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Heahmund and Ivory were reading in the living room when George looked in. “Excuse me, sir, there’s someone at the gate asking for you.” Heahmund heard the slight intonation that meant trouble and glanced up questioningly. “Gerald Thompkins,” George added.
A slight expression crossed Heahmund’s face, just for an instant, and he closed his book and stood. “Let him in,” he decided.
George trailed him down the hallway, Ivory crawling quickly afterwards, full of curiosity. “I would recommend calling the police, sir,” George suggested respectfully, and Ivory’s eyes widened.
Heahmund looked at the older, obviously stressed man on the gate camera pensively. “If he pulls out a gun or something, you can call the police,” he allowed dismissively.
Clearly against his better judgment, George pressed the gate button, and the man drove in so quickly he nearly scraped his car on the gate. Ivory knew no one would tell him anything if he asked, and might even send him away, so he sat quietly on the floor. On the monitors, the man stopped his car with a squeal of brakes and jumped out.
“Bishop!” he howled. “Bishop! Come out here and face me, you rotten—” The noise could be heard in other parts of the house now, drawing curious staff.
“What on Earth—” began Mrs. Owens in concern.
“I’ll go talk to him,” Heahmund decided. He did not seem nervous, but that meant nothing; Heahmund was not going to show his nerves.
“I would recommend—” George began to counter, but Heahmund silenced him with a look.
Then he noticed Ivory hanging around and turned to him with a serious gaze. “You do not. Leave. This house,” he emphasized, as the man kept shouting in the background. “Not a word, not a sound.”
Ivory nodded quickly, and Heahmund punctuated this with severe looks at George and Mrs. Owens, as if charging them with holding Ivory back or otherwise preventing what he might be tempted to do. Then he opened the front door.
Immediately Ivory dove for a room that looked out on the driveway, throwing open the window so he could hear what was happening, waving at whoever had followed him to be quiet.
Gerald Thompkins had stopped shouting, momentarily, when the door opened. “Bishop?” he demanded as Heahmund came out to the front stoop, carefully closing the door behind him.
“Yes,” Heahmund replied simply. He came forward slowly, not intending to actually get close to the visitor; but since the man had made the trip, Heahmund wanted to take advantage of it.
Gerald continued swearing at him, his face red with fury. Heahmund just stood there, listening, and let the faintest smirk play cross his face. He saw the moment there was a flare of recognition in the other man’s eyes; Gerald cut himself off mid-curse. “Wait, I know you,” he realized.
“Yes,” Heahmund agreed, coming slightly closer, where the light was better. “You do know me, Gerald.”
“From where?” Gerald was struggling to recall; it seemed like maybe it was important, maybe it would explain why. “You a friend of my wife’s?” he guessed.
“You mean your former wife,” Heahmund corrected, restraining himself from going too smug. Always stay in control. “It was a foolish business decision, to put so many assets in her name.” He let loose a grin that was more like a snarl, and that apparently jolted Gerald’s memory.
“No,” he denied faintly. “You’re not—you’re a pet,” he recalled. “Who owns you? Who’s behind this?”
“Pets can be freed,” Heahmund reminded him, teeth flashing like a shark’s. “No one owns me.” Which meant no one was in control of him, a terrifying thought for Gerald.
“Charlie,” Gerald recalled. Heahmund had already steeled himself to not react to the name. “I called you Charlie.” He now seemed to accept this, at least. “You always were a clever bugger.”
Heahmund laughed, ice-cold. Gerald remembered that laugh as well. “Do you remember what I said I would do to you, if you ever unchained me?” he purred. “Well, Gerald, you unchained me.”
“That was—that was just a bit of fun,” Gerald tried to claim, desperately. “That was just a game! You enjoyed it, I know you did. It was just a game!”
“Then we’re still playing,” Heahmund informed him.
“You’ve taken everything from me,” Gerald said, which Heahmund of course already knew. “My company, my house—my wife—she took my daughters—” He hiccupped brokenly, but somehow Heahmund could feel no pity for him.
“That’s what I do.”
“You won’t get away with this,” Gerald tried to insist. He was sputtering now, unable to figure out what could be done, and Heahmund curled his lip, sneering at his tiresomeness. “I’ll—I’ll get back at you for this, I’ll make you regret it—”
“No, you won’t, Gerald,” Heahmund corrected dismissively. “You’re going to get in your car—actually, your wife’s car—and you’re going to drive away from here. And I’m never going to see you again, or hear your name, or even think of you.”
