A/N: Shameless hurt/comfort slavery au because I am trash. Warnings: While there is no nsfw explicitly written, there is heavy discussion of it, as well as explicit communication, injuries and the like. Anyway. Enjoy :-) Leave a review if you liked it.
Slave markets were uncommon around here, coming only once or twice a year. Understandably it was fairly packed with people wanting to trade in older slaves or pick up newer ones. There were slave stores dotted around Ballarat, selling new slaves to the rich, but for most people, they waited until the slave markets were in town. Which meant in suburbia, slaves lasted a long time, rather then simply being killed for minor infractions, which he'd heard rumors about happening in Melbourne.
He walked though the crowded isles, he felt a distinct roll of nausea in his stomach. As he went towards the back of the market, the people became fewer as the slaves became worse looking. As far as money went, he didn't have an awful lot, which was why he was even here in the first place. He wanted to take them all home with him and look after them forever.
But he can't.
So he tries to keep up the act of being unattached and uncaring but damn it's hard. Towards the front of the building there is a commotion. He turns around, only to see three men tackle someone, a slave probably, to the ground. And then more yelling. Eventually it stops. He turns back around in time to hear a very quiet crying. He glances around for the location and sees a cage towards the middle of the row holding a crouched man probably in his mid twenties. After some moments of debate, he lowered himself onto the ground next to the cage, and tried to attract his attention.
The man looks up slightly, before wiping furiously at his face, clearing a small amount of dirt and revealing a pale complexion underneath, as well as plenty of marks. He speaks softly, like it's forbidden . The newer slaves didn't have such reservations. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to disturb you." It sounds like he wants to add something, but if he does, he doesn't.
"I'm not bothered. I just want to know why." The slave does nothing for several moments, perhaps hoping that Blake would dismiss him and leave. But he relents.
"It's my last day today, is all."
"You're being sold?" Blake asks, looking at him for a moment, struck with a feeling of familiarity with how his left hand clenches and unclenches.
"N-No. I'm...Being put down." Blake gasps softly. The slave bites his lip carefully.
"May I request something of you?" Blake nods. "I know I have done nothing to earn it but, I was wondering, if you would be kind enough to do it?"
"Put you down?" He nods.
"If you were to be here, at night, you could offer your services. It wouldn't cost you anything, of course…." He trails off, seeing Blake's blanched complexion. "I'm so sorry, Doctor, I wasn't thinking, I over stepped."
"How do you know I'm a doctor?" He looks confused. And then his face clears.
"Oh, I'm sorry. I thought you remembered me, that's why we were talking."
A pause.
"I'm sorry."
"Where do you know me from?" Blake asks, his grey matter trying to pull up a memory.
"In 1958 I worked at the Colonists Club. I used to bring you your drinks."
Then he remembers
"Charlie." He said, with a smile. "I remember now." Charlie does not smile back, just gazes at his shoes.
"You should be looking towards the middle section." He said, softly. " There is a young woman there who is very good at making drinks, she worked at a bar." And then he adds, "I am sure she would love a fair master like yourself."
"And wouldn't you like a fair master?" Charlie gives him a weak, tiny smile. Nothing like how he used to look. The Colonists club treated their slaves very well. Cec was in charge and he knew the man would never harm any of them. He remembers Charlie smiling on occasion, the sort that lit up his face, usually after purposefully giving someone the wrong drink, or mouthing off to a Tyneman.
"We all would." He mumbled. "But you wouldn't be wasting your money on me."
"Why wouldn't I?" Charlie holds up a hand so Blake can see. His little finger is missing, his ring finger is missing from the middle knuckle up, and his middle finger is missing the nail and top joint, followed by a soft, "And you wouldn't be able to show a mouthy slave off to your friends."
"Mouthy? You've been perfectly polite to me." Except their first meeting, before Charlie really sussed out the situation.
"Oh, I would never insult you." Charlie said, in a quiet voice. "Not since you were so good to me." By that he of course meant when Blake had patched up his face after someone got a little too violent with him.
Blake nods, and stands, looking over the offered information about Charlie. Secretarial training, house keeping, recommendations in cooking. He fit the criteria perfectly, really. He kneels down again. Charlie looks up from his careful examination of what remained of his fingers. "How long have you been for sale for?"
"A long time. Several months."
"What happened?" Pause.
"I'm going to die..." He said, softly, "I would rather think about the happy times if I could…" Blake nods understandably.
"Of course." He knew logically there was no way he was going to leave Charlie here to die. "But I feel obligated to tell you I'm going to purchase you and bring you home with me." Charlie goes very pale in the face.
"Oh."
"Unless you don't want me to?" Charlie bit down hard on his lip and it looked like he was deep in thought.
"Whatever pleases you, Doctor." He said, in a soft tone. Blake smiles idly.
…
He had not expected to live another day. In some respects, many, really, he was upset with Blake. He'd wanted his memories to stay pure and untainted. Kind smiles and warm hands. He doesn't want them soiled with memories of beatings and kneeling and feet kissing and sucking and cold eyes. He files them all away in the back of his mind.
