Grant walked into the cubbyhole of the second floor restroom and found Justin at the sink washing his face. Water beaded on white skin in the flickering light second floor had been complaining about for a week. "She's gone home," Grant said, and Justin pulled a towel from the stack and blotted his face with it.
"What did she say?" Justin asked. "What did you say?"
"I propositioned her," Grant said. "I believe that's the word."
"My God, Grant—"
Grant turned on the calm, quiet as he could manage, given the state of his stomach. "Young sera needed something else to think about," he said. "She declined. I wasn't sure that she would. I was, needless to say, relieved. Very fast work for young sera. I was so sure you were safe for an hour."
Justin threw the towel into the laundry-bin and folded his arms tight about his ribs. "Don't joke. It's not funny."
"Are you all right?"
"I'm having flashes. Oh, God, Grant, I— Dammit!"
He spun about and hit the wall with his hand and leaned there, stiff, hard-breathing, in that don't-touch-me attitude that absolutely meant it.
But Grant had ignored that before. He came and pried him away and folded him in his arms, just held on to him until Justin got a breath and a second one.
"I—lost—my sense of where I was," Justin said finally, between small efforts after air. "God, I just—went away. I couldn't navigate. She's—God knows. God knows what I said. It just blew up—she—"
"—she needed a firm no. It's doubtless a new thing for her. Calm down.
Now is now."
"A damn kid! I—had—no finesse about it, absolutely none, I just—"
"You were expressing a polite and civilized no when I walked in. That young sera doesn't recognize the word isn't your fault. Young sera may call Security and young sera may lodge charges, I have absolutely no idea. But if she does, you have a witness, and I have no trouble about going under probe. Young sera needs favors from you. I politely suggested she consider the trouble she's caused and show up tomorrow with a civilized attitude—at which time I'm going to be there; at all times hereafter, I assure you." He pushed Justin back at arm's length. "She's sixteen. Personalities aside, she's quite the other end of the proposition—a year younger than you were. A great deal more experienced, by all accounts, but not—not in adult behavior. Am I right? She has no idea what she's dealing with. No more than you did."
Justin blinked. Rapid thought: Grant knew the look. "Go back to the office."
"Where are you going?"
"To make a phone call."
"Denys?"
Justin shook his head.
"Good God," Grant said. And felt as if the floor had sunk. "You're not serious."
"I'm going alone, if she'll see me. Which is far from likely at this point."
"No. Listen. Don't do this. If you're having flashback, for God's sake don't do this."
"I'm going to straighten it out. Once for all. I'm going to tell her what happened—"
"No!" Grant seized his arm and held on, hard. "Administration will have your head on a plate—listen to me. Even if she took your side she hasn't got the authority to protect you. She hasn't got anything, not really. Not inside these walls."
"What in hell do we do? What do we do when they take us in and they trump up a rape charge—what happens when we end up in a ward over in hospital under Reseune law? All they need is a statement from her. ..."
"And you're going to go over to her apartment and talk to her. No."
"Not her apartment. I don't think I can handle that. But somewhere."