He did not give a centimeter, not in his body language, his voice, the look in his eye—there was nothing for Gerald to latch onto, to attack, to hope for. He knew the willpower he was dealing with. And now there were no more chains.
Gerald got in his car and drove away.
Heahmund signaled for George to close the gates, and stood there as they did. Then he came back into the house.
“Obviously, keep an eye on him, but I don’t think we’ll have any further trouble,” Heahmund instructed George. Then, more intensely, “Find out how he got this address.” George nodded quickly and Heahmund turned away, striding confidently without looking at anyone else.
“Heahmund—” Ivory tried, tentatively, but the older man merely went for the stairs to the basement, as though casually resuming his activities there.
Ivory hurried after him, but he was slow on the stairs—it felt faster than waiting for the elevator—and Heahmund wasn’t waiting for him to catch up like he usually did. He didn’t see the older man anywhere in the open space, like working the punching bag, and crawled tentatively towards the door at the back. Ivory pushed it open just as Heahmund viciously flung a glass at the far wall; it shattered with a satisfying sound.
Heahmund glanced back as Ivory entered, tucking himself out of the way. “Sorry, hope you don’t mind me using your room,” he said, heaving a bowl.
“No, it’s okay,” Ivory assured him. He’d never seen Heahmund use it before, though, and it concerned him. The whole episode concerned him. Heahmund was always so in control, even when it would be understandable, perhaps better, to let go.
Heahmund was good at throwing things. He could move around more easily than Ivory could, and lean back further, like he was pitching a cricket ball. Even some of the lighter objects made cathartic crashes. It was going on for a while, though, and Ivory wasn’t sure it was helping; he knew by now that once he’d broken a handful of items, if he wasn’t feeling better, it wasn’t going to do it for him today.
“Heahmund,” he tried, but the man ignored him. “Heahmund, let’s do something else now—” A plate whizzed into the side wall, but Heahmund wasn’t even stopping to appreciate the beautiful chaos, he was just digging for something else to throw. “Heahmund, let’s—Heahmund, no!” Ivory shouted sharply, and the man finally turned to him in surprise. “You can only throw one thing at a time,” Ivory told him. “That is the rule.”
For a moment they just stared each other down, but Ivory didn’t give way, and finally Heahmund set back down the cardboard box he’d been about to hurl, with exaggerated care. Then he sighed and sat down on the floor next to Ivory, who scooted eagerly into his lap and wrapped his arms around him.
“He was a former owner?” Ivory asked, as Heahmund embraced him in return. He wasn’t sure how much the man would want to talk about it, but Ivory thought he needed to.
“Yes.”
“Not the most recent.” Since he didn’t realize he’d been freed.
“No.”
“How old were you?” Ivory pressed.
“Maybe your age. A little older,” Heahmund replied. His gaze rested somewhere in the middle distance, but he stroked Ivory’s braids as he spoke.
“And you…” Ivory did not really understand what Heahmund did for a living. “You took his money. His business?”
“Yes,” Heahmund agreed. Ivory thought that was going to be it, but then he added, “It’s taken me a long time. He was better set up than most. Family company, over two hundred years old.” He was not at all regretful about this. “Then I learned he’d put a number of assets in his wife’s name. That was my way in.”
“Did you sleep with her?” Ivory asked, keeping his voice neutral. “To get her help.”
“No, I would’ve told you if I was doing that,” Heahmund refuted, so off-hand, as he kissed Ivory’s temple, as if there was never any doubt that he owed the boy an explanation at least. Ivory wanted this to form a warm glow in his stomach, but for some reason it was just a dull ache. “She didn’t care what her husband was doing to pets in the basement,” he went on, only slightly dark, “but when he took up with a free woman on the side, that was too much. She was eager to help.”
Ivory nodded against him. “And this is what you do with your company? Find people who hurt you in the past and… punish them?” He wasn’t judging. Well, only a little, because now he was wondering if maybe it wasn’t good for Heahmund. The people who’d hurt him deserved everything they got, and more.
“Yes,” Heahmund agreed, with a little smile that suggested he found this activity satisfying. “Well, recently I’ve diversified more. As the list has gotten shorter.”
“You must have been owned by a lot of rich guys,” Ivory observed. He didn’t think any of his former owners had much to take.
