Hermes worked to seem mostly jovial in Carrick's presence and in the household in general. It was easiest to make a home and friends if you were amiable. For the first time in the long weeks he'd belonged to Carrick, the tempered steel he was made of showed clearly. He rolled out of the position he was in to prop himself up on his forearms and give Carrick the full brunt of a cold, dark stare made all the more intense by the current state of his artfully tousled hair.
"I'm not dwelling." There was no argument to be brokered there, nothing but firm truth in much the same way Carrick departed it when he was being particularly blunt and sick of hearing about something. "She is my blood. Nothing more. I was giving you an accounting of everything that came into your service and her conception and birth factored heavily into my Mistress' death. There is nothing more there. Slaves do not have the luxury of caring for each other the way our betters do." If there had been any doubt as to how the boy found the strength to survive as long as he had with everything that had been thrown at him so far, surely it was gone now.
He arched back up to standing smoothly. "I appreciate that you understand what it is to be a creature who can't shut out the emotions of near everyone around him, my lord, but do not mistake me. I didn't want her or any child. Her life is her own. She will live it as she sees fit and know as much of me as I do my own father." His shoulders were square, something dangerous boiling in him that he was working desperately to contain, taut as a bowstring as he looked at no one but his master. Elsewhere in the library, his beloved canine friend whined in genuine fear.
"I don't care if or how I'm sharpened, or if I'm ever drawn again for that matter. I'd like to know your intentions, Master, before the words you gave me the other day sink in completely for you and the rug gets yanked out from under me again." He knew Carrick's reputation as surely as the vampire himself did, though Hermes had it from the minds of near every slave in the household. The muscle in his jaw twitched. He'd let this go. Somehow, he'd let this go. "I'm sure it's occurred to you by now that I came to you seeking death, and not protection no matter how much I wanted to believe that for myself. I'm also certain that you have to realize that I know how all the ones who came before me died, how Grace met her end, how Anubis was forged. I might not be disposable now, but look at my history, Master. Laid out before you in prose you yourself called poetry. Why would I trust anything to give me steady footing? Why would I both bask in and fear the declaration you gave me? How long before some part of your ancient, amazing, decisive, tactical brain decides that me daring to love you is overreaching because you dared to let someone in who was beneath you and clearly was a sign of softness that would only make you weak?" In his spare time, he'd clearly been reading accounts of Sparta, no matter how poorly translated.
"I don't give a fuck about my daughter. I give a fuck about you and me and the fact that I don't know what the hell I'm supposed to be doing."