Page 20 of Anchored

Daniel sat warily, studying the master for clues: He was smiling on the outside, but it looked like it hurt him a little. His body was loose, but his eyes were tense. Putting on a friendly face, Daniel thought, to cover his frustration. Trying to pretend the last few days hadn’t happened. Trying to start again.

Well, Daniel could certainly play that game. If the master was willing to grant him such a kindness, he’d be a fool not to take it.

Jane served them, and the master attacked his steak, grunting in approval. Daniel, however, found himself without an appetite, despite the richness of the food. He made a volcano of his mashed potatoes, filled it with gravy, carved runnels into its side with his fork. Cut the heads off his asparagus and arranged them into a neat rows by size.

“Don’t you like it?” the master asked.

Daniel looked up, startled. Somehow, he’d half forgotten he wasn’t alone with his food.

“I spoiled his appetite with brownies,” Jane said from where she’d been hovering by the counter, waiting to see if the master needed anything. Daniel wondered when she got to eat, where Dave was, if they would have the privilege of enjoying the food he was taking so entirely for granted.

The master’s ears perked, and he smiled. “You made brownies?”

Safely out of the master’s eye, Daniel picked up his knife and cut a bite of steak. It was easier to eat than to come up with words that wouldn’t upset the man. Plus, he had to admit the food was damn good—he hadn’t had steak since that lunch interview at Michael’s with the writer from GQ. And that whole meal had been seasoned with contempt, with hard stares from patrons and slights and sneers from the waiters—both free and not free—at the presence of a slave in such a fine establishment.

There was no contempt now, but tension, expectation, and disappointment tasted just as bitter. The master was not good at hiding his feelings or starting over. In fact, as he turned his attention back to Daniel and his brownie-induced smile faded to a scowl, it seemed as if he’d even forgotten his intention to try. Daniel took another bite of steak and tried to look as grateful as he knew he should be.

“So,” the master began again, “you can’t talk politics, you can’t talk news. What can you talk about?”

Daniel knocked in the rim of his volcano with his fork, and streams of lava-gravy overtook all his little asparagus people. He speared one and ate it, shrugging so cautiously it felt like a cringe. Admittedly, it might have been. He knew the master would not be pleased with his silence, but he could think of nothing better.

The master dropped his fork to his plate with a clatter. “You can talk?”

“Of course, Master.” Daniel carved new lines into his mashed potatoes, scooping up some to eat when the master glared at him.

“No, that wasn’t—” The master’s voice rose in clear frustration, maybe even anger. “I mean, you can talk. Anytime you want. About anything. God knows you don’t seem to be good for much else.”

Daniel froze with his fork halfway to his mouth. So much for starting fresh.

“And while we’re clearing things up,” the master added, words a low rumble, “your place, at night, is in my bed.”

Daniel barely managed to contain his grimace at the master’s bluntness. He didn’t like to think of himself as a companion, but there it was, laid out as naked as he’d surely be in a few hours.

“I don’t care what time you get home, I don’t care if I’m already asleep; if I ever wake up and find you on the floor again—”

Daniel dared a glance at the master. Beneath all the bluster, he thought he saw hurt, and confusion, and maybe even an apology, but of course such things could never be voiced. Daniel couldn’t imagine what the master would have to be sorry for, anyway; he was being much more patient than Daniel had any right to expect.

“I understand, Master.”

The master nodded, but kept his eyes fixed on Daniel’s face. Waiting for him to say something, no doubt, to take advantage of his newly explained freedom.

But Daniel’s mind was blank. For God’s sake, he talked for a living—why couldn’t he think of anything now?

“You know what?” the master said, voice as tight as his grip on his silverware. “Just—eat your food.”

Having given up on Daniel, the master turned to Jane and conversed with her instead. Their discussion was perfectly cordial, but the tension around the master’s eyes had seeped into the rest of his large frame, and despite what Jane had said earlier, Daniel couldn’t help but wonder if things might go very, very south once the master got him alone tonight.

The master perked up quite a bit when Jane broke out the brownies—easy to placate, indeed, Daniel thought with a fleeting smile. He had to admit they were pretty damn good; Daniel had a second one, and by the time the master had polished off his third, he was looking like he might be ready to try starting again, well, again.

“All right.” The master stood up from the table and rubbed his belly, which was rounded just a little with middle age and triple-brownie desserts. He smiled at Daniel, a gesture so surprising that it startled Daniel into smiling back. The master walked past him, brushing his side on the way, and started rooting around in the cabinet beneath the television. “How about a little Holy Grail?”

According to the master’s raised eyebrows, this was not a rhetorical question. Too bad Daniel had no idea what he was talking about. “A little what, Master?”

Those raised eyebrows knitted tight. “Monty Python and the Holy Grail?” Daniel shook his head, and the master’s face knitted up even tighter. “Cult classic? Only the funniest spoof of all time?”

“I’m sorry, Master, I mostly only get to watch what’s in the dorm library. They don’t have that one.”

“Well, Jesus,” the master said mildly, popping in the DVD and plopping on the couch. “Get your skinny ass over here and enjoy the show.”