I'd've Baked a Cake 3/14
Title: I'd've Baked a Cake
Author: SCWLC
Disclaimer: If I owned Stephen I'd keep him dressed in nothing but a loincloth for my personal amusement. Sadly, I don't. Nor do I own anything else you might recognise.
Rating: PG, this may change in time.
Summary: Stephen and Connor meet for the first time under unusual circumstances and it forges a very important friendship. AU
Notes: I'm being incredibly lazy in terms of the legalities, I know.
******************************
For a moment, Stephen stared at the apparition at his door in shock. He and Connor had exchanged photos years ago, mostly out of curiosity, but he'd never truly expected to see Connor in person, and certainly not like this. Then the fact that his fourteen-year-old friend had showed up in the middle of the night, looking like he'd been assaulted, penetrated. He ran for the phone, dialling 999 and taking Connor's pulse and checking his breathing, just to be sure.
By the time the paramedics arrived, he was telling them Connor was his half-brother and that he didn't know why he'd showed up like this, just that he had.
Luck was still not with Connor, because when they arrived the A&E was filled to overflowing and Connor's condition was stable, if ugly. They were sat in a hallway to wait for some sort of space to come clear for Connor and a doctor to be free. Stephen sighed, leaning on the trolley, wondering what had happened and why Connor was in London, of all places. He didn't wake when, three hours later a doctor appeared finally to examine him and admit him and arrange to have some x-rays, a CT scan out of worry over the lump and gash on his head, a battery of blood tests and an IV just in case. He didn't wake when they were finally installed in a curtained recess in a wall that could pass for a room if you ignored the fact that it was a bloody hole in the wall with a curtain.
In fact, Connor didn't wake until noon, making sure to do so while Stephen had stepped out a moment to go to the loo and get a cup of coffee and something to eat. He got back to see Connor, looking a tad terrified, staring around his hole in the wall. "Connor."
"Wh- Stephen," Connor said, looking immeasurably relieved. "I'm sorry I just showed up. I just . . . I couldn't do it anymore."
Stephen's heart sank at those words. "Couldn't do what, Connor? Did-"
"Dad's not been too happy with me lately," Connor answered obliquely.
He felt stricken. Had he missed some clue in Connor's letters? "Why didn't you say something?" he asked.
"I thought it was only two years," the fourteen-year-old said. "I thought I could wait it out 'til I was sixteen, and . . ." a sob caught in Connor's throat. "I just wasn't able to do it anymore and mum thought it was my fault . . ." Stephen didn't even think as he climbed onto the trolley with Connor, holding him through the shaking sobs.
A nurse poked her head in past the curtain, her eyes went wide, and she scurried off only to return moments later with a severe-looking woman in a gray pantsuit carrying a clipboard. "I'm sorry to interrupt," she said, sounding anything but, "but given Mr. Temple's being a minor and the injuries he has, I've been called in over his case. My name is Rachel Green and I'm a social worker with this hospital."
She was shooting Stephen a look that made him nervous, and he hopped off the trolley, but let Connor continue to cling to his hand. "Stephen Hart," he said. "And Connor's my brother."
"Connor Temple?" she asked, with a raised eyebrow.
"We're half brothers," he replied, fixing her with a look and daring her to say anything.
"I see," she said. "And why are you here, rather than his parents?" she demanded.
Before he could answer, Connor spun a story that left Stephen irritated that they weren't reporting the elder Temples, but once Connor had started, it was too late for him to say anything. He couldn't do anything for Connor if he was kept away by hospital security. "I found out when I was six that Mum had an affair with Stephen's dad. We've been in contact since, but my dad didn't know, and when he found out . . . he didn't want me anymore. So, I came to Stephen."
Rachel Green looked from one to the other and back again, eyes narrowed, and said, "I see. Were you hoping to move in with Stephen, then?"
"I hadn't really . . . I mean, I knew I'd have a place to stay until I figured something out," Connor said, "But I didn't really . . ." he trailed off, worriedly.
The doctor arrived then, effectively ending the interview, asking Connor questions about how he felt and carting him off for more scans and pretty much ordering Stephen to stay behind. He felt terrible as the trolley vanished around a corner, Connor's dark eyes stricken as they were separated.
"He'll be fine, Mr. Hart, now if you'd answer my questions honestly, I'd appreciate it," Ms Green's voice coming from behind him sent him three feet in the air in startlement.
"I don't . . . what do you mean?" he asked, aware he sounded incredible guilty as he did so.
She rolled her eyes, guiding him down the hall and into a small office. "I mean, Mr. Hart, that I don't believe an instant that you're siblings, even half siblings, and I would remind you that sex with a minor is-"
"What!?" he snapped, horrified. "What the hell . . . where the hell do you get off . . . I would never . . . I've known Connor since he was eight and he's like a brother to me! Why the hell would you think that!?"
