Chapter Text
Will usually got home from his work at the academy before dark, but tonight it was as if everything around him was preventing him from leaving on time. First he had to listen to a few students' answers to an assignment, and two of them were mostly just trying to babble on and on, avoiding answering his questions, so it took longer than he'd originally intended; then he decided to check a few essays so he wouldn't have to do it over the weekend at home, surrounded by dogs that would rightfully demand his attention after such a busy week. When he finally started packing up and was on his way out of the office, he happened to encounter Alana, who was actually kind of even nice to talk to, since the woman had always been sympathetic to his particular attitude toward socializing and didn't try to look into his eyes like so many others did; she was pleasant. He even liked her a bit, however, she had never talked to him in private, just like this time - there was a student nearby who was the subject of their conversation. Will didn't like this student, but he tried to be patient and not make himself look like too much of an asshole, trying to be nice, especially since the guy wasn't all that useless - he had two trucks of enthusiasm, eyes burning with this job and, which was far more important than all of that (in Will's strictly personal opinion), a savvy and flexible mind. Because of this, he'd agreed to this conversation, which was increasingly delaying his chance to get home in time for the dogs.
After that, the obstacles didn't end - the road he had been driving calmly to work on in the morning was blocked due to a terrible accident, and the man had to turn around and take a much longer route, stopping several times in traffic. Eventually he had to stop at a gas station (at which he also spent an agonizingly long time) because he suddenly realized that there wasn't enough gas left to get home without problems, and as he headed down the empty highway to Wolf Trap it was already starting to get really dark.
He turned on his headlights so he could see the road better. Rain began to drum on the glass, and Will wondered if it would be muddy tomorrow morning and whether the dogs would have to be washed after the walk. In his reverie about the coming weekend and the pressing matters at hand, he doesn't even immediately realize why the usual view from the car seems to have changed slightly, as if a spot had appeared on the periphery of his mind working on automatic. He slows down, and only then, frowning a little, looks at the light spot on the side of the road.
The spot gradually takes its shape, and Will realizes that it is a man, and that he is sitting right on the pavement, wearing dirty torn (obviously not on purpose) jeans and the same white T-shirt, which was white only nominally, because it was all ripped and stained with dirt and, it seems, blood. The odd stranger didn't even react to the headlights aimed at him, staring blankly ahead of himself, oblivious to the car that had pulled up and stopped nearby. Graham takes a closer look at him and notices something that wasn't visible in the semi-darkness - dark ears and a tail. The boy - who was clearly in his early twenties, about the same age as Will's students - had pressed his ears back against his hair, purely by instinct, to keep the water from the downpour from getting into them. He hugged himself with his tail and did not move it at all. His gaze was distant, and he was clearly in some serious shock, and breathed heavily, as if he had recently run for a long time and had just stopped. His body was shivering from the cold, his hair was wet and sticking to his forehead, his lips were pale, and there was a rather deep cut on his chin, the blood from which had been only partially washed away by the rain.
Graham didn't think about whether to help or not, the choice was obvious. He was examining him like he usually examined strays to see how aggressive they were and what approach to take to come up and lure them in, to save them from starvation and cold death and to help treat the wounds left by past owners, mental or physical ones (or, more often, both). After analyzing the situation, Will, without turning off the engine or the headlights, carefully steps out of the car, leaving the door ajar. He walks slowly toward the stranger, tilting his head slightly to the side, examining the expression on his face, which remains as blank as ever. He runs his gaze over his body once more, wondering what could have happened to him. It would probably be a good idea to report everything to the police as soon as they got home - but he needed to clarify things with the man first, lest he make things worse. Their society had certain laws protecting people like him, of course, and it had been impossible to legally buy them at some auction and brand them as your property for like fifty years by now (it was frightening to even think about it; sometimes Will was sickened by what people like him had done - and sometimes still continue to do - to other people, just because they looked a little different). However, big enough money decided everything, and there were loopholes in the laws that were skillfully exploited by dishonest lawyers willing to drive over any morals in a truck back and forth. Of course, cat people were a different species, although very close evolutionarily to humans, but they were intelligent, they could speak and, in fact, were not much different from the usual people. They could even have joint offspring, devoid of any particular genetic diseases, which is what many human rights activists have been insisting on in recent decades, having achieved the legalization of marriages between humans and cat people. Of course, they had certain distinctive innate characteristics, besides the obvious ones, that made them somewhat different from humans - greater agility, heightened senses, certain patterns of behavior, etc. - but none of these were anything that really prevented them from being normal members of society. In civilized countries they had long ago been fully integrated into the community, and even here, in the states, they had the right to vote and to be elected, they studied at universities and sometimes held good positions in big companies; Will had met some such students in the academy and even one teacher, and in Arab countries, as he knew, cat people were considered almost sacred beings (which, however, did not cancel the illegal trade on the black market). They were such normal and human-like members of society that Graham had even recently lectured about one of them becoming a serial killer. Cat people could be psychopaths and sociopaths too, kids, so we're definitely really alike.
