Chapter Text
Erik is certain this is a monumentally bad idea. It had made enough sense, three weeks ago, when Azazel had spawned this ridiculous plan.
Charles has spent five years as Shaw’s Pet-- if there’s anyone other than Shaw’s accountants who understands how Shaw’s creative bookkeeping works, it’d be Charles. It’s not as though Shaw ever lets Charles out of arm’s reach. Or he hadn’t, at least, until Charles’s contact went up on the market decades sooner than anyone had bothered to expect.
The suddenness of it had left an opening for Azazel to slip right into. Really, it should have registered as a Bad Sign when Azazel had already drawn up preliminary documents on Erik’s behalf. Of their small, anti-ownership troupe, Erik’s the only one who maintains the facade of keeping Pets. There are a couple who have been with him for years now, helping run the business side of things, helping coordinate the network of people who privately oppose ownership laws. Without their oversight and a bit of funding from Lehnsherr Engineering, Erik doesn't know how they'd be able to get Pets to people who live far enough off the grid to actually be able to help integrate them into cities out west. But Erik's used to them-- and more importantly, they're used to him.
Almost against his better judgement, he’s already mapping out a timeline in his head for Charles. If there are going to be depositions, it might take as long as a year before Charles can slip away from public attention enough to get set up out west, where the laws are more lax. Hopefully to a state that won't ship him back to New York, if he's found out.
But, fuck, a year.
It’s been three since Erik took on a new Pet.
This has to be a terrible idea.
“Come on, he’s not even going to be here until tomorrow-- were you this wound up before I turned up?” Angel asks, clearly trying to amuse herself while her hands bicker with the espresso machine.
Erik doesn’t dignify that with a response.
Charles’s fingers are cold. He misses his gloves. And his books. And his bed. Of course, none of it can be counted as his anymore. Not that it ever had been, but Sebastian had let him pretend.
Turning a blank gaze to the passing streetlights beyond the car window, Charles tries to let those sorts of thoughts slip away from him. It’s harder than he expects; it’s been two weeks since he’s even seen Sebastian. Since Emma had moved in and Charles had been moved to the guest wing. And that evening, when a lawyer and a handler had shown up to collect him, Sebastian hadn’t even come to say goodbye.
It’s probably for the best. A new owner wouldn’t appreciate someone else’s bruises on a new Pet.
“Under other circumstances, we generally like to introduce owners to new Pets prior to installing them in a home,” Mr. Kane is saying, but Charles knows he isn’t the one being addressed.
He does, however, put up a decent semblance of engaging, turning his head. If it weren’t for the fact that there are three of them, Charles doubts they would have gone to the trouble of a limo. Having Mr. Kane here makes sense, but he doesn’t really understand why it was necessary for Mr. Lehnsherr’s lawyer to be here.
“We appreciate the accommodation,” the lawyer says, sounding entirely unapologetic. Try as he might, Charles can’t remember the man’s last name.
“Mr. Lehnsherr is a busy man,” Charles says mildly, taking the opportunity to puncture the bubble of tension he can feel expanding between Mr. Kane and the lawyer. Besides, Mr. Kane reports back to a bureaucracy, while the other will no doubt be reporting back to Erik; it would take an idiot not to realise which side he should take.
Finally, Mr. Kane looks over to Charles and offers him a small smile.
Charles wishes he could have just been escorted by the lawyer.
Somehow, it had been surprising that Mr. Lehnsherr lives in the city. Charles has been to the city, of course, but both Sebastian and the Babishes had maintained residences beyond the city limits.
Where Charles is to live doesn’t really matter-- or at least, all that he manages to feel about the location is a swell of gratitude to for the lack of photographers as they’d made their way from the car and through the lobby. Cameras always seemed to be hovering around Sebastian whenever they go to the city. There’s no reason for them to show interest in Charles, by himself, but he’s glad for the privacy, nonetheless.
He hadn’t expected Mr. Lehnsherr to be late, but Azazel doesn’t seem surprised. Mr. Kane, however, seems to be a bit put out by it. Charles is surprised Mr. Kane hasn’t cracked a tooth with the way he’s been grinding his jaw by the time Mr. Lehnsherr arrives.
