pain
he had suffered...and he had the strength and compassion to try and
comfort Damon. Oliver’s face nudged against Damon’s hand silently.
Oliver took his breath away, and that was why the boy wasn’t going
to be left on his own. He was ten times the man that Damon was.

The orderly came into the room at that point
with a tray. Oliver made a face, and Damon chuckled. “What’s your
favorite food?”

Oliver smiled back. “Pizza, but only with
ham and mushrooms.” He brightened as Damon took his phone out.
“Lots of cheese,” he added hopefully, then blushed. Damon smiled;
it was the first time Oliver had dared ask for anything.

Damon put in the order to his favorite pizza
place, assured them he would pay extra for the farther delivery,
and beamed as he put the phone back in his pocket. “So, we going to
try and get you home tomorrow?”

The wide smile he got gave him his answer.
Damon sat and leaned back, satisfied.

Chapter Four

Oliver didn’t go home the next day. The
screams that had woken Damon up brought the nurses running. That
was around 4 AM, and Oliver hadn’t shut his eyes since. The nurses
had swarmed Oliver, which hadn’t given Damon a chance to get
anywhere near him, and by the time his temperature and blood
pressure had been taken for the third time, Damon was just about
ready to put his fist through the wall in frustration.

The nurses finally cleared away and Damon
could get near the bed. Oliver wasn’t looking at him. He’d zoned
out completely with the medical staff, giving monosyllabic yes or
no answers to everything. Damon raised his hand and ghosted
Oliver’s cheek. Oliver didn’t move, and Damon frowned at the lack
of reaction; this was the first time Damon’s touch had not given
him any comfort.

He dropped his hand.
“Oliver?” Nothing. No response, not even a flicker. Oliver was
bare-chested, since any clothes rubbed his scabs so he preferred
his chest left bare. Damon grimaced. Oliver was hiding, and he
understood why, but the doctor that had been on call had scared the
crap out of Damon. They were talking about Oliver going to the
psych ward instead of coming home with him, and Damon wasn’t sure
if he was transferred how much access to Oliver he would get. He
didn’t want Oliver to disappear into any system where he couldn’t
help.
No. Not just that.
Damon needed to stop kidding himself he didn’t
want Oliver home with him, well, just because. Damon fisted his
hands. He wasn’t angry—he was frustrated. He wasn’t used to feeling
so…useless. He stared at Oliver, laid quiet, still, eyes open, but
uninterested in anything. Damon shook his head, this was damn
ridiculous. He was taking his boy back right this goddamn minute.
He wasn’t going to let him hide in front of him.

In one move, Damon stripped his shirt over
his head. He nudged Oliver, which brought Oliver’s head around a
little, and climbed into bed with him. Taking great care not to
squash his hand, Damon gently drew an unresponsive Oliver across
his chest. He brought his other hand around and pressed Oliver’s
head so they were laying skin to skin. He felt the tremble in
Oliver’s body, he seemed so cold.

Damon just talked. Talked and breathed.
Talked and breathed and wrapped Oliver up in him. He told him about
growing up in the foster system, how he’d been a little shit until
he’d met Annie and Harold when he was fourteen. How they’d taught
him to put all that aggression into doing something useful with his
life instead of blaming everyone else for his mom dying of cancer.
Damon chuckled softly. “I was a puny weed until I was about
thirteen. I might have well have put a pink sign around my neck
saying, ‘Beat Me Please.’” Oliver moved a little when Damon
laughed, and Damon told himself Oliver was wanting to join in. He
certainly seemed to be listening.

“
I was lucky. In the space
of six months I grew six inches and gained about fifty pounds. But
I was learning the wrong lesson.” Damon paused and felt the slight
raise of Oliver’s head as if he was listening for the answer. “I
was associating size with respect and becoming a bully. If I hadn’t
gone to good foster parents, God knows what I would have turned
into. Harold was huge, but Annie ruled that house.” Damon smoothed
Oliver’s hair out of his face.

“
How long did you stay with
them?”

Only Damon’s long
experience with control kept him showing surprise at Oliver’s
question—
and pleasure
, Damon acknowledged ruefully.

“
I left the foster system
at eighteen, but I returned for visits regularly.” Damon smiled at
the memory. He’d had his own key, and he’d thought he would
surprise them by coming down from college unannounced for their
wedding anniversary. When he’d let himself in he’d thought they
were out. Turns out they had practiced BDSM for years, but it was
only when their last and final foster child left—him—that they
decided to build their own playroom. Damon grinned. He’d insisted
Harold told him everything he knew and within a week had visited
Harold’s own club.