Except that the percentage of being victimized by some psychopath was much higher for the likes of this stranger. There are too many perverts and just plain awful people in the world who, at best, see cat people as a nice piece of jewelry, like an expensive watch. The law forbade enslavement, but there were so many "buts" in it that Will sometimes began to think it had been written by slave owners, which might not be too far from the truth. He remembers how, while still working for the police, he had to be in the house of a rich man who had a young boy lying on the floor at his feet in a large cot, staring tensely at Will and his partner. The rich man had said that "c’mon, they like it," but Graham, even without empathy, could sense how humiliating it all was to the poor boy, who had a bell jingling around his neck at the slightest movement. Will felt shame, and he didn't know if it was this young man's shame, or his own shame for all of humanity, or shame that he didn't know how to help since he had no legal leverage. Officially these two were married, which meant there wasn't much that could be done. Marriage between humans and cat people was a grace as well as a curse, for though the law had passed, it was full of certain clauses, the dangers of which the activists, no matter how much they shouted, could not warn an already satisfied society. It was only a matter of time before the tide of discontent and awareness would rise again, and Will could only wonder when that would finally happen.
Graham walked cautiously a few paces closer, showing his hands in advance to demonstrate the purity of his intentions. "Hey, buddy," Will gently tried to call out to him, as he usually did with dogs, but the young man continued to stare ahead of him, clearly in shock. Graham bit his lip, contemplating what should be done to avoid scaring the poor guy even more, and decided to carefully remove his jacket, not yet soaked through. "I'm going to come closer now and put this on you to cover you from the rain, okay? I'm not going to hurt you. I'm FBI, I can help you" he decides not to specify that he's from the FBI academy, figuring that would be too much information for someone who still isn't really responding to him in the first place. Will takes a couple more steps and cautiously squats down next to him. The rain continues to drum on the wet pavement, puddles already beginning to form. Graham reaches out and touches the stranger's forearm lightly, and only then does he finally react to his presence, flinching and trying to get to his feet. Will gently squeezes his arm, trying to make eye contact. "Hey-hey-hey-hey, it's okay, it's okay, I'm not going to hurt you, I want to help" he says softly so as not to startle him with his loud voice, and the guy, shaking with either fear or cold, stares at him like he's been stumped by a wild predator. Will strokes him with his thumb as he continues to hold him, and with his free hand he lifts his jacket to eye level. "I'm going to put this on you and help you get in the car, okay? I'll take you to a place where you'll be safe, I promise" he assures, sensing the man's disbelief and panic, seeing it in his bright green eyes. Nonetheless, the stranger stops trying to get up or break free, and that lets Graham exhale. "Okay. Let me cover you up" he gently releases his arm to grab the jacket more comfortably and throw it over the young man's shoulders, "that's it. Now let's hurry up and get in the car, it’s really chilly out here".
Will holds out his hand to him as he stands up, and the catboy looks up at him somewhat awkwardly, hugging himself, his fingers clutching at the fabric of his jacket. He looks at the outstretched hand, hesitating, but then it's as if he hears something behind his back, some rustling in the bushes - his ears twitch and turn in the right direction, and then he turns his head there, just for a few moments, and then grabs Graham's hand, jumping to his feet and clutching the man's palm in his own very tightly, hiding behind his back. Will is a little lost, frowning, but reflexively shields him with his body, peering in the direction the sound came from, but seeing nothing there. It could well have been a deer - there's a forest nearby, and they come here sometimes. Or an alligator. Or, well, the man this stranger is trying to get away from. Either way, Will decides not to test fate, and takes the guy to the car, opening the door and helping him get in.