He follows Blake towards the house, dressed in clothes the man had leant him. He sighed silently to himself. The clothes were nice, good quality and smelled clean. Although they were too short in the leg, and in the arm, they were too big the other way around. He was swimming I them. They probably belonged to Blake himself.
They made their way up the stairs, into the house. Charlie pauses to take of Blake's coat for him and hang it. Blake smiles and gently pats his shoulder. "Thank you, Charlie." A slight incline of his head.
Blake gives him a tour, shows him all the rooms. Office, studio, kitchen, Blakes own room (Charlie thinks it feels nice. He won't mind serving in here) Mattie's room (he's not allowed in), 'Jean's' room, (She doesn't live here now), and a room Blake says is his. It's full of boxes that Blake says he will remove on the weekend. Charlie figures that to mean this is the punishment room, and due to his not having a slave, he's turned it into storage.
He saw a slave closest in the kitchen where he assumes he will be living. He trails after Blake, who is distracted by a ringing phone.
"Sorry Charlie. Go find Mattie, she's watching TV. She'll be able to direct you to the bathroom, have a shower." Charlie nods, and heads in the direction he was pointed, locating Mattie O'Brian in the living room. She looked up at him, swimming in his clothes, hands clasped neatly by his waist, neck secured in a firm collar, and she sighed softly.
"You must be Lucien's new project." Quiet. "Something you need?"
"The master said I should ask you about the location on the bathroom."
" The master?" He nods.
"Be lucky he didn't hear you calling him that, he'd flip." She informed him, looking up from her study. "Around the corner to the left." Charlie bows slightly, and heads for the room she pointed out, leaving the door half open, not sure if he was allowed to close it or not.
As he stripped off, he folded Blake's clothes neatly, wondering if he would be wearing them again. No one had ever told him and he hadn't thought to ask. But remembering the past, Blake had always complained about the uniforms at the Colonists Club being too short, so he supposed he should put it back on.
He turned on the shower when he was under it, flinching under the cold stream as it hit his face. He wanted a warm shower, he fought the urge to turn the second handle even a little bit, but figured it wouldn't be worth spoiling his memories over something so minor. While he watched dirt swirl down the drain, he supposed it was a bit presumptuous of him to assume Blake would want to be called Master. At the club, he'd requested Charlie call him Lucien, failing that Blake, failing that Doctor. Doctor had been formal enough, so he'd gone with that.
He ran his hands though his hair, his fingers caught on the tangles, pulling at his scalp. He removed his hands, and sighed gently. Upon a quick look around, he discovered a comb hidden at the back of the medicine cabinet that seemed to be unused. He returned to the shower, and struggled his way though combing his hair free of dirt. After a while, he was content that it was clean, and after a few moments of consideration, tipped a little amount of shampoo onto his hand, and smoothed it though his hair.
If the Doctor was going to pull his hair the he would want it clean, he thought, proud of himself, in a weird way, for being so prepared. Once he was sure that there was no dirt left in any crease on his body , he removed himself from the shower, shutting it off, and returning the comb to where it belonged. He sat patiently on the rim of the bathtub until he was convinced he was dry, and redressed.
He left the bathroom as he had found it, and wondered what he was supposed to do now. Wandering around, the house seemed very clean. He could hear Blake typing, and Mattie's gentle page turning. He wondered if this was his free time, before checking the clock and realizing that it was five, and he really needed to get a move on if he wanted to be ready by six.
He approached Mattie hesitantly. " Uhm...Ma'am?" She turned to look at him, and frowned very slightly.
"My name is Mattie." He blinks.
"Yes...The Doctor told me, Ma'am."
"You can call me Mattie."
"No, Ma'am I am afraid I cannot."
"Suit yourself. What do you need?"
"It's five o'clock."
"Yes."
"Do you...Do you eat dinner at six?"
"We eat whenever usually. Why? Are you hungry?" Charlie shook his head very suddenly.
"No, no, of course not, Ma'am. I was wondering if I should be making dinner." She studied him suspiciously.
"Like I said. If you're hungry."
Charlie felt stressed out. A test already? He'd only been here for a day. He was back in the kitchen now, studying the contents of the freezer. A pie sat on the top, as if mocking him. He collected it into shaky hands, and decided that the punishment from admitting he was hungry, that he wanted something that wasn't his to want was worth it, if it would make the Doctor pleased with him. Even if Mattie was not, then he could ask her to be gentler during the punishment. He didn't see Blake as the sort to make people suffer for no reason.
As he allowed the pie to defrost slowly, he shelled peas at the table, and prepared potatoes. He'd always enjoyed baking. It gave him control. The food tasted as he allowed it to taste. It was safe to eat because he'd tamed it. There were few joys in his life these days. But this was one of the few he'd been allowed to keep. He was grateful.
…
Something smelled very nice. Blake frowned slightly, and looked up from his report to find Charlie standing awkwardly by his door. Blake smiled at him, trying to be friendly. "Charlie! How was your shower?"