"Because there aren't many teenaged boys who would snuggle into their older brothers in front of complete strangers like that," she replied coolly. "Like a brother?"
"Not many fourteen-year-olds have been beaten half to death by their fathers for not being low intellect factory workers, either," he snapped. Then realised what he'd said. "Oh, hell."
Her antagonism evaporating, the woman asked, "So, what really happened?"
"I don't know," Stephen said, dropping into a chair. "He showed up at two in the morning and just passed right out. I called 999 and he's been unconscious nearly the whole time. All he said was that things had become worse and his father wasn't happy with him." He scrubbed at his face with his hands, feeling exhausted by it all. "He never told me," he added. "He said he'd thought he could last the two years until he was sixteen. He'd been talking about college, away. I didn't . . . I should have known."
"Many abused children are experts at hiding it," Ms Green said, sounding rather tired herself. "What else?"
"That's all I know," Stephen said slowly. "I can guess, read between the lines that his dad did . . ." he gestured vaguely in the direction he'd last seen Connor headed, "that to him, but he didn't say it. And I'm pretty sure he won't. He's protecting his family, I guess."
She pried the story ofhow they met out of him, of years of exchanged letters, then said. "He's probably right not to bother telling the authorities," she said, sounding exhausted herself. "It's a simple matter of proof. We can't bring any sort of case against his father if Connor won't testify, and if you think he won't, you're most likely right." She sighed. "Unfortunately, the legal system won't let us do things based on what we know but have no concrete proof of."
"You're not going to send him back," Stephen said, eyes wide.
"I have to talk to Connor first," she said evasively. "I'll know what needs doing then."
***************************************
Connor was finally allowed off the bed and into a wheelchair, although he wasn't going to be allowed to leave until results came through of all the scans. He then found himself not heading back into the A&E, but into a small office down the hall. That Rachel Green person was there, looking all scary with her hair in a tight bun on her head and holding what looked like the Clipboard of Doom. "It's good to see you're doing better, Connor," she said. "Stephen has told me everything, by the way."
"What has he told you?" he asked in trepidation. He wasn't going to confess anything until he knew what story he was supposed to stick with. He was horrified by her response.
"That he thinks your father's been abusing you, that he's the reason you're here, and that you're not brothers, just pen friends of longstanding."
It exploded out before he could think of something else. "Why would he do that?" Connor demanded. "I can't . . . I don't want to go back."
"Given your situation, I'm not inclined to send you back," she told him crisply. "I will consult with him once we're through, but I would tend to send you to a foster family either way. In any event, you're old enough now to be given a modicum of control as to where you end up."
"What exactly does that mean?" Connor asked. He wanted an adult there. He wanted Stephen to stand there all athletic and hopefully sort of scary, and maybe even with a gun. Stephen said he'd learnt to shoot, so that would be nice too. Just sort of for appearances. Then maybe she'd stop looking like she was going to pack him off to some Dickensian orphanage of horrors.
She sighed. "I suppose it's too much to ask that you'd report this to the police and testify against your father in court for doing this to you?"
It was reflexive. He might never want to go home, but Harry Temple was his father and the only one he knew, and he'd just had a rough time of it. "He didn't! I mean, he's not been . . . happy with me lately, but it's . . ." he couldn't say that . . . or this, or that other thing. One would get his dad in trouble, another would make it sound like he ran away on a whim, another option would just get Stephen in trouble, "I just don't fit there."
"Mm-hmm?" she looked sceptical.
"I won't say it and you can't make me," he said defiantly.
Another sceptical look, followed by her saying, "Very well. We both know your dad's beaten you to a bloody pulp, but we also both know you won't admit to it in any venue where it could be used in court. Therefore, I have to find a way not to send you back without any valid reason I can inform my superiors of."
There was a knock on the door and Stephen walked in without waiting for any acknowledgement. "I've called your parents, Connor," he said.
"Wha' . . . why would . . ." Connor felt the bottom drop out of his stomach. Had he misjudged Stephen?
Stephen smiled at him, warmly, then said, "Your father has . . . agreed to let me stand in loco parentis for you as long as you want to stay in London, until you're eighteen."
"I beg your pardon?" Ms Green said.
"As of five minutes ago," Stephen told her, "I'm Connor's legal guardian for as long as he's living with me." He sat in a chair next to Connor, throwing a companionable arm over his shoulders, and Connor leaned into him in relief. He let talk of schools, flats, expenses, taxes, government assistance, the foolishness of youthful overconfidence and a bunch of other things all wash over him. He was safe, he wasn't going back to Miller's Field, and Stephen was going to let him stay. That was all that mattered.