“I told you that construction in midtown was going to fuck up traffic,” Azazel says, by way of greeting.
“Do you want some kind of medal for that prediction?” Erik returns flatly. Charles can hear the rustling of a coat, he thinks, but he doesn’t dare look up. Not without being acknowledged.
“We’ve been waiting for--”
“I appreciate your patience.” There’s an edge to Erik's words that seems to undercut the sentiment; Charles can hear Mr. Kane’s teeth click together when he shuts his mouth. “So, this is him?”
It takes focus, but no real effort, for Charles to keep himself from going too-still. He simply keeps breathing, keeps his eyes on the carpet just beyond where he kneels on the floor next to Mr. Kane.
“Charles, yes,” Mr. Kane clarifies, his annoyance bleeding into his tone. “As you’d know, if you’d been able to--”
He stops short as Angel bursts around the corner, her eyes fixed exclusively on Erik. “Sir, excuse me, but there’s an urgent call on your private line,” Angel says, breathless from rushing.
“Surely it can wait,” Erik says slowly, despite how much he wishes he could take the excuse and leave this particular farce behind.
“Your mother’s in the hospit--”
“Gentlemen. Excuse me,” he says, immediately ushering Angel back down the hallway, following when she hurries along up the stairs to his study.
But there’s no call holding on the phone atop his spartan desk. Erik’s blood all but boils at the prospect of the call having been dropped, but when he turns to find Angel calmly shutting the door behind them, something to his temper stumbles.
“Angel--” is a warning, menacing growl.
“Oh, relax. She’s fine,” she grins over her shoulder. “But it’s not like anyone can argue with ‘a family crisis’-- and believe me, if I’d left you in a room with an agent for more than two minutes, you’d have fucked the whole thing up.”
She’s not entirely off base, so Erik doesn’t grumble as he settles himself into the chair behind his desk. Adoption agents make him sick. The way they play at serving a Pet’s best interest, as if they don’t hand over victims to new abusers every single day-- the charade tries the limits of Erik’s patience.
“So why don’t you just wait here, I’ll go make your excuses, and then I can get Charles settled in a bit.” It’s an offer and advice all at once, he’s sure, and Erik’s inclined to trust her judgement. It’ll take Charles a while to realise Erik’s not going to demand anything from him. For now, he’ll probably be more comfortable around Angel, anyway.
A roll of Erik’s eyes and a wave of his hand marks his concession. He waits until he can hear Angel’s footsteps far down the hall before he glances to his phone. Swearing under his breath, he resigns himself to pulling his mobile from his pocket to look up his mother’s phone number before dialing it on the landline.
Clearly, Erik’s made the right decision in removing himself from the situation for a bit. As he makes his way towards the kitchen, his house blissfully free of both agents and lawyers, the voices he hears are relaxed and amiable.
He’d had to cut off his call with his mother to take a perfectly mundane, exquisitely tedious call about permit deadlines, but it’s an annoyance that slips to the back of his mind as his catches sight of Angel and Charles in the kitchen. Even if this is a headache, getting someone out of Shaw’s clutches and, hopefully, out of the system, is always worth it.
Charles’s posture is still a bit stiff, but he seems far less wide-eyed than he had... however long ago it was that he’d shown up. Erik had lost track of the time he’d spent in his office.
“See-- he’d forget to eat if we didn’t feed him,” Angel smirks, nudging Charles with her elbow. Before finishing off her latte - she’d eventually managed to bend the machine to her will - she adds, “‘s why he’s all skin and bones.”
“If you’re trying to channel my mother, you’re only about fifty per cent there,” he returns dryly.
For a moment, he doesn’t understand why the comment knits Charles’s brow together.
“I do hope your mother’s all right,” Charles says, with an earnestness that has Erik hesitating to explain that it had been nothing more than a tactic. Not that he should feel badly-- it had been Angel’s idea, not his. She should have explained that, rather than let Charles do something as perfectly decent as worry after someone else’s mother.
“False alarm,” Angel dismisses, setting her mug in the sink. “Don’t even worry about it.”