"Very nice, thank you. I used your shampoo, I hope that was okay. I thought you might like it clean."
"I do, very nice." Blake smiled. "And what may I ask is that delicious smell?"
"I baked dinner for yourself and uh. Ms Mattie."
"You didn't need to do that." Scilence.
"I'm sorry. I didn't want to upset you, but it's getting late..."
"I'm not upset." Blake said, standing and leading Charlie to the kitchen, where he'd set the informal table with two places.
"I know you can count Charlie." Blake scolded, taking a seat at the head of the table. Charlie blinked at him oddly.
"Have I forgotten to set a place? I'm so sorry, I wasn't aware you had a third member of your household!" He said, softly. "I thought Mrs Beazley was away, oh, I'm so sorry." He said, turning to the cupboards in an effort to right his wrong. Mattie joins them when she hears Charlie's hasty place setting.
"You made this?" She asked, as Charlie rustled though drawers for another knife and fork, before being seemingly content he'd fixed problem. Blake watched, a curious look on his face as Charlie then lowered himself down onto his knees by Blake's left side.
"Why don't you sit at the table?" Charlie gave him a very confused, very wobbly smile.
"Because that's where the people sit."
"Are you not a person?"
"No."
Quiet.
"What are you?"
"An object. I mean, it's not like a lamp is going to eat at the table." He said, with his smile, never quite being actually a smile.
Blake gets the sense that Mattie doesn't know how to respond either.
"Sit at the table, Charlie." Blake said after a moment. "You know me. I'm not going to treat you like them. You should drop the act."
Charlie moves to the table, and sits slowly, like he's sitting on tacks. Blake coaxes Charlie into serving himself and eating. The room is uncomfortable.
…
Heading to bed without Jean to say goodnight to him is a sad experience. He misses her dearly, and if he'd just gotten on the stupid bus… He stops the train of thought. No way he could change the past He went to bed late, and was quite shocked to find Charlie sitting on the floor by his bed having lost track of him after he washed the dishes.
Seated on the floor, and apparently naked.
His back was facing the doctor, the pale skin, protected from tanning by muck and time spent indoors, was criss crossed with bruises and scars he didn't use to have. Blake would know. The admitedly rather skimpy attire at the Colonists had shown all the marks Charlie had were heavily faded and pink. These ones just seemed...He wasn't sure. Horrible didn't seem enough.
The closer he got, the worse he felt. He should have looked Charlie over for injuries. His whole body looks beaten. Purple and green and brown swirling on his skin to form the mottled patches of bruise Burns litter the visible part of his clamped arms, ranging from tiny pink dots to much larger angrier red ones. Charlie said he'd been on sale for months, so it must have been the men at the market who did this. It occurs to him that Charlie must have been destined to be put down because. He pauses. He knew what they'd done to him.
He feels anger bubbling in his rib cage.
"Charlie?"
Charlie straightens suddenly.
"Doctor."
"Why are you sitting on the floor?"
"I wasn't sure how you'd like me, Sir."
"How I'd like you?" Charlie nods.
"I might not have much practice but I still know all the positions we were taught. Hands and knees, facing you, facing away from you, on top of you and facing you-" Blake realizes.
"No, no, no, Charlie, stop." Charlie stops. "I don't...I don't want any of that." Pause.
"Oh." And then, "I'm so sorry. I forget sometimes that I am not pretty anymore, but I will be, in a couple of days, when the worst is healed I'll look better then, should I come back, when I look nicer or maybe when my hair is longer, or is it the hand because I can hide that you'll never even kn-"Blake stops him by sitting next to him.
"None of that, Charlie." He said, "It has nothing to do with your missing fingers or how pretty you look." He said, putting a gentle hand on Charlie's back, feeling the rises and dips of old scar tissue, and the stickiness of uncovered wounds.
Charlie flinches.
"What is my job to be, then, Doctor?"
"You're here to help with housework. And maybe, on occasion, make more of those potatoes." The joke is lost on Charlie, who looks as small as he is insecure. "Why don't we go down to my office, I'll take a look at those wounds, and then you can go to bed?" He suggests, not sure what else he could do and feeling distinctly out of his depth. Charlie nods, and stands, offering to help the doctor up with his good hand.
He winces when he pulls on it.
…
Charlie trailed after him, confused. He'd recovered from worse wounds himself, why did Blake care about these ones specifically, he thought. He'd also refused Charlie's offering his body. He doesn't understand why. His body was all he had left. Well. That and apparently great potatoes. Perhaps things will look clearer when he's better looking. He should have waited anyway.
And maybe put clothes on, because now he is wearing a robe that Blake felt compelled to wrap him in while they were walking. He wonders why. It's not as if he has anything to gain by waiting. At least it seemed there would be no hair pulling tonight. Maybe it was cowardly of him, but if it were possible to prevent the inevitable, whether it was this, or it was a beating or a punishment, then he would. He would kiss feet and hands and beg and plead if it would spare him from pain for just a few more seconds.
He sat where Blake pointed, and shed the robe when asked. Maybe he wanted to hurt him here.