After closing the door, he quickly circles the car, looking in the right direction again, but still doesn't see anything there, and just gets in the driver's seat, turning on the heater and seat warmers to keep the young man warm as they drive home. "I'll take you to my place, there you can warm up and recover a bit" Will tries to speak in a soft voice, like he does with his dogs when they're at the vet, and looks at the road as they keep driving forward. "Then you can tell me what happened and I'll help you" he looks at him, seeing how he's still shaking trying to keep warm in his jacket, but at least his gaze already looks a little more alive, he's trying to look around, albeit with a lot of caution. Trying to assess the danger of the situation, the danger of the man beside him, Graham realizes. He nods to himself. "I'm Will Graham, by the way. Can you tell me your name?" he asks gently.
The young man is silent for quite some time, and Will manages to think that the man won't tell him anything yet, when suddenly he still hears his quiet voice. "Matthew. Matthew Brown" he replies, his lips still twitching slightly and his gaze running down the windshield. When he heard Graham's question, he immediately remembered what he'd been called lately, and those nasty names had embedded themselves in his flesh like tattoo ink; and yet part of him was grateful that his captor hadn't used his name. It would have been ruined for the rest of his days; he would have had to get a new one.
He still wasn't sure if he'd been rescued, though. The man next to him did look harmless and seemed willing to help, but if there was one thing Matthew had learned in his twenty-four years, it was that you can't trust anyone. What if he was one of Mason's men? Sure, Brown couldn't recognize him, and he didn't look like one of his Italian mercenaries, but who knows - like, why would someone be driving out in the middle of nowhere at this late hour at all? It was suspicious. And though Brown sensed no danger from him, he knew he had to be ready to run away again at any moment.
"All right, Matthew," Will nods, casting a glance at him. Matthew looks out the window. "I know you're pretty scared right now, and that you have no reason to trust me, but I really won't hurt you. I live not far from here, it would be better to take you to me rather than turn around and go straight to the hospital. You're not seriously injured?" he asks, trying to keep his voice soft. His experience calming dogs turns out really helpful. If Brown had trusted him a little more, he could have patted him on the shoulder, but he realized that in this situation that would probably only make things worse. So he only glanced at him from time to time to check on the young man's condition.
"Nothing broken, so I guess I'm fine" he says and tenses up a little as they pass the turnoff to the farm. Will doesn't turn there and Matthew, who had been holding his breath, exhales, relaxing just a little. He looks carefully at Graham, allowing himself to sniff slightly to assess the situation. "You have dogs, Mr. Graham?" he asks suddenly, and Will raises his eyebrows in surprise and looks away from the road at him, though quickly remembering about the safety rules. He guesses that Matthew smelled the odor from him, or rather from the car in which he took one of the dogs to the vet two days ago.
"I have six dogs" he replies awkwardly. "They're docile, you have nothing to worry about" Will hurries to reassure him as he suddenly hears a faint chuckle and turns his gaze back to Brown.
He has a crooked grin on his lips. "Dogs are not a problem, Mr. Graham" he replies and sighs, relaxing his back a little on the seat. "I love dogs, actually. I think they can be cute if the owner is nice."
"Really?" this actually surprises him a little, but Will immediately bites his lip, remembering the words of one of his classmates who once gave him an entire lecture on stereotypes. He hastens to smooth over his ignorance. "It's a good thing. They, um, just like me, are a bit unsociable and… not used to visitors, but I don't think they'll cause any problems" he smiles softly at him, but Matthew only nods slightly, looking down at his feet. Will turns his attention to them too, realizing that the man was barefoot and there was mud and blood dripping off his feet onto the rug. Graham senses his discomfort, so he hurriedly shifts his attention, honestly not thinking it's something Brown should apologize for. At the same time he realized it was too soon to ask about everything that had happened, he needed to calm him down first, feed him, warm him, wash him, let him rest, make him feel safe. So he decided to stay at the safe topics. "I think I have eggs and milk in the fridge, and, ah, there's also probably plenty of fish in the freezer, I just went fishing on Sunday. I could make something with it" he wants to add that he's suggesting fish not because Matthew is a cat, but just because he really has nothing but fish in his fridge, but Brown doesn't let him bury himself any deeper.
