Influential. [Christian/Marton]
Feb. 20th, 2005 12:07 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
palacechristian.
Using Influence was easy, dangerously easy and not at all the strain Christian had pretended it was. He’d lied to Johnny and would continue to do so. Hell, he’d spend the rest of his life lying about it! And while it sat heavily on his conscience to do so, the alternative was even more unpalatable.
Mending Ben, ordering his fear into permanent retreat had been a simple, simple matter. It was frightening how easily he’d done it, how he could have done even more, but the worst part, he thought as he sat in his bed the following morning, was how quickly he’d succumbed, broken his promise to himself to never, ever do it!
He got up, let Shannon out with an admonition to stay inside the fence-line and stood at the kitchen counter, dragging his fingers through his hair while he waited for his coffee to percolate.
Johnny would tell Liam, he’d have to, and Liam would want a more complex explanation. Christian made the coffee and sat on the couch, his feet up on the coffee table, sipping and thinking. He’d woken up with half the solution already there, floated by his subconscious while he slept and he simply needed to polish it.
Healing. He’d practically spelled it out for Johnny last night and fortunately, that’d been all his lover had needed to hear by way of explanation. But combine Healing and Telepathy, both of which Liam knew about, and he had an effective smokescreen to obscure the truth. Healing someone’s mental pathways was something a Telepath could conceivably do and he was sure Liam would buy it.
First things first though. Christian closed his eyes and did something he didn’t often do and, less than five minutes later, Marton appeared in the doorway, Shannon by his side.
“What’s wrong?” he said, sitting himself down next to his son. A mental hail like that was so rare as to be worrisome and his expression was one of serious concern.
Taking a deep breath and biting the bullet, Christian laid it out for him from beginning to end, leaving nothing out, including his proposed explanation. When he was done, Marton sat quietly for a few minutes thinking it over, his fingers sliding to and fro through Shannon’s ruff in a distracted caress. Eventually, he let out a soft breath and nodded.
“Okay.” he said. “You’re covered and I’m happy.”
Christian relaxed, relieved beyond all measure by his father’s acceptance. “I’m sorry, dad.” he said.
Marton smiled, reached over and ruffled his hair. “You’re too hard on yourself.” he told him. “Your security hasn’t been compromised by it and, in the grand scheme of things, this is pretty minor, all right?” he smiled, a wry twist to his lips. “Especially lately.”
Christian gave a huff of displeasure, but he was smiling a little as well. “It’s big to me.” he complained idly. “Bothers me how easy it is, how fast I gave in.” He plucked at the couch cushions, fingers restless and Marton closed his hand over them, stilling the movement.
“Maybe it was time?” Marton suggested. “Maybe your subconscious trusts you a whole heap more than you do?”
“I’ll never trust myself with it.” Christian muttered.
“Good.” Marton pressed a kiss to Christian’s temple, wrapped an arm around his son’s shoulder and gave him a squeeze. “Any other attitude would be dangerous; self-doubt is self-control. That’s why I trust you..”
Leaning into the embrace, Christian glanced up at his father and grinned. “And I trust your judgment.” he answered readily. “Therefore we’re good.”
Marton chuckled. “Therefore I can go.” he said, sliding away. “I’m running late now!”
“See you later.” Christian said as Marton hurried off. “And shut the door!” he called out.
The door closed and he heard the latch snip. Shannon looked up at the sound and let out a whuff of disappointment.
“Too bad.” Christian told her as he got to his feet, feeling far better than he had and prepared to get ready for his day. “You, I don’t trust at all!”
Using Influence was easy, dangerously easy and not at all the strain Christian had pretended it was. He’d lied to Johnny and would continue to do so. Hell, he’d spend the rest of his life lying about it! And while it sat heavily on his conscience to do so, the alternative was even more unpalatable.
Mending Ben, ordering his fear into permanent retreat had been a simple, simple matter. It was frightening how easily he’d done it, how he could have done even more, but the worst part, he thought as he sat in his bed the following morning, was how quickly he’d succumbed, broken his promise to himself to never, ever do it!
He got up, let Shannon out with an admonition to stay inside the fence-line and stood at the kitchen counter, dragging his fingers through his hair while he waited for his coffee to percolate.
Johnny would tell Liam, he’d have to, and Liam would want a more complex explanation. Christian made the coffee and sat on the couch, his feet up on the coffee table, sipping and thinking. He’d woken up with half the solution already there, floated by his subconscious while he slept and he simply needed to polish it.
Healing. He’d practically spelled it out for Johnny last night and fortunately, that’d been all his lover had needed to hear by way of explanation. But combine Healing and Telepathy, both of which Liam knew about, and he had an effective smokescreen to obscure the truth. Healing someone’s mental pathways was something a Telepath could conceivably do and he was sure Liam would buy it.
First things first though. Christian closed his eyes and did something he didn’t often do and, less than five minutes later, Marton appeared in the doorway, Shannon by his side.
“What’s wrong?” he said, sitting himself down next to his son. A mental hail like that was so rare as to be worrisome and his expression was one of serious concern.
Taking a deep breath and biting the bullet, Christian laid it out for him from beginning to end, leaving nothing out, including his proposed explanation. When he was done, Marton sat quietly for a few minutes thinking it over, his fingers sliding to and fro through Shannon’s ruff in a distracted caress. Eventually, he let out a soft breath and nodded.
“Okay.” he said. “You’re covered and I’m happy.”
Christian relaxed, relieved beyond all measure by his father’s acceptance. “I’m sorry, dad.” he said.
Marton smiled, reached over and ruffled his hair. “You’re too hard on yourself.” he told him. “Your security hasn’t been compromised by it and, in the grand scheme of things, this is pretty minor, all right?” he smiled, a wry twist to his lips. “Especially lately.”
Christian gave a huff of displeasure, but he was smiling a little as well. “It’s big to me.” he complained idly. “Bothers me how easy it is, how fast I gave in.” He plucked at the couch cushions, fingers restless and Marton closed his hand over them, stilling the movement.
“Maybe it was time?” Marton suggested. “Maybe your subconscious trusts you a whole heap more than you do?”
“I’ll never trust myself with it.” Christian muttered.
“Good.” Marton pressed a kiss to Christian’s temple, wrapped an arm around his son’s shoulder and gave him a squeeze. “Any other attitude would be dangerous; self-doubt is self-control. That’s why I trust you..”
Leaning into the embrace, Christian glanced up at his father and grinned. “And I trust your judgment.” he answered readily. “Therefore we’re good.”
Marton chuckled. “Therefore I can go.” he said, sliding away. “I’m running late now!”
“See you later.” Christian said as Marton hurried off. “And shut the door!” he called out.
The door closed and he heard the latch snip. Shannon looked up at the sound and let out a whuff of disappointment.
“Too bad.” Christian told her as he got to his feet, feeling far better than he had and prepared to get ready for his day. “You, I don’t trust at all!”