"Forgive me, Charlie."
Charlie snaps his attention back to the Doctor.
" I should have looked you over when you arrived, but the blasted phone…" Charlie doesn't reply. Blake clears his throat. "Will you let me look you over?" He nods, not seeing what choice he has in the matter
"Thank you." He said, before bustling off to go gather things. Charlie watched quietly
Blake produces a syringe, and Charlie frowns deeply. "You don't need to drug me, Doctor." He said softly. "I'll do whatever you like. You don't need to drug me." Blake frowns deeply.
"Drug you?" Charlie nods, looking at the syringe. "People have drugged you?" Charlie's bad hand covers his elbow on his right arm. He nods.
"Mm"
Blake lets out long sigh. "I'm not going to drug you, Charlie." He said, in a soft voice. "This syringe is empty. I want to take a sample of your blood." Charlie's pale face went paler. All he had left was his body and Blake wanted to take that from him as well? But he is good, and he doesn't want to spoil his memories yet so he holds out his arm and lets Blake draw his blood into the syringe until he feels lightheaded and woozy. "Thank you." Charlie said nothing, just wrapped the palm of his hand around his elbow, holding the cotton ball in place.
Blake sighs again, thinking about how many injuries had been covered by the dirt from the market. He lets out a breath, and gently takes Charlie's hand that was missing the fingers into his own. "What happened?" He asked, softly. Charlie looked away. Blake sighed. "I'm not judging you, Charlie. I'm your doctor now. Consider it...tending to my investment."
"He took one knuckle off when I was bad." Charlie said, after several moment. "When my fingers were docked, he was going to tie me to his bed and take me until I was dead."
"He said that to you?" Charlie nods. "I didn't think he was serious. He was." Blake nods, and runs his thumb over the back of his hand.
"What happened?" A long pause. Charlie shrugs. He decides that if he dies now, then he might get to keep his happy memories.
"I spent weeks practicing his signature until I could produce it in the same state as him. Then, I mixed a whole bottle of pills for sleeping into his tea, one night. Typed up his suicide note and signed it, put the pill packet nearby, and waited until morning to call the police."
"Why wasn't I informed?" Charlie shurgged. "that man, the one with brown eyes, he sent me to the market at first light." He said, softly. "I don't know if it was ever confirmed."
"Oh."
"And that was where I've been." A slight smile. "You have a reason to kill me now." He said, sounding very off kilter. "I am sure there is something in here you can use." He stood up, using his height to his advantage to push past Blake, who watched him fuss around.
"I won't kill you, Charlie."
"You should. Please. Kill me, don't send me back to them."
"Charlie..."
"Please!"
"Charlie!" Blake said, trailing after him, and clutching him close so that he was no longer able to move, and then tugging him onto the floor. "What are you talking about. I don't want to kill you, or punish you, or do any og the things that people have said that you deserve." He said, even though Charlie didn't look like he was paying attention.
"Don't spoil them please don't spoil them, they're all I have please, please don't take them" over and over and over again, dissolving into hysterics, hands clutching on to Blake for dear life. And Blake? He just let Charlie cry and cry and cry.
He doesn't hush for some time, and when he does, he just lies slumped against him, seemingly given in. "Shhhh."
"I'm sorry. I don't know what came over me."
"You had a melt down. It's alright. I would expect it of someone who has been though so much." Charlie shifted slightly, and nodded.
"I don't...I don't really want you to kill me."
"I know you don't. And even if you did, I wouldn't. It probably just seemed like the best course of action at the time."
"I'm sorry I upset you, and wasted your time.'
"It would have happened eventually. I'm glad I was here."
"I'm sorry."
"You asked me not to take them from you. What is they, if you don't mind me asking?"
"My memories."
"Your memories?"
"I only have nice memories of you." He whispered. "I don't...I don't want them to be spoiled."
"Spoiled?"
"I don't want the niceness and the kindness overshadowed by beatings and punishments. I know that is unreasonable of me, and if you were to punish me I would deserve it but I cannot help it. I am sorry."
"You don't want to spoil your memories of me?" Charlie nodded, making no effort to break the hold. "You killed a man?" Charlie nodded. "But you presented yourself for me?"
"I thought if I pleased you, then I could keep them for just one more night...You were so pleased with dinner, I didn't want to ruin that…And you were so good to me, in the club, even when I was mouthy. I thought you would be gentle. I know how to make all sorts of pretty noises, if you would like. I can be anyone you want me to be, as well. I just want to please you." Blake sighed again, and gently, ran a hand over Charlie's back, ignoring the slight flinch when he accidentally stroked over an open wound.
"How about we clean you up, and then head to bed. Everything will look better in the morning." Charlie nods along, and silently allows Blake to wrap his wounds and usher him into his robe, and then to the room upstairs with the boxes.
He departs.
…
Charlie gazed around the room with sad eyes. There was a bed, and he imagined the rest of the 'play room' things were hidden behind boxes. He was so tired, crying for so long had worn him out. He sat on the bed, and no one tells him not to, so he curls up on top of the sheets and goes over his favorite memories.