The door opened and Oliver tried to sit.
Damon just kept still; Oliver wasn’t going anywhere. The nurse that
Damon quite liked walked in and Damon immediately thanked
everything holy that she barely even raised her eyebrows at Damon
sitting half naked with Oliver pulled into his arms.

She smiled. “Just checking you don’t need
anything.” Damon opened his mouth to answer, but he couldn’t have
said which one of them was more shocked at the quiet, “No thank
you,” from Oliver. The nurse beamed and left, closing the door
firmly behind her.

Damon was stuck now. He had shared and most
peoples’ natural reaction would be to share back, but he wasn’t any
sort of shrink and he didn’t want to hurt Oliver. Maybe he’d try
gently, but be prepared to back off. “The cops told me your mom
died. I’m sorry.”

Damon had counted nearly up to ten before he
got any reaction.

“
I wasn’t, not really,”
Oliver added quietly, “no, I don’t mean that.” He sighed. “I don’t
wish anyone dead, but when it happened I was relieved.” Damon could
feel Oliver burrowing his head a little. “That makes me a really
bad person, doesn’t it?”

Damon held him a little closer. “No. I think
it makes you a normal person.” He didn’t add that it was just as
well the bitch was dead, because she would have been if Damon had
ever got his hands on her. He’d found the police report the doctor
had told him about, and there were plenty others, plenty of times
where Oliver had ended up at the ER. Each time family services had
been called out, the family had all disappeared for a while. By the
time Oliver’s mom had died, Oliver was over sixteen and family
services had younger priorities.

“
They’re not going to let
me go today, are they?”

Damon sighed. The doctor had been quite
adamant. “They want you to start talking to someone, and you
haven’t been eating enough.” Oliver had barely managed one slice of
the pizza last night.

“
But the food here is
awful.” Oliver tilted his face up and met Damon’s eyes.

Damon thought hard. Oliver had only
responded to the easiest half of his comment, and then looked him
in the eye. In his world, that had almost seemed like a sub
challenging his Dom. It was as if Oliver was testing Damon to see
if he would let it go, or step up. Trust was such an important part
of the dynamic, and some subs pushed a little for reassurance,
maybe not even consciously so, and he wondered if Oliver was aware
of what he was doing.

“
We both know why they’re
concerned.” He held Oliver’s gaze. “I would prefer you to speak to
a doctor friend of mine, Derrick Jameson. I think he will
understand you better than whoever works for the hospital. He’s out
of the country for another three days, but I have spoken to him,
and he will call around to see you at my apartment as soon as he
gets back.” Well that should make it clear, Damon thought. In one
sentence he had told Oliver not only that he was aware of his
avoidance, but also Damon’s preferences for a therapist, and the
repeated expectation that Oliver would come home with
him.

“
He won’t ever be let out,
will he?” Oliver ducked his head back onto Damon’s chest, as if
needing the contact.

And there it was. The whole reason for the
nightmare in one sentence. The fear that Oliver would never be safe
from the cruelty Kevin had inflicted, and the constant reassurance
he would never see him again.

“
Never.” Damon rested a
hand on Oliver’s face, and Oliver rubbed his chin on it
automatically, and dammit it if Damon’s toes didn’t curl in
delight.

Damon looked at Oliver’s pale face and the
huge brown eyes he was valiantly trying to keep open. He didn’t
bother suggesting he take a nap, he knew it was fear keeping him
awake. If they were at the club, Damon would have had Oliver in
subspace in minutes. He paused, thinking hard. Oliver needed to
relax, let go.

“
You’ve had a rough night.
You didn’t get much sleep.” Damon would have won the bet at the
three seconds it had taken for Oliver to stiffen up, get
defensive.

“
I’m…I seem to have done
nothing but sleep the last few days.” Oliver stammered and Damon
smiled at the effort it took for Oliver to change the obvious lie
of, “I’m not tired,” to a more acceptable excuse.

“
I wonder if the nurses
would object if I just laid here and shut my eyes for five
minutes.” Damon chuckled and yawned.

Oliver raised concerned eyes. “I’m sure they
won’t. I’m sorry I woke you.”

Damon smiled gently and deliberately slowed
his breathing. He held Oliver firmly against his chest so Oliver’s
head rose and fell with every measured breath Damon took. He
thought they had at least another hour before anyone would appear
with Oliver’s meal, and if he’d been honest he couldn’t have said
which one of them fell asleep first.

Damon woke to the sound of a trolley
outside, and woke Oliver gently. He wanted Oliver to know Damon had
stayed with him while they slept. Oliver needed to learn that Damon
could be trusted to do everything he said, it was important. Damon
got out of bed. He didn’t want to think about why he did so
reluctantly.