"No."
His word was law. There was no anger or frustration, no convincing or clever points to be made. It wasn't even an argument. It just was. A truth one had to accept like the rising of the sun or the tide swayed by the moon, absolute in its existence and patiently vocalized to remind of the obvious.
"Son, I understand the two of you became very fond of each other but it is -"
"He," Varian emphasized unamused, "is family."
The steel concealed in his voice rang loud and clear. To hear it coming from his child felt strange. In a moment of unpleasant personal realization, Quirin had to admit that Varian was pretty intimidating right now.
He shook his head in annoyance. This is ridiculous, he reprimanded himself.
They had this conversation before when Varian was seven, and with eleven again, and now that he was fourte- fifteen Quirin still wouldn't give in. No pets allowed. Period. He'd witnessed the catastrophic consequences of such a request first hand. And while Adira had found it incredibly funny, she never had to clean the stables from rhino-poop. No thanks. Not even the cutest puppy-dog-eyes or pouty face would manage to convince him otherwise. Though Varian wasn't making any of those.
Quirin sighed. He was well aware of the close bond Varian shared with the little creature - he adored the critter and vice versa, so much was clear. And tho' he was willing to turn a blind eye whereas they were outside or in his lab and maybe during the occasional late-night visit, there ought to be a limit. A raccoon belonged to the wild. It had no business roaming the house. Bad enough Varian spent more time with the rodent than actual human beings. So Quirin tried to reason again, "Don't you think he miss-"
"He stays," in one sharp line Varian cut through his bullshit. There was no room for discussion. However, as a father Quirin definitely did not appreciate the tone nor the attitude.
"Listen, young man, I don't know what gotten into you but-"
But he might as well could have spoken to a wall. Varian was no longer interested in the pointless conversation. He turned his back, ending a battle whose outcome was apparently decided from the get-go.
"Wait!" This wasn't over. Quirin caught Varian by the upper arm.
His grip was by no means rough yet it wasn't exactly gentle either. Neither would have made a difference as Varian flinched violently at the unexpected touch. For a split second, the boy's eyes widened and his breath became shallow. Everything moving turned into a threat.
"What the-"
Varian's world snapped back into place. He jerked away. Quirin had half a mind to let him before he would have been cast aside. The soldier furrowed his brow. It didn't make sense. He had seen those signs before, but…
"What was that?" He demanded to know, adding pressure to the already tense atmosphere. The thin ice he treaded on cracked alarmingly, still, Quirin was unable to hear it.
"Nothing," came the clipped reply.
"This is not nothing," he pressed on. He was not in the mood to let this one slide. Since their reunion, the two walked on eggshells around another. If there was the slightest chance for them to return to normal, he would gladly push and shove with all his might. Whatever the cost, it'd be worth it. Varian was hurting. They both were and frankly, it was only a matter of time until something was bound to give.
"I'm fine," Varian muttered. Absentmindedly he brushed over his shoulder - the part where Quirin's fingers just made contact, and Quirin lost it.
The older man laughed without humor. How? How are you fine, he almost yelled. He himself wasn't. Irritation and aggravation morphed into something bitter and thoughtless.
"Well, then you're on your own. Since I. Am. Not."
Varian looked as if he'd been struck. Instantly Quirin regretted his words. Too late he noticed the accusation he never meant to imply.
Emotions crossed Varian's features, so complicated his father couldn't even begin to untangle them. His already pale face lost the rest of its color while the 'because of you' hung heavy and unspoken between them. Quirin struggled under their weight, dragging them down. He wasn't sure what to do, how to fix Varian. All he wanted was to comfort his boy.
"I didn't -"
His son's body started to tremble as he approached, and it was breaking his heart. He seemed so far away.
"Varian," he called, voice thick but more sad than anything else.
The name lingered in the air, a plea, a promise, whatever it had to be for either of them. For a fraction of a second Quirin thought it was going to be okay. He moved closer and Varian took a step back. Old Corona's leader stopped.
"Don't," Varian warned, his muscles tense.
Something dangerous resonated in the shadows as Quirin felt the boy slipping. He sighed. The blank mask that plastered over Varian's expression came as no surprise. Quirin put his hands up where he could see only to lower them deliberately slow. Space, Quirin understood. Still, it didn't make sense, he thought again as Varian fled the room, attempting to escape the cage he was trapped in. He had seen those signs before, but it didn't make sense. It shouldn't, not in regard to Varian at last. Quirin had some thinking to do. Exhausted he rubbed a hand over his face. How could making pancakes go so wrong?
.
.
.
Varian wasn't looking back. Only the gentle patter of Ruddiger's paws accompanied him on the way out. For all that he wanted his father in his life, he had learned that it didn't necessarily meant he needed him.
.
.
.
As the sunlight vanished behind the horizon, Quirin gradually came to his senses. He must have fallen asleep on the treacherously cozy sofa while waiting for his son to return. Not fully awake he took his time to enjoy the warmth of the soft fabric around him that kept him safe from the cold. A blanket, his mind provided helpfully. Quirin frowned. He was certain he didn't have one earlier. His eyes wandered down and his lips formed a small smile. Varian. He was sleeping at his feet, his frame leaning against Quirin's leg, Ruddiger by his side.
Whatever Varian was going through, Quirin knew they could overcome it together, one step at a time.
In a simple gesture of affection, he moved his hand out to caress the delicate strands of shaggy raven hair. He froze mid-air. All of a sudden he wasn't so sure anymore if this was a wise thing to do or not. Varian was right here, close enough to touch, but as unreachable as if they were still separated by time and stone, and all the while his eyes were black with disappointment, and no one could help it.
AN: This plays before 'The Lost Treasure of Herz Der Sonne'. Credit where credit is due:"... and all the time his eyes were black with disappointment and no one could help it." by Tove Jansson ('Tales from Moominvalley'). Next: Laughter and Fear