Part 2
Part 4
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Author: SCWLC
Disclaimer: If I owned Stephen I'd keep him dressed in nothing but a loincloth for my personal amusement. Sadly, I don't. Nor do I own anything else you might recognise.
Rating: PG, this may change in time.
Summary: Stephen and Connor meet for the first time under unusual circumstances and it forges a very important friendship. AU
Notes: I'm being incredibly lazy in terms of the legalities, I know.
******************************
For a moment, Stephen stared at the apparition at his door in shock. He and Connor had exchanged photos years ago, mostly out of curiosity, but he'd never truly expected to see Connor in person, and certainly not like this. Then the fact that his fourteen-year-old friend had showed up in the middle of the night, looking like he'd been assaulted, penetrated. He ran for the phone, dialling 999 and taking Connor's pulse and checking his breathing, just to be sure.
By the time the paramedics arrived, he was telling them Connor was his half-brother and that he didn't know why he'd showed up like this, just that he had.
Luck was still not with Connor, because when they arrived the A&E was filled to overflowing and Connor's condition was stable, if ugly. They were sat in a hallway to wait for some sort of space to come clear for Connor and a doctor to be free. Stephen sighed, leaning on the trolley, wondering what had happened and why Connor was in London, of all places. He didn't wake when, three hours later a doctor appeared finally to examine him and admit him and arrange to have some x-rays, a CT scan out of worry over the lump and gash on his head, a battery of blood tests and an IV just in case. He didn't wake when they were finally installed in a curtained recess in a wall that could pass for a room if you ignored the fact that it was a bloody hole in the wall with a curtain.
In fact, Connor didn't wake until noon, making sure to do so while Stephen had stepped out a moment to go to the loo and get a cup of coffee and something to eat. He got back to see Connor, looking a tad terrified, staring around his hole in the wall. "Connor."
"Wh- Stephen," Connor said, looking immeasurably relieved. "I'm sorry I just showed up. I just . . . I couldn't do it anymore."
Stephen's heart sank at those words. "Couldn't do what, Connor? Did-"
"Dad's not been too happy with me lately," Connor answered obliquely.
He felt stricken. Had he missed some clue in Connor's letters? "Why didn't you say something?" he asked.
"I thought it was only two years," the fourteen-year-old said. "I thought I could wait it out 'til I was sixteen, and . . ." a sob caught in Connor's throat. "I just wasn't able to do it anymore and mum thought it was my fault . . ." Stephen didn't even think as he climbed onto the trolley with Connor, holding him through the shaking sobs.
A nurse poked her head in past the curtain, her eyes went wide, and she scurried off only to return moments later with a severe-looking woman in a gray pantsuit carrying a clipboard. "I'm sorry to interrupt," she said, sounding anything but, "but given Mr. Temple's being a minor and the injuries he has, I've been called in over his case. My name is Rachel Green and I'm a social worker with this hospital."
She was shooting Stephen a look that made him nervous, and he hopped off the trolley, but let Connor continue to cling to his hand. "Stephen Hart," he said. "And Connor's my brother."
"Connor Temple?" she asked, with a raised eyebrow.
"We're half brothers," he replied, fixing her with a look and daring her to say anything.
"I see," she said. "And why are you here, rather than his parents?" she demanded.
Before he could answer, Connor spun a story that left Stephen irritated that they weren't reporting the elder Temples, but once Connor had started, it was too late for him to say anything. He couldn't do anything for Connor if he was kept away by hospital security. "I found out when I was six that Mum had an affair with Stephen's dad. We've been in contact since, but my dad didn't know, and when he found out . . . he didn't want me anymore. So, I came to Stephen."
Rachel Green looked from one to the other and back again, eyes narrowed, and said, "I see. Were you hoping to move in with Stephen, then?"
"I hadn't really . . . I mean, I knew I'd have a place to stay until I figured something out," Connor said, "But I didn't really . . ." he trailed off, worriedly.
The doctor arrived then, effectively ending the interview, asking Connor questions about how he felt and carting him off for more scans and pretty much ordering Stephen to stay behind. He felt terrible as the trolley vanished around a corner, Connor's dark eyes stricken as they were separated.
"He'll be fine, Mr. Hart, now if you'd answer my questions honestly, I'd appreciate it," Ms Green's voice coming from behind him sent him three feet in the air in startlement.
"I don't . . . what do you mean?" he asked, aware he sounded incredible guilty as he did so.
She rolled her eyes, guiding him down the hall and into a small office. "I mean, Mr. Hart, that I don't believe an instant that you're siblings, even half siblings, and I would remind you that sex with a minor is-"
"What!?" he snapped, horrified. "What the hell . . . where the hell do you get off . . . I would never . . . I've known Connor since he was eight and he's like a brother to me! Why the hell would you think that!?"