"Sounds good..." he says softly, wrapping himself more tightly in Will's jacket. "You're very kind."
"It's nothing," Graham replies honestly, pulling up in front of the house.
He helps Matthew out of the car making sure he doesn't slip on the mud and gently leads him closer to the house, from which the barking of several dogs can already be heard. Will leaves Brown to wait on the porch for a bit and goes inside himself, quickly reassuring everyone to stay in their places as he leads the stranger into the house, giving him slippers right away - not really even to keep him from getting the floor dirty, but rather just to make sure he didn't feel awkward walking through his house. He clearly felt embarrassed and didn't want to make a mess in someone else's territory.
The dogs look at him curiously, heads tilted to the side, sniffing a little, and Will stands still, noticing that Brown is sniffing back, wagging his tail slightly. The gazing between Matthew and the pack ends after a moment, and Graham immediately takes the man to the bathroom, where the first aid kit was kept and where he could wash off the dirt and blood. He poured warm water into a basin where he usually washed small dogs, and Matthew sits down on the side of the tub and dips his feet in, grimacing in pain for a few moments. Will rolls up the sleeves of his shirt, sitting down on the floor in front of him with the first aid kit, and gently washes his feet. Brown recalls the gospel his mother used to read to him before bedtime when he was a child, and metaphorical images crash into his head like they did in those years. He looks at Will, feeling religious. A slave is not greater than his master, and a messenger is not greater than the one who sent him. He always liked this part.
Graham is focused and careful, first washing and then treating the small wounds on his feet, feeling somewhat relieved that he finds no traces of stuck glass or anything like that. He looks up, noticing that the jeans Matthew was wearing hardly belonged to him, it was as if he'd stolen them from someone; that couldn't hint at anything good. Will sighs softly, looking into his face after all, and then stands up, washing his hands quickly to now treat the scar that has caught his attention. Matthew bites his lip and hisses in pain, but tolerates whatever is being done to him. Finished with this one, Graham lowers his gaze to his torn clothes. "Let me help you get this off, okay?" he offers softly in a low voice, and Brown silently raises his arms up slightly so Will can pull the shirt off over his head. He takes a quick look over him, noticing the bruises and small wounds and a couple of tattoos decorating the rather fit body, before looking at the crumpled t-shirt in his hands. The garment was hardly salvageable anymore, so the man doesn't take much care and just tosses it in the sink for now, for dealing with it later. He decides to take things slowly, so he keeps his jeans on for now, instead treating the wounds he sees at the moment.
He notices a lot of cuts on his arms, some of them were from the branches Brown was wading through, some were from falls, as he seems to have stumbled a few times. But what alarmed him most was what he saw when Matthew carefully turned sideways so that he could see his back: it bore the marks of blows from something like a whip or maybe some kind of belt, it was hard to tell, but the blows had clearly been hard, bloody, and in some places there were real scars. But it wasn’t the worst thing, because beside them, he saw the hot branding done on top of one of his tattoos, recognizing it as the Verger family emblem. This causes him to freeze in complete silence, and he only comes to his senses when he hears the dogs whining outside the door, reflexively immediately quieting them with a whistle.
The man swallows, gingerly reaching out a hand to treat his wounded back, and Matthew flinches at almost every touch, biting his lip to keep from making any unnecessary sounds. Will decides to at least try to distract him. "What do your tattoos mean?"
He doesn't know how he should treat the burn from the branding, it seems to have been done some time ago, something that could say a lot about how long Matthew has been in the place he escaped from. He decides to just carefully dab it with the burn ointment, though he realizes that it's pretty useless; it just doesn't seem right to him not to do anything about it at all.
"It's a scarab. Or rather, it should be if you put the two halves together," Matthew replies and sighs, gathering his strength to endure a little more pain from feeling the touch on his scars. "A symbol of reincarnation and transformation for the ancient Egyptians. I was a pretentious douchebag when I was eighteen" he chuckles weakly and Will smiles back a little, acting more like a mirror.
He helps him take off his jeans and tosses them aside and cautiously examines his legs, noticing only bruises from repeated falls and a couple scratches. "Why is it cut in two?" Graham asks, treating one that appeared to be the deepest, located on the inside of his thigh. It seemed to have been done with a knife, probably just to scare him and cause some sort of reaction. It was getting heavier in his chest and Will couldn't stop thinking about the Verger branding.
