His blood ran cold.

As he stared at the text and the sound of static rose to fill his ears, droning out the other man's words.

"...What?"

Amos raised an eyebrow. 

"I said, do you want to stay with me tonight?"

"I - " he swallowed, trying to focus his swirling thoughts, the new waves of panic rolling over him.

Hunter. Work, what will I do with my work? Should I quit? Should I -

"I can't."

I can't do this. What am I doing?

He would talk to Kit. He would - ask. About Hunter. About what he should do. Kit might know - he seemed to know things.

"Hey, hey, what's wrong?"

Charles didn't know what else to do. Ask Amos - no, no then Amos would know about Hunter and that would -

"I've got to bring Kit home," he said with a voice that sounded much steadier than he felt, as panic threatened to wash over him. It only wavered a little.

The other man frowned, regarding him.

"He has gotten you home more than once this late on a weekend, so I'm sure he could manage himself."

"I just need to - "

"Okay, hush. Baby," a little shiver unrelated to dread passed through Charles at the endearment, and Amos's frown softened,

"You don't need an excuse. But if you think you can run out on me every time, I'm warning you, that's not how I play. Have you done this before? Properly?"

"Properly?"

"With a regular partner? Do you want a dom, or is this just something you've been experimenting with casually?"

"Well..."

He'd had Hunter. But what was between them really?

What do you want, Charles?

Did he still have him? And what would Amos think about that?

Maybe I should have thought a bit further ahead...

"I, um... I w-want a dominant, I think..."

Amos looked at him, patient, waiting. He looked so inviting, sure, comforting - and yet a tidal wave of anxiousness crashed over Charles, doubt crowding in, his breaths speeding up as the floor seemed to sway under his feet. 

"I-I can't. I'm sorry. I can't right now."

Panic threatened to overtake him, and he felt strong, warm hands on waist, steadying him. The room stopped spinning a bit, his breathing slowing incrementally. 

Amos straightened, taking the blond's chin in a firm grip the way he had before and searching his eyes. Charles loved the way he dominated him without being violent, just assumed complete control over his body. It made him melt a little each time.

"I'm sorry to hear that."

He stared at him a moment longer and then stepped back, leaving him standing there, knees shaking, alone. 

"You have my card." Amos looked distant again, far away, aloof. Charles's heart ached at the change. "Let me know if you change your mind."

"Alright," he whispered, looking down, the air around him cold and empty. 

He just had to -

I have to sort this. I have to - come up with a plan. It will be fine.

"Can we get a taxi?" he asked his nephew after rushing out of the office more or less dragging Kit outside.

 "I need to stop by work..." 

Charles's head was still spinning a bit, but he felt his thoughts clear in the open night air. Around them, there were crowds of half-drunk people, and neon signs and headlights flashing.

"Now?"

"I – I have to check something. I – my manager is back in town, he might stop by the lab tomorrow and I forgot – "

He wasn't sure what he intended to do. But he had to do it before Hunter came back and saw how close he was to completing his current assignment. If he could just -

"Okay, okay, calm down. We'll go there."

"You could go home..."

"No way am I leaving you like this. Lead the way. Besides, I want to see where you work."

"Just promise not to touch anything..."

The offices were dark and locked, but Charles knew the security code for the alarms. He sometimes had to check his equipment at all hours of the day and night, and worked most weekends. The others were used to his eccentric hours, and left him alone because he always met his deadlines, and because Hunter allowed it.

He logged his research on a closed system but he had more access than anyone else, could bring almost anything in. Including his nephew, it seemed. 

"Could you wait here?" he asked, wondering what he was doing here, gripped with this urgent feeling that if he waited another moment it would be too late, Hunter would collect his findings and –

And what?

Wasn't he planning on handing them over anyway?

Options. I need – time to think. I need to hide it from Hunter, stall a bit – get time to decide what to do.

Kit glanced sideways at his uncle, wondering what was up.

He seemed shaken, jittery. What had happened in there, with that man - something that bothered Charlie?

After waiting almost two weeks, they were leaving after he had two drinks? And - he could only guess, but he's bet his best hoodie on it - a thorough fuck?

Something was bothering him.

His mobile buzzed in his pocket and he checked it quickly –

You coming? Party's starting.

Oliver. Kit put the phone back without answering.

"Wait here? Alone, in the dark?"

Kit made wide eyes, exaggerating the words, and Charlie sighed, looking distracted. He voiced no further protest when the youth followed him inside the building.

Leading them through the small, nondescript lobby without bothering to turn on the lights, he used his identification card to click them through a security door and led them up the stairs instead of calling the elevator.

"First floor is admin, small-scale pre-production, lunch room, and IT security. They have factories in other locations. On the second floor are laboratories, test rooms, shower rooms. I have mine at the end here, I mostly just come up with ideas and if they seem feasible, others try to optimise them and test them out..."