"Because there aren't many teenaged boys who would snuggle into their older brothers in front of complete strangers like that," she replied coolly. "Like a brother?"
"Not many fourteen-year-olds have been beaten half to death by their fathers for not being low intellect factory workers, either," he snapped. Then realised what he'd said. "Oh, hell."
Her antagonism evaporating, the woman asked, "So, what really happened?"
"I don't know," Stephen said, dropping into a chair. "He showed up at two in the morning and just passed right out. I called 999 and he's been unconscious nearly the whole time. All he said was that things had become worse and his father wasn't happy with him." He scrubbed at his face with his hands, feeling exhausted by it all. "He never told me," he added. "He said he'd thought he could last the two years until he was sixteen. He'd been talking about college, away. I didn't . . . I should have known."
"Many abused children are experts at hiding it," Ms Green said, sounding rather tired herself. "What else?"
"That's all I know," Stephen said slowly. "I can guess, read between the lines that his dad did . . ." he gestured vaguely in the direction he'd last seen Connor headed, "that to him, but he didn't say it. And I'm pretty sure he won't. He's protecting his family, I guess."
She pried the story ofhow they met out of him, of years of exchanged letters, then said. "He's probably right not to bother telling the authorities," she said, sounding exhausted herself. "It's a simple matter of proof. We can't bring any sort of case against his father if Connor won't testify, and if you think he won't, you're most likely right." She sighed. "Unfortunately, the legal system won't let us do things based on what we know but have no concrete proof of."
"You're not going to send him back," Stephen said, eyes wide.
"I have to talk to Connor first," she said evasively. "I'll know what needs doing then."
***************************************
Connor was finally allowed off the bed and into a wheelchair, although he wasn't going to be allowed to leave until results came through of all the scans. He then found himself not heading back into the A&E, but into a small office down the hall. That Rachel Green person was there, looking all scary with her hair in a tight bun on her head and holding what looked like the Clipboard of Doom. "It's good to see you're doing better, Connor," she said. "Stephen has told me everything, by the way."
"What has he told you?" he asked in trepidation. He wasn't going to confess anything until he knew what story he was supposed to stick with. He was horrified by her response.
"That he thinks your father's been abusing you, that he's the reason you're here, and that you're not brothers, just pen friends of longstanding."
It exploded out before he could think of something else. "Why would he do that?" Connor demanded. "I can't . . . I don't want to go back."
"Given your situation, I'm not inclined to send you back," she told him crisply. "I will consult with him once we're through, but I would tend to send you to a foster family either way. In any event, you're old enough now to be given a modicum of control as to where you end up."
"What exactly does that mean?" Connor asked. He wanted an adult there. He wanted Stephen to stand there all athletic and hopefully sort of scary, and maybe even with a gun. Stephen said he'd learnt to shoot, so that would be nice too. Just sort of for appearances. Then maybe she'd stop looking like she was going to pack him off to some Dickensian orphanage of horrors.
She sighed. "I suppose it's too much to ask that you'd report this to the police and testify against your father in court for doing this to you?"
It was reflexive. He might never want to go home, but Harry Temple was his father and the only one he knew, and he'd just had a rough time of it. "He didn't! I mean, he's not been . . . happy with me lately, but it's . . ." he couldn't say that . . . or this, or that other thing. One would get his dad in trouble, another would make it sound like he ran away on a whim, another option would just get Stephen in trouble, "I just don't fit there."
"Mm-hmm?" she looked sceptical.
"I won't say it and you can't make me," he said defiantly.
Another sceptical look, followed by her saying, "Very well. We both know your dad's beaten you to a bloody pulp, but we also both know you won't admit to it in any venue where it could be used in court. Therefore, I have to find a way not to send you back without any valid reason I can inform my superiors of."
There was a knock on the door and Stephen walked in without waiting for any acknowledgement. "I've called your parents, Connor," he said.
"Wha' . . . why would . . ." Connor felt the bottom drop out of his stomach. Had he misjudged Stephen?
Stephen smiled at him, warmly, then said, "Your father has . . . agreed to let me stand in loco parentis for you as long as you want to stay in London, until you're eighteen."
"I beg your pardon?" Ms Green said.
"As of five minutes ago," Stephen told her, "I'm Connor's legal guardian for as long as he's living with me." He sat in a chair next to Connor, throwing a companionable arm over his shoulders, and Connor leaned into him in relief. He let talk of schools, flats, expenses, taxes, government assistance, the foolishness of youthful overconfidence and a bunch of other things all wash over him. He was safe, he wasn't going back to Miller's Field, and Stephen was going to let him stay. That was all that mattered.
Part 2
Part 4
Back to archive page