"The division between my past and my future. What was before and after my mother's death" he replies simply, and then grins again, albeit a little bitterly. "I guess I may need to divide my life into before and after once again now. If it's really over" he sniffs his nose, but he doesn't cry, holding himself back, nor does he feel the strength to sob.
"It is over" Will says confidently, wanting to reassure him, to comfort him, to give him the confidence that all the nightmares are now gone. He doesn't even care if Mason or Margo are legally entitled to Matthew; this was all just too much, and he was ready to hide him in his place if necessary. He was beginning to realize that going to the police would be a bad idea, considering how much influence the Verger family had in the area. He could only trust those he knew personally, and there were very few of those people. Still, he had to figure out how to help Brown. "You're safe here. I won't let them hurt you" he promises, looking him in the eye and seeing Matthew look at him as if he was about to cry from confusion at these words; Will only smiles softly at him in an attempt to be supportive, and stands up, carefully putting the first aid kit away. "Can you shower by yourself?" he asks, looking over his shoulder, and Brown nods uncertainly at first, but then does so more decisively. "Okay, but feel free to call me if you need anything. I'll be downstairs making dinner" he says and manages to notice a shadow of worry on the young man's face, immediately realizing the reason for it. "I think Max can stay by your side to make you feel safer. He's a good guard" Will smiles slightly and Matthew exhales, nodding at this offer.
Graham opens the bathroom door and beckons Max over, and he obeys his command, staying in place to fulfill his mission. Will himself turns to look at Brown to check him over once more and make sure he's going to be okay, and when he sees the barely perceptible smirk on his face and the calm look directed at Max, he exhales in relief and leaves to make dinner.
Left alone with the dog, Matthew gets up to turn on the warm water in the shower and stands under the stream that warms him, relaxing a little. He hasn't had this in a long time. He can feel the water stinging his wounds, hissing slightly in pain, but he tolerates it; it still doesn't hurt as much as it did a while ago. He looks around the shelves and sees the shampoo, deciding he can use it, and squeezes some into his palms, starting to rinse his hair thoroughly. They'd noticeably grown since the last time he'd gotten a haircut, and that was even a good thing - well, now. At least he looked better than he had right after it was done to him. He made sure of that when he looked at himself in the mirror after the shower, looking at his face (he supposed the scar on his chin would stay with him forever, like so many others) and his muscles, which were in somewhat worse shape than before his captivity, but still not completely gone. Even though he realized that he hadn't been disfigured solely so that he could continue to please Mason's eye, he couldn't help but acknowledge with a sense of triumph that it was his strength that had enabled him to get out and run so far to reach the track. Suck it, Verger.
He hastily dried himself off with a towel so he wouldn't drip onto the floor and glanced around for something to wear, finding a gray terrycloth robe that clearly belonged to Will. Matthew, realizing that there is nothing else in the bathroom but this and the ruined clothes that have clearly lost their ability to do their job after all this escape, puts the robe on, smiling in surprise when he realizes how soft and warm it is, and also - it smells like Will. He sniffs tentatively at the collar, frowning a little wistfully, and then decides that he likes this smell a lot. It was quite unlike anything he had smelled while on the farm. There was no smell of meat or blood or dirt or pigs, no scent of expensive wine or perfume or chocolate, the memory of which even now made him shudder and gag. He lowered his gaze to the pile of clothes in the sink and wondered if he should tell Will that not all the blood on it was his alone.
He himself was convinced that he had an excuse to kill those two men, since they had tried to kill him first, and had physically and mentally abused him for months before that. One he had beaten to death with a figurine he had stolen when he was brought in to entertain Mason once again. His plan had almost failed then when the man had noticed it was missing, but his sister had said she was the one who had broken it that morning and decided to clean up the pieces herself before anyone got cut.
Margo was a good one. Matthew would have been happy to help her in return, but didn't know how yet, and was quite content to just be able to escape alone at all. The clothes he'd taken off later from another of his guards he'd met along the way; he'd stained it in blood when he'd cut his throat open with the knife that had later fallen out of his hands while he'd been running in the woods. Now he was worried that they could tell from it which direction he was running in and where he came out on the highway. Logically they could figure out that he had been picked up by someone in a car, and it didn't look like there were many people living around here. Eventually they'll come up with Will. He is not safe in here.