“Yes,” Heahmund agreed. “Only rich people could afford me.”
Ivory was torn between fascination and horror when it came to the rough trade. “Why?”
“Because I was very good.”
“At what?”
“Surviving.”
Just the way he said it, so matter-of-fact, made Ivory’s breath hitch. Why should Heahmund have to go through that, and yet if he hadn’t been so good at surviving, he wouldn’t be here today. Ivory took a wet, shuddery breath, tears forming, and Heahmund seemed to snap back to the present, hugging him tightly.
“I’m sorry, Ivory,” he murmured, pressing kisses against him. “Did I frighten you? I’m sorry I lost my temper.”
He hadn’t lost his temper, though, and that made Ivory cry even harder, clinging to Heahmund’s shirt. Because maybe if he had lost his temper, if he could, that would mean he wasn’t so broken inside. But instead he was just trying to comfort Ivory.
“No,” the boy tried to refute, wetly. “I just—I want to help you.” It was all he could come up with, and it felt pathetic.
“You do help me,” Heahmund assured him, and he sounded sincere. “So much.” Ivory didn’t see how, but he let himself be held and cuddled for a while longer, because it felt nice, and maybe Heahmund thought so, too. “Well, are you ready to go back upstairs?” Heahmund finally said, as if this was just a bit of unpleasantness to be scrubbed away, leaving everything good as new. Maybe for him it was, but Ivory wasn’t so sure. Still, he nodded and let Heahmund lead him away.
**
Heahmund put his book aside as soon as Ivory rolled into the bedroom, watching as he boosted himself onto the bed. He turned to the teen eagerly, taking him into his arms and starting to kiss him.
It felt nice to Ivory. And it obviously felt nice to Heahmund. But the boy found himself unfocused, and just not really in the mood. “No,” he said, when Heahmund slipped his hands under Ivory’s t-shirt, preparatory to taking it off. “I don’t want to have sex tonight.” There was, perhaps, a touch of defiance in his tone, and he wondered at his impulse to punish Heahmund when the man had already had a stressful day and was clearly looking forward to this activity. Ivory didn’t really want to make him angry, but maybe it would be good for him, to finally lose control.
Heahmund huffed, but he put his hands back on the outside of Ivory’s clothes, and leaned back to look at him. “Really?” he checked, but the boy knew better than to toy with this subject.
“Yes,” he confirmed.
“Okay,” Heahmund agreed, disappointed. He rolled away to turn off the light, but then rolled back to take the boy in his arms. “Alright?”
“Yes,” Ivory assured him, snuggling closer. They adjusted themselves comfortably for a few moments. “I guess…” Ivory began tentatively, “I guess you would never have been allowed to do that.”
“Say no to sex?” Heahmund checked. “No, not allowed.” He kissed Ivory’s forehead. “I wasn’t allowed to sleep in the bed either,” he added with a dark smirk.
“Why not?”
“Too dangerous,” Heahmund quipped. “If I wasn’t kept restrained, I might kill my master in the night, you know.” He said this with humor, even if it was pitch-black; but Ivory could not yet find it funny.
“Why didn’t you?” he blurted out. He wanted Heahmund, younger Heahmund, to kill them all, everyone who hurt him, because they deserved it; and then maybe older Heahmund wouldn’t have to keep thinking about them. “Why didn’t you ever kill one of them? I’m sure you had the opportunity.”
“Many opportunities,” Heahmund confirmed. “But I was a survivor,” he reminded Ivory, rubbing his side soothingly—he could feel his tension. “Killing or even seriously harming the master is a death sentence.”
“Killing a pet is illegal,” Ivory countered, his mouth dry.
Heahmund pulled him closer, the boy’s head resting against his chest where his heart beat steadily, unperturbed by this topic apparently. “All you need is a proper death certificate signed by a doctor,” he murmured. He might have been telling the most horrible bedtime story ever. “And rich people know lots of doctors.” Ivory took a sharp breath, which Heahmund could feel. “Shh, Ivory, don’t think about it,” he advised. “It was all a long time ago. Go to sleep now. You’re alright.”
Ivory knew he was alright; what he wanted was for Heahmund to be alright. “We—we can have sex later,” he found himself saying. “I’m just tired now.”
“Feel free to wake me up,” Heahmund allowed. Maybe he was a little tired, too, but he didn’t like to admit it. “We’ll have a better day tomorrow.”