He liked it when Blake came to the Club because he always had something on his mind that he would share If Charlie prodded gently. He would sometimes invite Charlie to sit with him, and he would pay for lemonade and they would talk. Whatever Blake wanted to talk about, Charlie would talk. Once, Blake brought him lemonade and just wanted to talk about what Charlie knew about music. He'd enjoyed that. He'd enjoyed the look on Tyneman's face when Blake insisted on playing some on the mostly decorational gramaphone when Charlie confessed that he didn't really know much other then word of mouth.
He falls asleep to the distant tune of Hangin' On Baby, and Blake singing along.
…
Upon waking, Charlie felt horrible thinking about the position he'd put Blake in last night. His neck hurts, and so do his arms, but he knows he has to do something to right it. He's up, the sun is up. He made his way to the kitchen, and then began cooking.
He makes two breakfasts, and then sets about preparing water for him to clean the coffee table, and to clean the tv screen, the windows (on the inside, he would never go outside without being told to) He starts to dust, and he loses track of time.
Blake is sitting across from him, sipping tea. He stops. Blake looks at him. He can't fix last night. But he can dust the fucking piano. So he will dust the fucking piano. And then when he's done, he will make his master lunch, and he will mop the hall.
He finishes dusting, and makes Blake a sandwhich. "I hope you enjoy." He said, sitting it on his desk. Blake watches him go and Charlie had never been religious, but he prays that Blake will get to the punishment. He is dying to get it over with. But maybe if he is good enough, then it will pass. (Maybe Blake will give him time off to recover.)
Then he pulls up the rugs from the hallway, and rolls them up. He mopped the floor, and then hung the rugs up outside and beat them until he was crying. No one noticed. He dragged the rugs back in and brushed dust off the clothes he's been wearing since yesterday. Blake's clothes. They don't smell clean anymore. They smell like perspiration and he is halfway inclined to ask him for new clothes but after his meltdown last night he knows he should not do that.
His brain swings wildly between wanting to break down again and wanting to work until his hands fall off. He goes to the kitchen and decides to bake a cake for after dinner. He cracks eggs and measures and sets timers and considers the contents of the fridge for tea. There is nothing. He will have to ask Blake.
He will make Blake tea. He will ask about food. He will do this when the cake is cooked. He heads back to the dining room, and begins to dust in there, even though it was clean, until he realized it was time to deal with the cake so he took it out and he laid the rugs back down and he iced it, and he served it.
"Thank you, Charlie." Blake beamed, as Charlie remained as still and silent as ever.
"Might I ask you something?" Blake looks slightly confused but he nods.
"You uh. There's nothing there for you to have for dinner." He said, in a quiet voice. "Would you like for me to purchase something?"
"Where from?" Blake asked, a tint of humor in his voice.
"I assume there's a shops that you like..." He nods, absently.
"Alright." He agrees, "I'll drink this tea and then come with you, we'll make an afternoon of it. Maybe look into a tailor for you..."
"Oh I shouldn't think that would be needed."
"Why not?"
"No respectable tailor is going to make clothes for a slave."
"I'll find one." Charlie let out an uneasy breath and nodded. Blake looked him up and down. "Why don't you go to my room and get another shirt and pants? Can't be too comfortable wearing the same clothes for two days. Charlie studied him and then nodded, departing with a bow.
…
Charlie was right. No clothes makers were going to make clothes for a slave. Charlie assured him it was fine time after time but Blake couldn't accept it. After their third stop, Charlie has folded in on himself. He looks small and out of place, and Blake can't take putting him through another visit so he gives up. Charlie speaks up in a soft voice.
"We uh...I know where you could by me clothes, if you would still like…" Blake nods firmly, picking up on the faintest taste of hope in his words.
"Where?"
"There is a slave store in town, where they used to have the uniforms for the Colonists club made." He said, softly. "Uh, they have regular clothes as well." Blake nods, at first he'd been going to turn him down, come up with some other way, not wanting to dress Charlie like that. He found the uniforms...distasteful.
…
Upon arriving, Blake, again, feels out of place. The store is filled with paraphernalia that he doesn't know and not sure he wants to know. Blake allows himself to be led to the racks at the back with typical clothes on them. He goes though it, occasionally holding something up to Charlie's chest so he could see how it looked. Charlie stands as still as the mannikins. They used to be slaves, but he knows that it was made illegal a few years ago to do that. He's relieved. He wasn't sure he'd be able to deal with that. Eventually, they end up with a handful of shirts and a couple of pants.
"Where are the changing rooms?" Charlie gives him a blank look. "The rooms where you try the clothes to see if they fit." Charlie begins to strip off, and Blake puts a hand out to stop him.
"No, no don't do that."
"You said you wanted me too..."
"No, I don't want you to strip off in public."
"I'm sorry."
"It's okay, you couldn't have known." Blake said, in a soft voice. He looked hesitant, and Blake decided that the clothes will be fine.
"Do we need anything else from here?" Blake watches Charlie throw a look towards the collars, and he can't decide if it's a longing or a loathing look.
