Third Person P. O. V.
The office was silent and somber, reflecting the mood of the man within it's walls. Edward Price sat in his chair, staring somberly at the wall, his mind far, far, away. He knew he had to wait, to do things legally, but he did not want to. He wanted to storm into Lord Beckham's home, demand that Wren be released into his care, and have the court notified that he, Mr. Edward Price would be Wren's new guardian. However, he had to prove that the boy's family was unfit, and that would be difficult.
The Beckham's were a respectable family, with wealth and political ties. Going up against them would be foolhardy unless he was prepared. He knew he had to play it smart, but his heart ached at the thought of delay.
He had already lost one of his boys. Wren's hasty removal was another grievous wound to his battered soul, and the prospect of the assassin getting his grubby fingers on him...well, it infuriated him beyond measure.
Sir John had left to meet with an informant, and Edward was trying to curb his impatience. But he couldn't help but think of the possibilities Wren might at that moment be enduring. Cruel, unfeeling words from his Aunt? Illness? Pain? He sighed bitterly. What he wouldn't give to have the little one in his arms!
A knock on the door roused him, pulling him from the dark thoughts he had spiraled down into. He cleared his throat, shaking his clothes out, and bending over the desk to appear busy, rather than despondent.
"You may enter," He stated, his composure pulling together to conceal his fears and worries.
He glanced up, surprised to see Branson gently closing the door. He had supposed it to be anyone else, really. Branson was quiet and did not interact as much. With everything going on, he had been more present, but he did not seek out small tasks like Sal, or the company of others like Robin. June and Fletcher were in common communication with Eddie, of course, and Cedar sometimes sent messages through them. But Branson simply did his portion of work, and disappeared into the shadows, preferring to deal with his emotions alone.
Thus, Mr. Price was taken back. Still, he controlled himself, and only offered the man a chair with a wave of his hand. He finished writing his monthly account, and blotted his page, before settling back as he had been just moments before.
"Branson, how can I aid you today?" Mr. Price calmly inquired, meeting the burning gaze of the green eyed man.
"Wren needs help," Branson did not hesitate, speaking in his usual curt manner.
"Yes, I am aware, Branson. I am endeavoring to acquire proof of his guardian's failure to properly nurture him, but I must be careful. Making an enemy of the Beckham's is not advisable. I have to make sure that the case is air tight," Edward acknowledged, keeping his voice low and calm, although he inwardly wanted to yell and scream about the injustices of the world.
"No. Richard hurts him," Branson revealed, tone dark and angry, like a thundercloud rolling in.
Edward paused, mind blanking as he registered those words. The implications were endless, and he had to take control of his thoughts before he assumed the worst.
"In what way?" He inquired, voice steady, although his hand shook beneath the desk.
Branson simply slid a scrap of paper across the surface of the desk, his face hard and unreadable. Mr. Price exhaled slowly, praying that his hands would cease their trembling for a moment. He unraveled the torn piece of writing, eyes scanning over them with speed. His breath hitched, his eyes moistened, a hard lump formed in his throat.
If it were just my Aunt, I wouldn't be this way. But my cousin, Richard...
He hurts me, Branson. I can't defend myself against me, and he knows that. He threatens me and...the kind of pain he inflicts is so cruel I'd rather die than endure it anymore.
Please. I don't want to go back.
What will happen with the man in black? Who will protect me from him when I go?
And what if I can't survive my cousin until I can leave? How will I find all of you once I'm grown? What if I have to choose between you all and Eddie?
I can't lose any more than I already have. I can't bear it!
Eddie's hand rose to his forehead in a desperate attempt to hide his tearful eyes. His lips quivered, but Branson's quick gaze caught the slip of emotion that Edward could not conceal.
"Thank you, Branson, for bringing this matter to my attention," Edward remarked, "Leave me to my thoughts. I will let you know what I plan to do this evening."
"No! Action is required immediately," Branson protested, rising from his chair in rage.
Did Edward not see that every moment they waited only spelled more pain and misery for their angel? Did he not care about Wren's mental fragility? Did he not see that Richard could hurt him at any time with no consequence? How could this be?