They swept through a long white corridor with glass windows into different rooms with everything from stainless steel counters with ordinary microscopes and cabinets to huge machines Kit had never seen before, and locked safes.

Charlie saw him looking at them.

"That's only for safety. Hazardous chemicals, heavy metals, acids, things like that."

"Right."

"Here, come in. I just need to – "

He unlocked a white steel door. There were no windows into Charlie's workspace. Part of it looked more like and office with a desk and a bookcase with glass doors, and the rest looked more like the other laboratories, only smaller.

There was a ventilation hub, a long steel counter, a sink, a gas burner attached to the wall, a high precision scale, lots of glass testing tubes, a whiteboard, a sleek laptop on the desk, a locked metal cabinet, a bookcase with glass doors, scattered pages of handwritten notes and post-its everywhere, and little bottles and jars with labels and warning signs on them.

Kit moved towards them.

"What's this? Ethyl-2-cyanoacrylate..."

"That's just glue."

"Complicated way to say it."

"Well, I am a scientist. Um, Kit?"

"Yeah?"

"Can you come awa – come over here? Please don't touch anything. I, um, forgot to tidy. But I need to..."

Charlie began to collect the scattered pages and tuck them into a paper folder, and he opened the laptop and chewed his bottom lip, opening one of the desk drawers absentmindedly.

Kit saw him turn bright red and slam the drawer shut, quickly digging a small plastic USB out of another one, and clicking something open on the screen.

He moved closer, sideways, keeping his eyes on the bookcase behind his uncle.

"A Chemical Love Story...by Alexander and Ann Shuglin..." he read aloud.

"Um - " Charles glanced back at him, leaning away from the screen. "Don't - that's just - a joke from my supervisor. Don't mind that one. Do you - want to borrow a textbook?"

"Sure. Which one should I borrow?"

"Well, you – " he turned around to scan the row of dry, technical books and disputations, frowning behind the glasses he'd put on when he sat down.

Kit looked over his shoulder and ran an eye over the screen. Was he copying over his research?

Formulas – some that he recognized – and long rows of calculations, math he couldn't even begin to follow, chemical shorthand that – wait...

He glanced over at the counter again and as Charles turned back, he picked up the paper folder beside the desk and stepped swiftly around the desk, flipped it open as he looked closer at the logbook open next to a long row of test tubes.

"Ah – what – give that back, Kit!"

"What do you do, Charlie?"

"Organic chemistry. I told you."

"It's funny - alcohols are organic chemistry. But so is this. Tell me this isn't what I think it is."

"It's pharmaceutical research – "

"Do you think it's possible to make up for some things, Charlie? To redeem yourself?"

"You asked me that before. I don't know. I - please give that back - "

He removed the flash drive from the computer and flipped it over in his hand nervously. 

"What about making drugs? Do you think a person can redeem themselves from that?"

"What - " 

The little piece of plastic fell though his fingers, bouncing on the side of the desk, spinning and landing on the linoleum between them. Charlie swallowed, throat working, eyes wide.

"What did you say?"

Kit held up the papers. 

"Charlie," he said, voice dangerously quiet, 

"Are you engineering new drugs?"

Charles grasped for control of the situation. He stood up, holding onto the desk for support.

No - not - don't look at me like that. I can explain. 

"No – I – nothing illegal."

"Nothing illegal. Why are we here in the middle of the night copying your papers then?"

"Because my boss – I just need to – I was going to tell you – "

"Tell me what? That this – this is what you do?"

"It's just - just medicine - " 

He flipped through the pages again – Charles's own neat scrawl documenting his thoughts, new ideas, formulas he preferred to balance by hand even though the computer could do it quicker. The familiar symbols shone at him from his nephew's hands. 

"Designer drugs. Stuff that's not illegal yet, because the FDA hasn't had time to classify it as narcotics."

Kit's voice came out quiet and clear now, but his hands were shaking. So were Charles's, he discovered.

"You can sell it to pharmacies. Maybe even online, as supplements. That's how companies like this one make huge profits of off vulnerable people," he continued.

"I'm not so dumb I can't read some of these formulas, Charlie. This is where you get your money. That you use to - " his voice sounded strangled for a moment " - feed me."

This is not how this was supposed to go. I can explain -

His face was a still mask. Charles wasn't sure what he was feeling – couldn't read him, Kit's feelings seemed to show clearly sometimes, and be wiped blank at other times, hidden, inscrutable.

"I can explain – "

"You can explain!"

He laughed, and there was no mirth in it. Slamming the papers down on the counter, he glared  at Charles, who flinched back.

"I – I'm not sure – I might – I h-had to – "

"You had to!"

"I didn't mean to, it was an accident!"

"Listen to yourself – it's your job!"