"Do you want one of those?" He asks, careful to keep his tone neutral. Charlie hasn't asked for much, but Blake doesn't want to spook him. He offers a tiny shrug.
"I don't need it." He said, holding up his wrist so Bake could see the markings there. Until the tattooing became compulsory when Blake was a child, and Slaves did actually have a shot at being freed, then collars were used to denote status. They were't compulsory anymore, but some people still liked the decoration. Blake didn't, but he wasn't going to tell Charlie no if he wanted one. He could understand the security of it for a slave.
"I know." Blake replied, he'd seen it the previous night, noticed it when Charlie was crying. "But that isn't what I asked. Do you want one?"
"Uh."
"If you do, I'm sure it's not going to be any great loss to me."
"I...Would prefer to go without, sir." He said, one hand, Blake suspects, unintentionally dancing around his neck and over his skin. Blake nods.
"If you're sure." Charlie throws another glance at the collars, as if he can't believe it, and then looks back, nodding. Blake purchases one anyway, after he sends Charlie to stand outside, just in case he is lying.
…
Upon returning home from the shopping trip, the duo made their way to the kitchen, where Charlie set about unpacking bags and putting the items away. Blake watched for a short while, before heading back to the office to work.
After he was gone, Charlie ran his fingers over the space where a collar should be. He could never decide if he wanted to wear one or not. On one hand, he would like to have Blake's name somewhere where other people could see, so people would never dare to hurt him ever again, how could they when his master was a solider, a doctor! But then, he also didn't want to embarrass the doctor, not with a slave such as himself. He was mouthy and forgot to adress people correctly and even when he was trying so hard to please he still managed to upset the only person in the whole world who had any investment in his life or death. He'd had a meltdown right in front of him begged to die, and all Blake had done was hold him close and soothe him. It was unbelievable that a man of such standing would waste his time on a creature such as Charlie. He can't do anything to effect his standing, that would be cruel of him. So no collar. He stacks a box of biscuits in the cupboard.
As they perused the isles, Blake asked him what he could and couldn't make. He'd answered honestly. And now he was making a roast. And he had new clothes. At the moment, he'd decided to show Blake how appreciative he was by wearing them. An orange shirt and tan pants. Bland, but what else could be expected of clothes for a slave?
Mattie offers to help him peel carrots.
"Thank you, Ma'am."
"You can just call me Mattie." He bit his lip. He really couldn't do that.
"No, that's not allowed." He said, focusing on cliding the knife under the skin of the very orange vegetable.
"I say it is." She said, as she slid the knife down the carrot in a single glide. Charlie studied her for several long moments.
"I don't want to be in trouble." it sounds young and he know it. He doesn't want to be in trouble.
"You won't be. Please. I promise that Lucien won't mind." She smiled. "He'll probably even like it." Charlie offers nothing, and looks back at the carrot he'd developed something of an iron first on.
…
Mattie joins Lucien in his office after dinner and they both have a drink. In the kitchen, they can hear Charlie fussing with the dishes and preparing food for tomorrow. Neither of them have much to say at first.
Or later.
Or even later then that, when Charlie shows up, unsure of what he should do. Blake invites him to sit, on the couch. He does, but looks rather uncomfortable. Eventually, Mattie finds it in herself to break the silence that had settled over them.
"Lucien?"
"Yes?"
"Will you tell Charlie that he can call me Mattie?" Blake shrugs.
"You can call her Mattie."
"Yes Sir."
They return to silence until Mattie leaves to go study, and Charlie goes to do some more cleaning. There are no mentions of the meltdown.
…
It must be midnight, he is sure of it. Charlie stretched out on the bed, feeling the pleasant tug on each of his muscles. After being in the cage, he is sure he will never take being out to put his legs out at their full length for granted again. He's been here all night, waiting for something. For Blake, maybe, to come punish him. For Mattie to come scold him again? He's not sure. But nothing is happening. No one has scolded him for coming onto the bed, so he's going to milk the little bit of freedom he's found for as long as he could.
He remembers being free. He'd even been intent on trying out for the police academy, to be just like his dad. He remembers his sixteenth birthday. He remembers kissing a girl, he remembers doing more. He remembers the sad look when he was taken away. He remembers the first time he'd cried, hoping it was all a sick, sick, joke. That his father would be coming for him, and all this would end, he was sixteen for Gods sake. He's thirty three now, at least, that's his best guess.
He slowly filed his memories away, and spent some time looking for the quiet place inside of him that would allow his swirling whirlpool mind to sleep.
…
Blake starred up at the ceiling for twice as long, thinking about how he got here, and he thought about Charlie specifically.
Charlie had confessed to committing murder, and yet he was still here, sleeping in the other room. Blake still drank the tea the boy had brought him and still ate the food he prepared. While what Charlie had done had been wrong, there was no doubt about it, he supposed that he was acting out of self defense. He couldn't imagine the unimaginable stress of knowing you'd lose a knuckle off your hand if you made a simple mistake.