"Branson," Edward rose, one hand placed palm down on the desk, matching the intensity, the emotion, the heartfelt ache that Branson also felt. "I love Wren. I know you do as well. But I also have the safety of everyone here to think about as well. I cannot jeopardize Sal, Robin, or Cedar. I love them as well. I am going to help Wren. I promise on my mother's grave. But I must wait until I can properly and legally do so, or Wren will never be safe. Do you understand?"
Branson deflated, sinking down into his seat once more. How could he have thought that Eddie was so careless? That he was untouched by emotion, by fear, by pain? Of course Eddie loved Wren - it was apparent in every action toward the boy. The music room, the wheeled chair, the panic he flew into when he was sick, hurt, or distressed...
Why then did Branson doubt him?
And yet...were Eddie's efforts enough? While they waited for the courts to acknowledge their claims, while they compiled evidence, Wren would be subjected to violence, to suffering, to abject horror. Could Branson knowingly stand by and do nothing?
Surely everyone would risk their happiness for Wren's safety. Surely, if given the chance, the others would gladly risk the Institute shutting down in an effort to rescue Wren.
But...as Eddie brought to his attention, how long would that rescue last without the law to back it up? Sure, they could flee into the mountains and the wilderness, where most people had not yet blazed a trail. But with Wren's fragile nature, it was not a logical decision. And Robin was young, he needed stability and education.
Branson knew that Eddie was right. But it rankled deep in his soul.
And Eddie, on the other side of the desk, not two feet away, was in another dilemma. His fears had been confirmed - his heart was crying out in defiance, but his head knew what he had to do.
There was nothing he could have done to prevent the outcome they had come to. He had hired guards, he had alerted the authorities, he had set rules, and had done his best to dissuade the assassin from his purpose. Orion's death was not his fault. And yet, who else was to blame? He should have done something more. He should have armed the boys, given them fencing or defensive training. He should have relocated them to his home in New York.
And now, with Cedar still in recovery, the lads in emotional turmoil, and Wren in such a precarious situation...did Edward trust himself to make the right decision? If Wren came back he would have even more mental anguish. He would return with more suffering, more agony to claw at the tatters of his soul, and who then would be to blame?
"Please, Branson, leave me," Edward requested.
And this time, despite his best efforts, all of his emotion bled through into his voice. The composure he always held as a shield, the logic that he relied on as a bulwark, it was swept away in the turbulent emotion that stormed over his heart. Branson, perceptive as ever, caught the emotions in a glance.
The piercing, agonizing pain, the overwhelming doubt, the desperate, helpless pleas, the dying hope, and the everlasting love that glimmered in that small sentence was enough to shake Branson's assessment of the man he claimed to know. Edward's raw expression, the haunted look in his eyes, the tremor in his fingers, and the moisture that threatened to slip down his cheeks...
"No. I will not leave you like this," Branson spoke, rounding the desk and casting his arms around Edward.
Edward sank into Branson's chest, burying his cheek against the soft black folds. His arms wrapped around Branson's slim waist, squeezing firmly as a shuddering gasp escaped him. Edward was not crying, although a single tear slipped away.
But sometimes all one needs is to know that someone else cares. And Branson's strong arms did just such a thing in that moment, allowing the reprieve that Edward needed. Edward would find a way - he had to. But he could rely on the boys at times, just as they depended on him. He was not alone, he never had been.
And he would move heaven and earth to make sure that none of his boys were either. He was going to save Wren if it was the last thing he did. And he had a hunch that the others would be right behind him.
Another knock interrupted the hug. Before Edward could say anything, Sir John stepped inside, a parcel in his hands.
1,655 words.
I know it's late, and that I haven't updated this story in the last two weeks, but I've had to rework one of my other stories, and that's taken up some time. Also, to be honest, I had absolutely no idea how to get where I wanted to be in this story, and I didn't want to put out a useless filler.
The next chapter is really going to be interesting, and I'm so excited about it!
What do you think about Branson's interaction with Mr. Price?
Although Branson sees the value of Edward's thinking, do you think he's going to go rogue in order to save Wren?
What would you personally do in a situation like this nowadays?