He tries not to think about it and walks out of the bathroom, hearing his stomach rumble. He'd eaten early in the morning, and now it was late evening, and he felt terribly weak after his escape. He walks, accompanied by Max, down the stairs, peering cautiously into the kitchen, calming down when he sees Will cooking something in a pan. The man is surrounded by several dogs waiting for a treat, but the owner is stern and won't give them food until he sits down at the table himself. Matthew takes a sniff and feels his drool begin to flow at the smell of the food, and he can't contain himself and keep standing in the doorway, so he gives away his presence by coming closer, tail wagging interestedly.
Will looks over his shoulder and smiles a little, seeing Brown in his robe. "I'll give you my clothes after dinner" he says and nods at the table. "Sit down, it'll be ready soon" Graham checks the fish in the pan and turns off the stove, starting the last stage of dinner preparation, while Matthew obediently sits down in the seat offered to him, wrapping himself more tightly in his warm robe.
After a couple minutes, Will puts two plates of food and two cups of chamomile tea on the table, hoping it will help Brown relax a little more. He slices bread and cheese, making sandwiches because he's starting to think his guest must be really hungry after everything that's happened and would want to eat more than just his usual portion. It wasn't like he'd been starved, of course, but he still looked a little malnourished. Will takes the chocolate cookies out of the drawer and puts them on the table, noticing Matthew's tense look, but Brown looks back at his plate almost immediately, though he doesn't start to eat. Graham takes his fork and starts first, and only then does Matthew feel confident enough to begin his meal.
He eats rather quickly because of his hunger, but he does notice that Will is a very good cook. He tells him this out loud, stopping only for a few moments, and Graham smiles a little, feeling pleasantly shy. "My father taught me how to fish when I was just a kid. Around the same time I started learning how to cook different dishes with fish. It was our main source of food, especially when we lived on a boat" he tells, deciding to share something of his own before he starts asking about Matthew's experience. "It wasn't hard to hone the skill over the years" Will remarks with a smile.
"And how old are you?" Brown asks curiously, taking a large sip of tea.
"I'm thirty-three. And you?" he returns the question.
Matthew smirks slightly, cutting a piece of fish on his plate. "I'm twenty-four, Mr. Graham" the young man replies, and Will snorts, still smiling slightly (more because Matthew had the strength to be in a good mood after everything that had happened).
"Call me Will, please. It would be nice if at least someone called me that" he sighs, taking a sip of his tea.
"You don't usually get called by your first name?" Brown asks curiously, and Will shakes his head. "You mentioned you work for the FBI. Agent Graham, then?"
"I'm... not an agent, I, ah, teach at the academy," Graham awkwardly corrects, feeling a little bad now that it looks like he's already managed to lie to Matthew. "Used to be a policeman and wanted to become an agent, but... I turned out not to be quite qualified for the job" he smiles a little, rather mechanically, and catches the young man's interested look. Well, curiosity is better than distrust. "Turned out not to be ready to shoot a man."
Brown looks at him thoughtfully, having stopped mercilessly devouring everything from his plate. "That much against violence?" he clarifies, taking a sip of tea.
Will could have nodded and changed the subject. Still, he wanted to establish a line of trust with this guy, which meant he needed to be frank and reveal something about himself to him. "Um… not really. I empathize with people too much, most of the time. The gift and the curse. I looked at that killer and couldn't stop thinking about what he'd been through, couldn't stop feeling his pain, was unable to hurt him again, like others did. I knew I had to shoot him so he wouldn't kill the hostage. But the hostage was so much worse than the killer, and I just... it's like two voices in my head arguing in raised tones, and I tried to drown out their screams by plugging my ears and starting to sing some kind of a kid's song" he says, wrinkling his nose for a few moments, looking down at the table. "I didn't fire a shot. The hostage was killed. The killer was shot by my partner who came to the scene. That's how my police work ended. And I turned out to be too unstable for the FBI, didn't pass the tests."
He cautiously raises his gaze to Matthew to watch his reaction, but sees no fear or anything else remotely negative. Matthew seems to light up with something from within, like a match. Noticing Graham's questioning look, Brown smiles awkwardly and looks down at his plate again, finishing his dinner. "So you got fired because you're a good man?" he asks with a smirk.
