53. Devotion

F oxx frowned when Harlow's voice trailed off. He looked over impatiently, waiting for the man to finish the story, and found him staring off, his gaze distant. He glanced to Wes, glaring when he noted the human didn't seem intent on pushing Harlow to say more at the fucking moment. Actually, Wes looked like he was set to wait until the dhampir was ready to go on.

Unfortunately for both of them, Foxx, however, was not. Smiling, he shook Harlow's arm, loudly asking, "And? What happened? Did you kill him?!"

His smile widened as he heard Wes softly sigh.

Harlow didn't seem to care that he had snapped him out of his thoughts. The dhampir just smiled down at him and gave him a peck on the forehead. "No, I didn't kill him that day, my bloodthirsty brat."

The use of ‘that day' was hinting at a lot, Foxx had to say, but he felt maybe it was not good to let the psychologist know that it probably meant Harlow had in fact killed the guy at some point. Something for him to ask about later.

"I would have killed him…if our foster parents hadn't shown up moments later. It took them both to pull me off of him, but they did. That moment was the first time I realized that I could kill someone, and in fact, I wouldn't mind doing it. Not to mention, if I had, I wouldn't have felt any feelings of regret, remorse, or disgust after the fact. It was all new. Except the disgust, as I suppose that was one emotion I did and do still have. As I had always felt it towards others touching me. So me touching Joshua in my effort to kill him was…a realization that I was fine with touching someone if I was hurting them."

"Ah…so that's where that first rule to your weird hatred of touch came from."

"Ignoring the fact that you said ‘that day'," Wes drawled. "What is this touch thing you are talking about? I don't think it's ever come up in our discussions."

"Hah, and I thought he hadn't picked up on that part." Foxx giggled. "Guess you are pretty good with context clues, huh?"

The human smiled. "Foxx, I suppose I should have mentioned this. None of our sessions are ‘official'. I started seeing Harlow as a favor to Tony. Nothing you tell me will leave here. That includes any murders you two may have committed outside the scopes of your jobs."

"Huh…" Harlow chuckled. "I actually didn't know you wouldn't report my ass. Well, I assumed, but wasn't sure."

Wes' face scrunched. "Harlow, you ranted about wanting to murder someone in front of me. Technically, that was a reportable offense."

"I mean, but I didn't."

"Poor Iggy." Foxx tsked.

"Fuck him," Harlow growled.

The human let out a soft chuckle. "Back to the touch thing."

"Right, so Harlow doesn't like touching people, unless he is fucking or hurting them."

Wes blinked. "That…was very succinctly answered."

Harlow shrugged in his hold. "It pretty much sums it up. Anyway, both Tommy and Joshua went to the hospital. I got into trouble, and then Joshua got into trouble when it came out that he lied about what happened, and that I had told the truth…mostly."

"You lied about planning and saying you were going to kill him, didn't you?" Foxx giggled.

"I mean, I was a kid, but not a moron. Either way, I was sent to a new foster home after it was determined I wouldn't face any consequences."

"Right!" Wes said. "There's still a little bit of time left. Why don't we stop there for you while I ask Foxx a few questions? Hmm?"

Why the hell had he not let Harlow ponder for longer?!? Stupid impatience!

He grimaced. "I mean…" He eyed the clock on the wall. "There's only like ten minutes left, so why not just finish up with him today and I can try next time?"

"There's fifteen. Plenty of time for you to answer a few small questions before we end for today. This way, next time you can think over the questions I've asked, and be prepared and ready with answers you are comfortable with, so that during the next session you can start off."

Fuck a duck! Why did Wes' words sound like a bloody threat? "Me…start off next time? Is that really necessary?"

Harlow snorted.

"Hush," he hissed at the man.

"I didn't say a word," the dhampir chuckled.

"You didn't need to! I know you."

"Foxx," Wes started slowly. "Like I asked Harlow, can you remember your first memory?"

Foxx frowned. "Umm…no. Wes, now that I know you won't be reporting my adorable ass to the government, I feel the need to tell you that I'm over seven hundred years old."

He jumped when Harlow yanked his arm free with a huff, and found the dhampir glaring down at him.

"What?!"

"Two weeks, Foxx. You have known him for TWO weeks, and yet you tell him how old you are. It took me MONTHS to get it out of you! And I was fucking you for most of those months!"

Foxx wrinkled his nose. "Yes, but it was a game between us. And I did still tell you, so does the timing really matter?"

"You told me AFTER I was changed, Foxx! AFTER! He's still human!"

"Still?" Wes asked, sounding slightly alarmed. "I would like to note that my plan is to remain human. Though it does seem I've stepped onto a landmine somehow."

"Well… I was just being overly cautious, okay?! I told you, and I would have told you while you were still human if you hadn't brought it up so much! I just dragged it out because teasing you about it was fun!

"Anyway, I told Wes because there are a hell of a lot of pointless questions to be asked that I could never answer, just due to shit having happened so bloody long ago. And asking about my first memory is a bit pointless."

Harlow grunted in response. Foxx slipped his arm back through his and pouted. "I did tell you, so it shouldn't matter."

The man's gaze flicked down to him. "Brat."

"Old man." He giggled.

Wes cleared his throat. "I suppose, rather than your first, I should have asked about your earliest memory that is still retained."

Foxx's smile dropped. "My earliest? Well…my earliest is…of my father yelling…"

"So you do remember some of back then?"

"I…" He started to say he didn't remember specifics, but that wasn't true.

Foxx remembered a startling amount, if he really sat down and thought about it. He didn't remember every year, every day…but he remembered enough. Probably in the same way that most humans remembered their childhood.

He squeezed Harlow's arm, before deciding he didn't want to look at Wes any more. So he buried his face against the dhampir as he said, "I…remember enough."