He wondered if Charlie would do that to him, but he doesn't think so. After all, Charlie had offered himself up to him willingly, and Blake highly doubts Charlie would tell him no if he asked now. He didn't think he would even fight back if he decided to tie him down for weeks at a time. He sighed deeply, and rolled onto his side.
And realised that Charlie offering himself up was not really by choice. He thought that was what Blake wanted. He couldn't say no. So he technically couldn't say yes either
After several minutes, he got to his feet, and collected the collar he'd brought today, complete with his name and address engraved on it, and took it into Charlie's room, setting it down on the space on the dresser not occupied by the boxes. He walked over, and sat on Charlie's bed, watching him as he slept, trying to figure out from his sleeping face what had happened to him in the last two years to take away his entire personality.
When he'd been at the Club, he'd been so much more alive. He could laugh, and make a joke. He was bold, and mouthy and constantly in trouble for being rude to blokes trying to cop a feel. He can't believe he forgot. He liked spending time with Charlie. At the cost of a lemonade, then he could convince Charlie to divulge secrets and information alike.
He remembers.
"Charlie?"
The tall man to his left turns to face him, pausing in his collecting of empty glasses.
"Yes Doctor?"
"Tell me, what do you know about Edward Tyneman?"
"I might have something for you...If you're going to shout me a lemonade." Blake laughed.
"Fine. Sit here." Charlie did, crossing his legs one over the other, not seeming to mind if he was flashing most of the patrons.
He's drawn from his memories by a soft murmur in the bed.
"Master?" Blake looks down at Charlie's bleary face. "Do you need something?" He asked, slowly attempting to sit, before Blake pushed him back down.
"No, I just thought I heard a noise." He lied smoothly. "I wanted to see you were okay."
"Oh. Okay..." Charlie is asleep again before Blake even has something else to say. He left shortly after, and returned to gazing at the ceiling until his mind lapsed into unconsciousness from exhaustion alone.
…
Charlie is dizzy. He's been dizzy all morning, but he hopes it will pass. So far this morning he's made breakfast and lunch for Blake and Mattie. He's dusted the rooms he didn't yesterday, he's cleaned the oven and the bathroom, he's obtained permission and began to work on tidying up the garden that has fallen into disrepair. It's hot. He's dizzy.
He finished what he was doing, disposing of the cuttings, and putting the tools away before heading back into the house. His clothes are soaked though with perspiration. It's sheer luck that he walks into Blake in the kitchen. The man takes one look at him, and pushes him into the sitting room and down onto a seat, before passing him a glass of water.
Charlie drinks it without thinking. Cool and sweet and wet. Blake sits next to him for a moment, putting a hand on his damp forehead. "Are you trying to give yourself heatstroke?" He demands. Charlie's blank stare must answer his question because he sighs deeply. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't be yelling at you."
"It's fine. I'm sorry I upset you." Blake stares at him hard for several moments, and then put another hand on Charlie's forehead.
"Make sure you drink that." He repeated, watching Charlie as he did. There was a long silence, before Charlie looked at him.
"When will you punish me?"
"Pardon?"
"I've upset you twice in three days...Shouldn't I be punished for that?" Blake stroked his chin slightly, and then faced him.
"Charlie I haven't been honest with you." Charlie looks up, eyes hopeless. Blake regrets his choice of words. "I didn't purchase you for house work." Charlie lowers his head.
"I'll do whatever you ask of me."
"I know that." Blake said, trying to stay non judgemental. "I brought you because I needed someone to help me keep my mind in the present, because if it's not, then I begin to think about things I haven't done and that makes me miserable." Charlie looks back up. "And you are my friend, and I couldn't stand seeing you suffer." Charlie gazed down at his shoes for a few moments, before taking another drink of water.
"Oh...So that was why you didn't want a new slave." He whispered. "You wanted someone broken." Blake actually feels sick when Charlie says that, but he's not wrong so he nods. "I can do that." Charlie was still whispering, like it was a secret. "I'll be as broken as you want. I can do that." He wrung his fingers tightly. "Really, I can. I won't talk at all, and I can always keep my eyes down and I'll call you master if you like." He sounded like he was trying to convince himself more then the Doctor. "I can. Really. Just tell me, and I can."
Blake sucked in a deep breath. Charlie sounded like he did just before his meltdown. "No. That's not what I want. I just...Want you to be my friend. How you were." Charlie's mouth forms a tiny little perfect oh shape, and he turned onto his side, pressing his head onto Blake's shoulder.
"I'm sorry I can't be that anymore." Blake was surprised by the show of intimacy. Charlie used to recoil at even friendly touches back at the club. After a moment, he realized that Charlie was comforting him with the only thing he thought he had left -his body. "I can try, if you want, but I'm not a really good actor." He said, wrapping his arms around Blake's shoulders, as if he was the one who was considered sub human by the law. Blake gently put his arms around Charlie's, and listened to his soft, slightly muffled breathing. "I'm sorry that I ruined your memories of me."
