We have our first pictures of Aiden Holt and we all know exactly how hot this little cutie is going to turn out!
Despite major improvements in legislature, racism toward mixed couples is still prevalent.
It had been a blissful afternoon so far. Camille had spent nearly every possible moment basking in Noah's clingy adoration, but they were separated now: Noah in the kitchen starting to prepare dinner and Camille on the couch under the weighted blanket with his headphones on. Even though he had slept in, Camille felt as if he might just drift off to sleep again. He was so cozy and comfortable, both externally and internally. Noah's love left a warm, fuzzy feeling in his core, something he was determined to hold onto for however long he could. Forever, if possible.
After a few minutes of close-eyed peace, Camille felt Noah shake his shoulder gently. When he opened his eyes, Noah's lips moved, forming the words "There's someone at the door. Can you watch the food?"
Camille nodded and got up, heading into the kitchen to stir the food in the pan so it did not burn. He caught a glimpse of Noah coming back and standing in his peripheral vision, so he quickly pulled down his headphones. "What's going on?"
Noah's lips were pressed together into a thin line before he replied, "I need you to stay calm, okay? There's two FBI agents at the door who'd like to talk to you. Is it okay if I let them in?"
Camille swallowed hard. They were here about the fire. He knew it. "Don't let them take me away," he whispered, the last word falling into a whimper.
Noah stepped into the kitchen and hugged him tightly. "They won't touch you, angel. I'll stay with you the whole time, okay?" He held on until Camille nodded into his shoulder, then he returned to the front door, letting the two agents in with what sounded like a low, but polite warning.
The two people who came and sat down in the chairs Noah offered them were a burly man who looked like he could easily rip Camille's arms off and a woman who held herself like someone who was used to being in charge of every situation.
At Noah's motion, Camille came to sit on the couch, carefully folding the weighted blanket in his lap to hide his nervous hands.
"You're Camille LeVieux?" the male agent asked.
Camille nodded. "Yes, I am." He would answer their questions, nothing more. He knew where volunteering information would send him.
"And you live here?"
"Yes," Camille replied again. "I'm living here with my boyfriend. It's his house."
Both agents looked at Noah with visible surprise. "His house?" the female agent asked, raising an eyebrow. After an awkward silence, she looked Noah in the eye and said calmly, "Could you give us a moment alone with Mr. LeVieux, please?"
Noah frowned. "That's not advisable. He's mentally fragile, and he doesn't respond well to being left alone with threatening people."
Camille sucked in a deep breath and gave Noah a little push. "I'll be okay for a couple minutes."
Noah ran his thumb over the back of Camille's hand as he got up. "Alright, but don't push it." He walked into the kitchen, turned off the stove, and headed into the back of the house, probably to work on folding the laundry he had left in the dryer last night.
Camille offered the two agents a neutral smile. "What do you need to ask me that can't be asked with my boyfriend sitting next to me?"
They glanced at each other before the woman spoke again. "Are you doing well?"
Camille frowned slightly. "In what sense? Today? This week? This year? What's the scope of the question?" Then it dawned on him and he let disdain seep into his expression. "Oh, you're being racist."
"What?" Well, she had not expected that out of his mouth.
"You separated me from Noah because you think he kidnapped me or something?"
The male agent sat forward. "Don't mock us. It happens more often than you might think."
Camille snorted. "Yeah, well this is not one of those cases. I chose to be here, and Noah would let me leave if I said I wanted to move out. He'd advise against it, but he'd still respect whatever decision I made. He's not a threat to me." When he saw they still remained somewhat unconvinced, he exhaled heavily. "My god, Noah's an ER doctor who's saved hundreds of lives. He saved my life."
The male agent frowned. "He saved your life?"
Camille nodded. "One of my coworkers and somebody else worked together to try to kill me. Noah was there when the paramedics brought me into the ER. He literally stitched my blood vessels back together to keep me from bleeding out. He's not a bad person, okay?"
The female agent took over the conversation again. "Alright, Mr. LeVieux, we understand. Sorry for the confusion."
Camille shifted, uncomfortable at the name she called him by. He knew it was just formal and polite, but Mr. LeVieux was not him. That was his father. But he offered a smile anyway. "Of course. Now what are you here to ask me about?"