"Your father, tell me about him."

"My father…is…a devout man. Was a devout man, I mean…" Foxx straightened up, forcing himself to meet Wes' eyes as he said, "He's nothing now, just dust in a grave."

While meeting the human's gaze, Foxx found nothing there to clue him in on what Wes was thinking. The man just had a small smile on his face, his eyes showing no greater emotion… It was…annoying.

"Though perhaps he's not even that now. I doubt the grave is still there. The town and the castle it surrounded certainly isn't. It fell…during one of our skirmishes with the Scots."

Despite the awkwardness he was feeling…Foxx found he had to suppress a smile. The memory of learning of his town's fate had always brought him an immense amount of joy. Especially as he learned that in the fight, Edmund's family supposedly fell with their castle. There was no love lost there between him and those arrogant bastards. A Lord and his family were not to socialize or even speak to a lowly blacksmith's son.

Though…there hadn't been much talk of Edmund, or any mention of him dying with them. Oddly, there was very little talk of him at all since around the time he'd had Foxx captured. Besides the vague rumors that his family shipped him off, that was.

Foxx blinked, realizing he'd been lost in thought while Wes had patiently been waiting for him to say more, as he had intended to do for Harlow. "He was a blacksmith. Not rich, not poor. My mother was kept comfortable, though I heard she remarried later when he fell with the town—a man of high status, in fact." Foxx smirked. "Then again, she'd always been a social climber. I'm sure my siblings hadn't minded the change. Her new man was quite rich."

Wes took a deep breath in and out. "It's interesting that you mentioned his faith before his occupation. Occupation back then was everything, usually defining most people."

Foxx snorted. "His occupation was how he survived, but he never liked his job. His craft likely would have shown that, leaving us penniless, if not for his bloody dumb luck of being born with natural fucking talent.

"The man was obsessed with damnation, to the point of learning Latin so he could read the words of ‘God' himself. He, at one point, practically starved us for a year, just to get his hands on a vulgate bible.

"So yes, while most were defined by their occupation, he defined himself by his devotion. Which, to his endless horror, meant my very existence, and continued presence near him, was risking the one thing he held most precious—his soul."

The human frowned. "You…stayed near after you turned?"

Harlow made a choking noise.

Foxx rolled his eyes. "No…he realized I liked men."

"Ah…right. I had assumed it would be something you neither acknowledged back then, nor told anyone about, considering it was likely a death sentence."

"Ahh, yes… As my bright, bubbly personality definitely screams…straight. I, of course, hid it soo easily back then, because all of me just screams lover of tits and vaginas. No one would ever have a clue!" Foxx deadpanned.

Wes smiled. "I take it there was less telling, and more guessing on his part."

"The man was a twat, but he wasn't stupid." His nose wrinkled and he quickly corrected himself. "No, he was stupid, but he wasn't THAT stupid." Foxx glanced at the clock and burst to his feet. "Oh, what do you know, time's up! Feel free to take another brownie on your way out. I need to go and reorganize my yarn, so unfortunately, I can't walk you to the door. See you next time, bye!" Foxx awkwardly waved and scurried the fuck away.

Harlow snorted, smirking as he heard the door of Foxx's craft room open and then slam shut. "Good luck with that." He chuckled, eyeing Wes.

The human sighed. "You were supposed to be the difficult one."

His smirk widened. "Yes, about that… I ain't got nothing on him. My issue is that I feel nothing. Whereas, his is that he pretends nothing happened so he can avoid feeling it all. You got all he was willing to say right now, without something prompting him to say more. And usually there is something prompting him when he talks to me about things. Mostly things come out when he feels he owes people an explanation after they witness some reaction of his."

"Is all you know of him and his past due to these explanations?"

"No. I have asked before if he'd like to talk about it. And to be clear, I never forced him to tell me anything. Nor will I tell you what I have seen or what he has told me."

"Nor do I expect you to. It would be a betrayal of his trust. Which would get neither of us what we want—to get him help."

Harlow crossed his arms and ignored his stitches pulling. "Then let me just be extra clear. Next time, he may not tell you any more than he told you today, he may say more, but whatever he does tell you will have to be enough. I asked him to see you because I'm hoping it will help. But I will end all contact, job be damned, if you ever try to force him or trick him into telling you something he doesn't want to."

"As I told him, this won't work unless he talks to me willingly. I can't help him unless he can trust me enough to know that what I am telling him, or rather guiding him towards, when it comes to coping mechanisms and dealing with repressed trauma, isn't me trying to harm him."

"As long as it's clear, doc. Now…shoo." Harlow waved him away. "And you can take ONE more brownie. Don't even think about getting greedy, the rest of those are mine."

Wes chuckled. "I see you no longer care enough to hold back."

"Even less so now that I know it was all fucking pointless." He glared, and found himself grabbing the plate, holding it safely to his chest. "You know what, you don't even get one more. Thanks sooo much for making me AND Foxx have the realization that I've NEVER gained an ounce of fucking fat in my life." He pointed towards the entrance hallway. "Leave."

The human burst into laughter, but stood and left.

He groaned. Not even an ounce?! Fucking hell, part of his life was a lie…

Well…most of his life was a lie. Hard to be fucking real when for years and years you murdered people, that others hadn't even known existed, for a living. Sighing, he set the plate on the coffee table and grabbed a brownie, popping it into his mouth with a moan. "Ohh, so many brownies…cookies and more… wasted !"

The homemade sweets alone that Foxx had offered in the months that he'd lived here, that he'd passed up on!? Pizza…so much pizza wasted…

Harlow groaned again and slowly flopped over on the couch onto his stomach. "Fucking hell…"