"Good morning, I trust you slept well..." Irons walked into the dinning room with more then enough sarcasm dripping from his gaze alone. He took his seat at the head of the table, watching as Ian walked in from another side door.
Ian said nothing, only bowed his head, waiting for Irons to tell him to sit. He had gotten back just before dawn, wired on caffeine and happier then he had been in months. Sara had been pleasant company, talking his ear off the entire time they were at the cafe. Not that he complained, it spared him the task of speaking about himself and his home life. She had given up on trying to find out about him when he had supplied her questions with vague answers. Though, he had to admit, a weight seemed to have lifted off of him when he had talked about the most troubling of things to him. Even if he had only used similes and metaphors.
Irons watched Nottingham with an arched brow. With an exasperated sigh he shook out his napkin and placed it over his lap. "You may sit, Ian... Don't want your breakfast getting cold..." He waved a hand in the air and looked directly at the youth, his voice softening a bit. "I had Mrs. Rosenburg prepare your favorite, hash browns, four eggs over easy and... sausage links..." His eyes slowly moved to his own platter.
"Thank, thank you sir..." Ian blinked, raising his head. Before he sat down he noticed the large glass of chocolate milk sitting by his platter and he looked once again to Irons.
"Are you not pleased with your meal?" Kenneth keep his eyes on his own meal, daintily cutting up the pancakes. With his next words his voice faltered a little, but only a little, "You use to love chocolate milk when you were a child..."
Ian's mouth worked, but no words came. With his hesitation his head lowered. "I'm very pleased..." He blinked softly remembering how he use to beg to sit in Irons lap as a child and have him feed him from his own plate. Irons would chastise him with the sterness of voices but always give in, lecturing him on how if he wanted to be a big boy, he would have to eat his own food, like Mr. Irons did. Softly Ian spoke slowly looking up at the man at the other end of the table, "Thank you... father..."
Irons froze, his fork clinking against his plate. For a moment he blinked slowly. "You're welcome... Ian." He had not heard that word in years, not since Ian had been a boy. With a clearing of his throat he sat up straighter , collecting himself once more. "Mind telling me where you were all early morning long?" He took a bite of his pancakes and looked up at Ian, his voice casual.
A grin came to the young Ian's face, one he couldn't hide no matter what he did and for the first time in years he looked up, raising his head to look at Irons as he spoke, "Having... cappiccino."
Ian said nothing, only bowed his head, waiting for Irons to tell him to sit. He had gotten back just before dawn, wired on caffeine and happier then he had been in months. Sara had been pleasant company, talking his ear off the entire time they were at the cafe. Not that he complained, it spared him the task of speaking about himself and his home life. She had given up on trying to find out about him when he had supplied her questions with vague answers. Though, he had to admit, a weight seemed to have lifted off of him when he had talked about the most troubling of things to him. Even if he had only used similes and metaphors.
Irons watched Nottingham with an arched brow. With an exasperated sigh he shook out his napkin and placed it over his lap. "You may sit, Ian... Don't want your breakfast getting cold..." He waved a hand in the air and looked directly at the youth, his voice softening a bit. "I had Mrs. Rosenburg prepare your favorite, hash browns, four eggs over easy and... sausage links..." His eyes slowly moved to his own platter.
"Thank, thank you sir..." Ian blinked, raising his head. Before he sat down he noticed the large glass of chocolate milk sitting by his platter and he looked once again to Irons.
"Are you not pleased with your meal?" Kenneth keep his eyes on his own meal, daintily cutting up the pancakes. With his next words his voice faltered a little, but only a little, "You use to love chocolate milk when you were a child..."
Ian's mouth worked, but no words came. With his hesitation his head lowered. "I'm very pleased..." He blinked softly remembering how he use to beg to sit in Irons lap as a child and have him feed him from his own plate. Irons would chastise him with the sterness of voices but always give in, lecturing him on how if he wanted to be a big boy, he would have to eat his own food, like Mr. Irons did. Softly Ian spoke slowly looking up at the man at the other end of the table, "Thank you... father..."
Irons froze, his fork clinking against his plate. For a moment he blinked slowly. "You're welcome... Ian." He had not heard that word in years, not since Ian had been a boy. With a clearing of his throat he sat up straighter , collecting himself once more. "Mind telling me where you were all early morning long?" He took a bite of his pancakes and looked up at Ian, his voice casual.
A grin came to the young Ian's face, one he couldn't hide no matter what he did and for the first time in years he looked up, raising his head to look at Irons as he spoke, "Having... cappiccino."