"You didn't. I'm just making new ones. The old ones are still there." He said, with a sad smile. "I'm just sad someone took someone like you and made you…"
"Broken?"
"Bent." Blake said, patting Charlie's arm. "Do you really think I'm going to punish you?" Charlie pressed his face minutely into Blake's shoulder.
"You should. I was very rude to you."
"How so?"
"I...what did you call it...I had a meltdown in front of you, and just now, I upset you, and I upset you when I didn't sit at the table, and I slept on the bed in the room, and I killed someone...I killed someone."
"You didn't have much choice." Blake said, quietly. "I always knew you were never one to sit down and take it." Pause. "Did any of them...Ever, touch you?" Charlie shook his head no.
"I was very lucky. He wanted me broken down, I think." Blake nodded, but felt to sicked to try and talk to him any further about it.
"All those things that you just listed...People have punished you for them?" Charlie nodded. "Sleeping on a bed?" Charlie nodded. "Why?" He knows he shouldn't be shocked, but he is.
"Beds are not meant to be soiled by dirty creatures." He said, like he was reciting. "But I'm very selfish, and I did anyway." Blake bit down hard on his lower lip.
"You are not dirty and you are not a creature." Blake said, and slowly rubbed Charlie's hands. "You are a man. A very, very brave man. It's your room. It's your bed. I will never, ever punish you for that. No, scratch that, I will never, ever punish you. And neither will Mattie."
"You tell very pretty lies." Charlie said, in a soft voice, tightening his grip on Blake from his bizarre kola like hug. Blake doesn't have the words to reply.
…
When Blake isn't looking, that is to say, when he's alone, Charlie likes to wear the collar and parade in front of his mirror. It's a pretty thing, made of something soft that Charlie can't identify, with something fluffy on the inside to prevent it from rubbing and hurting him. There is a pendant on the front that hangs down, and sits against his skin. It's metal, something that won't tarnish the skin if worn, steel, maybe? He's not sure. The front has a circle etches onto it, about three milimeters from the outside. The inside has the same design, but in the circle is written
'PROPERTY OF
Lucien Blake,
7 Mycroft avenue.'
it's mostly for decoration but he likes it anyway. He feels a bit bad, parading in front of the mirror, leaning forward to make the pendant hang, but he can't help admire it. He's never had a collar so nice in his life. He gingerly ran his fingertips over the surface of the pendant, and sighed softly to himself, before taking it off, and putting it back on the counter where it had been left. He didn't want to embarrass him.
…
It's quiet right now. Hes alone. Mattie is working. Blake is on a case. He is alone. He's unsure what to do with himself since he's been working himself to the bone the last few days there are no jobs left for him to do. He's changed sheets and cleaned tables and dusted and fixed the garden, and it's too early to start dinner. So he sat down, and starred at the silent tv for a long time.
He is still alone.
He looks around for traces of Jean. He's never met Mrs Beazley, only heard Blake's fond stories of her. She has a bedroom that is locked. He could easily find the key and open it if he wanted to, but he doesn't want to give Blake any reason to sell him on so he doesn't. Slaves that went where they weren't meant to go got sold on quickly.
He sees her in a photo on the mantle with a young man in a police uniform. If he closes his eyes very tightly, and rubs, until he sees millions of stars swirling behind his closed lids, then he can pretend that it's him sanding there. He wonders if he will have been enough for her. He wonders if she would like him. (Him liking her doesn't matter No one cares if the lamp likes people.) She has a kind face, and she hangs around with the Doctor, the kindest man he's ever met, so he does not thing it will be a stretch for her to like him. When Mattie talked about her, she always made sure Charlie knew she was coming back. He wonders about that a lot, actually. What will happen to him when she comes back? Will she like to keep him around, but he's not sure. If he's doing her work then he sees no reason why he should remain and the thought feels him with a heaviness he's not sure how to process.
He leaves the photograph, and then makes his way to find another way to spend his afternoon.
…
Mattie is gone now, too. Just him and Blake. He misses her, in a weird way. That's not to say they were friends, slaves didn't have friends amongst free people, just that he liked her well enough and was sad to see her go.
Happy for her, too, but still sad.
…
The first time he meets Jean Beazley, he carries her bag into the house and gives her the key to her bedroom. (Blake, while a genius, was also incredibly predicable at times)
"Thank you." She smiled. "You are?"
"Uh, Charlie, Ma'am." He said, before flinching slightly when Blake put a warm arm over his shoulder.
"Charlie has been taking care of the house in your absence." Charlie nodded again, and looked down at his shoes again.
"I'm glad someone has been looking after you." She smiled. Charlie feels like an outsider, watching them talk and be happy, and he would far rather go and sit in his room, or parade around in his collar, but Blake wants him to sit with them, so he does. He's a good servant. Better every day at dealing with his life.
He sat in his usual seat on the couch, Blake sat in his arm chair, Jean sat next to him. They spoke at great length about the changes, while Charlie sat quietly, taking it all in. Somewhere, deep in his chest, buried under all the fear and sadness, is a tiny bubble of hope. And he does nothing to put it out.