Erik watches Charles smile at her as she takes his cup, watches his face try to smooth itself out as it fades from his mouth. The kid’s probably exhausted, if not as much from the day as from years as Shaw’s Pet. A proper night’s sleep without someone pawing at him will probably do him a world of good.
“Come on. Let’s get you settled,” he says, poaching Angel’s words.
It’s the first time Charles meets his gaze. Despite the fact that he can’t quite discern the sentiment behind the bright light of Charles's eyes, he finds it encouraging.
You’ll sleep here. Goodnight.
His new Owner has spoken no more than ten words to him. Barely even looked at him before shutting Charles away in what looks like a guest bedroom. Alone.
Charles has to hold at bay the fear that he’s done something wrong. They’ve. They’ve only just met, after all. And there had been that... scare, involving Mrs. Lehnsherr. It’s been years since Charles’s own mother has crossed his thoughts, but if something had happened to her, he can only imagine it’d be upsetting. Or, if something had almost happened.
He ought to be grateful, that his Owner doesn’t want to spend their first night together venting frustrations. If only the silence of the room would stop ringing in his ears, he’s quite sure he could manage gratitude.
Charles breathes. Slow and steady. Lets his mind grow quiet and his thoughts get gauzy.
You’ll sleep here.
Surely, his Owner only means for the night. But why even bother? Why not assert his claim as quickly as possible?
Erik Lehnsherr takes shape in his head whilst his limbs operate on a kind of autopilot as he sits himself down on the bed, trying to unravel the meanings behind the information he has. Erik Lehnsherr is reserved. Purposeful, so there has to be a reason. He wouldn’t have bought Charles if he didn’t find him attractive. And Charles is mostly sure that he hasn’t been here long enough to do something to upset Erik.
So, perhaps it’s personal. That there’s no love lost between Sebastian and Erik Lehnsherr is hardly a secret-- perhaps there’s something to that. Erik Lehnsherr has built his engineering firm up from next to nothing, despite Sebastian’s attempts to undercut his business. Really, he’s the sort of man Charles would have expected would want a Pet with a clean contract. Someone new and untouched.
Charles smiles, surprised it took him so long to tease things out. Not everyone likes young Pets, and those who don’t rarely want to spend the time waiting for them to get to the proper age, so it’s easier to take in an older Pet. His fingers begin slipping the buttons of his shirt loose. His Owner probably doesn’t like that he’d been Sebastian’s first. Doesn’t want the reminder. He probably wants to pretend that Charles has never been anyone else’s, let alone Sebastian’s.
Come morning, his Owner can pretend that Charles has always been here. Can give him clothes of his Owner’s own choosing. The trousers he’s stepping out of had been provided by Sebastian. The collar around his neck had been designed for him, by Sebastian.
No self-respecting man would take another man’s Pet. Charles finds himself smiling, more than a little proud, as he makes his way to the en suite bathroom. He doesn’t need to be instructed to bathe; if his Owner wants a fresh start, Charles will do everything he can to make it so.
As much as he likes the idea, as much he thinks it shows class on his Owner’s part, when he lifts his hands to unfasten his collar, his fingers tremble. The bathroom mirror is starting fog, but it’s not so far gone that Charles can’t see his reflection shaking. In five years, he hasn’t been without his collar. The branded leather fastened around his throat has been part of what has kept him safe. It’s been a warning to poachers and and owners alike. It’s evidence that he exists under someone else’s protection.
Not that Charles has ever needed it. He’d never allow himself to be taken from his Owner-- not alive, anyway. He knows his own calibur. He is an exceptionally good Pet. He had been for Sebastian, and he will be for his new Owner. So he pries his collar free from his neck, letting it slip from his grasp and fall to the floor without a second glance. He’s not Sebastian’s anymore.
Forcing a few ragged breaths into his lungs, Charles holds at bay the dizziness that threatens to overwhelm him. When he steps into the shower, he braces his palms against warm tile. He can endure a night without it. He can do that for his Owner. And if he can’t, then he isn’t worthy of his Owner. It’s as simple as that.
He just has to make it through tonight. Just has to make it till tomorrow. And tomorrow-- tomorrow will be lovely. He’s sure of it.