The two agents glanced at each other before the female agent said, "We were hoping to ask you some questions about the fire that burned down your family's house."
Camille adjusted the fold in the blanket with surprisingly steady hands. Maybe he really was starting to believe Noah when he said the fire had not been Camille's fault. "What about the fire?"
"Were you on the premises when it happened?"
"Yes," Camille replied without embellishment.
"Inside the house?"
"Yes."
The male agent took over the questioning, a disturbing gleam in his eyes. "You were the one who started it, weren't you?"
Camille saw the trap in the question coming from a mile away. He quietly shook his head. "No. I didn't start it."
"Then who did?"
Camille bit down on his bottom lip. "Blaise." Even just saying the name made him want to look over his shoulder and make sure his brother was not hiding in the shadows waiting to jump him.
That gave the agents pause. "Your older brother?" the female agent asked.
Camille nodded. "I walked into the kitchen and found him pouring gasoline all over everything." That was true. He had remembered it a few moments ago when the agents had mentioned the fire. At least his brain was not shutting him out from the memories when he needed them most. "He had a lighter. He tried to make me set the table on fire." That was also true. "I…I don't really remember much after that until I got outside to escape the fire. My brain's kinda put those memories in the vault."
The male agent nodded, suddenly looking much less threatening and more understanding. There was no pity in his eyes, but Camille could see that the man regretted his earlier words and actions. "That's a standard PTSD response."
"I know," Camille responded. "That's what Noah's been telling me every time I think the fire might have been my fault." Oh, he should not have said that. A guilty conscience equaled guilt in these people's books.
But they did not jump on what he had said like hungry hyenas. Instead, the male agent just shook his head. "We've been asking neighbors and friends of your family about your brother Blaise, and with everything we've heard I doubt that you're the one to blame. If anything, you're likely the victim. Your brother fits a very specific stereotype: charming when he wants to be but taking pride in his viciousness and completely unrepentant when confronted with his crimes."
"What are you saying?" Camille asked in a whisper.
"With all the information available to us, including what you just told us, we have every reason to believe your brother is a psychopath."
Camille wanted to retort, say something to relieve the pressure shoving into his lungs, but he lacked the strength. Psychopath. He supposed it made sense, considering all the messed up things Blaise had done to him over the years. The way he had been able to turn it on and off, polite toward their parents but ruthless toward Camille. Camille had been seeing the monster for years, but who would he have been able to tell? His parents would have never believed him. They would have just handed him back to Blaise for another lesson in keeping his mouth shut and knowing his place.
"I know this is a lot to process," the female agent said, her voice surprisingly gentle, "but we needed an eyewitness confirmation to the theories your neighbors have been throwing at us."
"D-did they say that they thought Blaise did it?"
The female agent nodded. "Many of them did, yes. A few of them told us stories from when Blaise was younger to support their claims. He matches the description of a standard psychopath perfectly."
"He's dangerous," Camille said softly, almost scared of the words. What if they talked about Blaise too much and he showed up? Blaise had a habit of doing that.
"We know. We'll have a warrant out for his arrest before tomorrow," the female agent promised. "After we discovered that he had faked his own death, we started to get suspicious."
Faked his own death. Blaise was alive. Alive. Not dead.
Before he could fully process what was happening, Noah's warm hands were wrapping around his shaking body. "Sh, sh. It's okay. I'm here." His words were meaningless, but his tone was gentle and comforting.
Camille clawed at Noah's arm, trying to escape, get out of his own body if possible. "No, no, no, it's not okay! He's alive! He'll find me! He'll hurt me!"
Noah was on the couch next to him now, pulling Camille against his chest and shielding him from the two stunned agents with an arm around his head.
Camille was dying with every breath rasping against his ribs, but he still heard the female agent tell Noah, "Keep him inside and out of public view if you can until we have Blaise LeVieux in custody. It's common knowledge back in their neighborhood that your boyfriend is Blaise's favorite victim. He's got a target on his back until Blaise is behind bars. Be careful, Mr. Callahan."
Camille did not hear them leave, even though he knew they did. He was sinking too fast. Not into the pleasant warmth Noah's presence usually brought. Into the freezing cold of his worst memories.