Will arches his eyebrows slightly at that wording, but then just snorts with a smile. "I think every person has the right to look at it through the prism of their own personal experience and moral values" Graham says, and then, noticing that Matthew's plate is already empty, decides that it's okay to ask for at least a little bit of information now - just so that there will be a chance to come up with something overnight about what to do next. He clears his throat, trying to figure out how to start, but Brown suddenly stands up.
"I'll do the dishes" he says and smiles awkwardly, facing Will's confused look. "I don't like being useless" he explains and, receiving no objections, he puts all the dishes away in the sink, starting to wash it in silence.
Graham stares silently at his back, his tail visible under his robe, and then sighs, standing up and walking over to the liquor cabinet. "Want a whiskey?" he asks, showing the bottle. Matthew looks at it with interest, pondering, and then nods, and Will pours them quite a bit, just to relax a bit more. After everything that's happened, Brown's probably going to have trouble sleeping, and Graham really wants to help him at least like this.
Matthew finishes washing the dishes and wipes his hands on a towel while Will feeds the dogs, and then they sit down by the fireplace. Brown climbs onto the couch in his robe, hugging his legs, not wanting to change yet, feeling too comfortable, and Will decides not to rush him with it. Sitting down next to him, he hands the guy a glass of whiskey, and he smiles gratefully at him. Graham sighs heavily, still having trouble finding the words. "Matthew..." he begins, and then finally decides not to stall and ask it straight out. "Can you tell me what happened? I want to keep you safe, but for that I need a clear understanding of how you ended up... in this situation."
Brown swishes his tail, looking away, and silently takes a sip of alcohol. He wrinkles his nose, having already forgotten what whiskey tastes like, but immediately takes a second sip. "I've already thought about it. I don't think there's any option to really help me" he smiles nervously, glancing at Will. "You've seen the branding. You know who I belong to."
"You don't belong to anyone" Graham says, trying to maintain eye contact even though he's having a hard time doing so. "That branding is nothing more than an attempt to psychologically manipulate you. Did you sign a prenup?" he asks more cautiously.
"Mason isn't the kind of man who has to worry about paperwork, Will. With his money and connections he doesn't need to" Matthew wrinkles his nose, averting his gaze again, swinging his tail slightly in tension. "I tried calling the police from there. It didn't lead to anything good. So… no help there. And he'll almost certainly be looking for me now that I've escaped, because he takes the branding pretty seriously. In fact, I wouldn't be surprised to find out there's a chip embedded in me somewhere - I checked my body while I was in the shower, of course, and there aren't any surgical scars, but who knows?" he scratches himself behind his ear and sighs. "Either way, he'll find me. I left a mess during my escape. There aren't many houses around here in the neighborhood, and he'll probably come here, or rather, send someone here."
"I have six dogs that bark as soon as a stranger gets close to the house. I have a gun and I know how to use it, no matter what my previous boss says," Will lists calmly but firmly. "I have a legitimate right to defend my territory by any necessary means. And I’m sure I can think of something to find a way punish him, Matthew".
"Punish him?" Matthew asks, raising his eyebrows with a smile, and then laughs. "Will, you’re just a charming, naive, 33-year-old man. The only way to punish him is to kill him. And for all my incredible desire to do so, I know it’s impossible. He’s got some kind of Italian mob security, and I managed to kill only two of them, and only because of the surprise effect and the fact that they were distracted and one at a time. Will raises his eyebrows a little, although he does not express his attitude towards Matthew's words in any other way. Brown realizes what he said a little belatedly, and sighs, realizing that there is no turning back. "What? If I hadn't done that, I wouldn't be here now."
"Okay".
“They were terrible people, sadists, Will” for some reason he continues to justify himself a little nervously.
“I'm sure,” Will says, trying to calm him down, and before he can even think about it properly, he leans forward, placing his hand on Matthew's wrist, which is resting on the young man's knee. Brown first looks down at their hands, then back to Graham's face, exhaling to relax. “I don’t blame you, Matthew,” his man urges, trying to smile, as if apologizing in advance for his further words, realizing how difficult it could be to fulfill his request, but, given the circumstances, he was not sure that they had time wait until morning for Matthew to come to his senses and get ready for this talk. “But I would be very grateful if you would tell me everything from the beginning. Please".
Matthew looks into his blue eyes and slowly sighs as he begins his story.