It had been a week since they'd arrived at their private beach house paradise. Mayson hadn't said much more about trying at a relationship, and Jonathan didn't mention it. He'd gone rather quiet after that conversation they'd had on the beach. He didn't shy away when Jonathan asked to curl up with him on the couch like they were doing now. Or when Jonathan showed him other small forms of affection.

Jonathan noticed the tightness in Mayson's posture. How he kept his hands between his knees, his head straight at the television, and seemed as if he were trying not to laugh at the comedy playing. Jonathan turned slightly to his right so he could better see Mayson's face.

"Mayson?"

"Yeah?" His words were shaky, the volume very controlled. Almost conditioned.

"What's wrong?"

He was confused when Mayson's eyes spilled over with large, slow tears. What had he done wrong?

"Mayson, what did I do?"

"You haven't done anything. That's what I'm..." he stopped. He didn't want to get in trouble. He knew he'd be in trouble if he said anything. He wasn't supposed to talk. His feelings didn't matter.

"That's what you're what, little duck?" Jonathan told him softly as he reached to stroke Mayson's face. He whimpered and closed his eyes just waiting for the gentleness to stop, trying not to flinch. It was always worse when he flinched. Jonathan stilled his hand before slowly touching Mayson's face.

"I won't hurt you, little duck," he whispered with emotional backing. "If you'd rather me scoot over, I-"

"No!" Mayson interrupted. As soon as the word had been spoken, Mayson paled. He yelled. He wasn't supposed to raise his voice. He wasn't allowed to want affection. He was in for it now, he knew. He broke two rules. He interrupted, and he yelled.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to yell. I'm sorry. Please, don't punish me." Mayson covered his head as if about to be struck, whimpering pathetically as he tried to hold still while he waited for the beating to begin. He knew it was coming.

"Little duck, it's alright," Jonathan whispered afraid to touch him lest he makes things worse. "Little duck...Mayson...I'm not gonna hurt you. Come on, love, look at me."

Mayson hesitated. He heard Jonathan's voice, but what if it wasn't really him? What if he was back with Lucius? What if when he opened his eyes he saw cold eyes full of hatred instead of chocolate eyes full of warmth and safety. The voice continued prompting him gently until finally, he looked up. Jonathan smiled while Mayson's eyes filled with tears and he tightened the ball he'd made himself into.

Jonathan didn't dare reach for him, afraid to frighten him further. He smiled gently, and when he spoke, his voice was low, calm, soothing. "Hi, little duck. You okay?"

"I'm sorry." Mayson still didn't uncurl, his eyes fearful and full of tears.

"For what?" Jonathan really had no idea what part of the night set him off, but wanted desperately to make it better.

"I-I-I interrupted what you were s-saying and-and-and I y-yelled at you. I'm sorry...I j-just didn't want you t-to m-m-move away." The gathering saltwater spilled like soft raindrops down his cheeks. Jonathan could see him shaking even in the darkened living room, the television forgotten in the background.

"You're okay...I'm not mad. You're not gonna get hit with me, Mayson. I'd never hurt you. Not on purpose, anyway, and I especially will never hit you." Slowly, like on that first meeting, Jonathan extended his hand.

"Remember what I told you a long time ago? That first promise I made you..."

Mayson stared at his hand. It didn't move any more than the halfway point between them before he whispered, "If I take your hand I'll always be safe, and protected."

"And loved little duck." He finished when Mayson didn't. Mayson's sobs came a bit harder as he reached for Jonathan's hand. He watched Jonathan's hand as if it were a venomous snake about to strike and sink its teeth deep into his flesh.

Once their hands were clasped, heedful of his injuries, Mayson all but launched himself into Jonathan's arms as he fell unraveled. Jonathan wrapped his arms gently around him, ensconcing him within his embrace. He braced him, embraced him, held him sway as the storm raged within Mayson's head. He held on tightly, knowing Jonathan wouldn't let him go. Knowing that he wouldn't leave him out in the cold.

Eventually, Mayson's tears dried and exhaustion hit him like a train derailing. Jonathan felt him getting heavier as sleep claimed him, but didn't move Mayson from his lap. Instead, he listened to his long breaths, felt his heartbeat fall in rhythm with his own, and basked in the fact that Mayson was here with him. He'd come too close to losing him. The horror he felt when he burst through the front door and saw Mayson bent over the couch bleeding, being dominated by that psychologically deranged madman...It was all he could do not to kill him. He'd had him in the position to snap his neck and almost had...if not for Mayson. He abhorred violence and Jonathan didn't want Mayson to think worse of him for killing someone...even someone as evilly inclined as Lucius Black.

He looked to Mayson's face, making sure he was sleeping deep enough to not be woken. Jonathan rested his forehead against Mayson's shoulder as he allowed himself a moment to shed his own tears for his greatest failure.

He never should have let Mayson run off alone. He should have followed sooner. He should have tried harder to stop him. He'd promised to always protect the precious gem in his arms, and for almost a year he'd failed. He knew something was happening and he'd tried talking to Mayson about it. Tried getting him to leave the man. Tried to get him to see he deserved better...but largely Lucius kept Mayson from him, and Mayson was too afraid to defy him.

He attempted to keep his crying to himself, berating himself for not being able to hold himself together. This wasn't about him. It wasn't about his pain. Or his epic failures. It was about the soul in his arms and alleviating his pain, his fears, and easing his nightmares. But still, Jonathan could no longer keep the tears at bay, and like rain clouds that became too heavy, he wept silently into Mayson's slumbering shoulder.