"But at first! Something happened in college and I - And now, I'm not sure – I was thinking – "

Kit laughed again, hollow, empty. He clutched at his stomach, doubling over. When he finally stopped, straightened, his voice was even and dripping venom.

"You're such a bastard sometimes, Charlie."

"I know. I'm sorry. I was going to tell you – "

"No, don't give me that bullshit. You don't get to do that!"

He gritted his teeth.

"Don't act cute to avoid blame. You don't get to blame yourself so that everyone will go 'oh, he's being so hard on himself already, so we might as well let it slide' – You did this!"

His breathing was speeding up, and he looked - scary. There was something wrong with his irises, they seemed to be expanding, moving, but that was impossible - 

And his voice, normally melodic and raspy around the edges, became almost a growl when he said,

"Face it, Charlie. You. Did. This."

Sweeping his arm out, he knocked over a glass and a set of test tubes. They shattered on the floor and Charles flinched again, heart hammering.

"You make designer drugs for a pharmaceutical company, Charles. That's how Oxycontin was made. That's how fentanyl was made. And do you know how many people it's killed?"

"They were made to help people – doctors prescribed them unnecessarily – "

Kit growled and raised his hands, fingers curling into a fists. 

Surprise made Charles rock back, tears springing to his eyes, and he stood abruptly from his chair, staring at the boy.

He could feel his bottom lip begin to tremble, hated how the betrayal must shine from his eyes. The same way it shone out of the younger man's matching ones as they regarded each other. 

"Companies push those drugs on doctors. Sell them hard. For money," Kit said.

"And chemists like you are making more for them – countless new combinations – so that governments can't keep up, because they can only ban one molecule at a time."

He looked at his uncle.

"It's legal, what you're doing, but it's fucking despicable. You're despicable. And coming from me, that really means something. Go to Hell, Charlie."

Go to Hell.

"Well, what about you!" Charles heard himself say.

He was shaking now, scared, trembling. He didn't like the look in the boy's eyes, and backed away from his desk until his spine hit the bookshelf, rattling the glass doors.

"What happened when Kitty died? What about that – I've done this but what have you done?!"

He shouldn't have said it. He knew he shouldn't have said it. 

Kit went white.

Before Charles knew he was toppled over, tackled by the smaller boy, falling in a tangle of knees and elbows to the floor, his own long limbs sprawling, head slammed back.

Above them he heard the sound of glass breaking and felt shards falling over them, bouncing off and scattering across the floor, glittering there.

Yelping, Charles struggled to right himself, to keep Kit from falling onto the shards, and felt a sharp sting across the side of his face.

Stunned, he froze.

"You - "

You slapped me.

Eyes snapped up to the furious face above him, twisted and snarling, one hand fisted in his shirt and the other raised again.

When he saw the fear in the blond's eyes, Kit felt a grim satisfaction.

But then it dawned on him what he was doing.

Charlie flinched, a high, pathetic cry coming from his lips, like something from a young child. It froze the werewolf, cutting through his anger.

Dropping his hands, he dropped his hands as if burned, standing up and staggering back, the desk hitting the back of his thighs and stopping him from falling.

His uncle was lying on the floor, pieces of broken glass around him, on his clothes, and there were tears in his eyes, and he was staring at Kit like he was a monster.

Like he was something to be afraid of.

It quelled the rising tide in his blood, made colour floor his vision and his wolf's fangs stop pressing into his lips, disappear with a deep ace in his jawbone and a swift flash of pain through his head.

"What I did," Kit said slowly, "I will pay for every day until I die. But you - you won't even admit what you're doing. You're still doing it."

"I-I'm sorry."

"You're sorry. You're sorry!"

Charlie fell back on his elbows, trembling, and Kit towered over him now that he was on his feet.

"Tell me what I can do. I'll do anything. I'm so sorry."

The teenager's mouth twisted, a bitter taste in his mouth. He fought to repress the red hot fury threatening to rise up again, threatening to overtake him. Digging his nails into his palms, he forced it down. 

"I could make you do many things."

Charlie shivered. He believed him, the werewolf could see it in his eyes.

"But I won't give you an easy way out. There is nothing you can do to make up for this."

He stepped sideways away from the desk, backing away from the blond, towards the door, twisting his fingers in his hair, breathing fast. 

Something crunched under his shoe and he glanced down instinctively, spotting the flash drive. Without thinking he bent to scoop it up, tucking it into his pocket.

Maybe I'll use this...to show everyone what you've done. 

Looking up, he met his uncle's eyes. 

"Just suffer, Charlie."

A second too late he saw the other man's gaze flick to something behind him and heard the door opening. 

He tried to move out of the way just as a long-fingered hand closed over his shoulder like a vice. 

"What is going on here?" a voice asked, low and dangerous, behind them.