II - Responsibility

A rattling crash from outside his study snapped Hershel's attention away from his work. His hand jerked towards the blade he kept hidden in the umbrella stand beside his desk, concealed among the staffs and masks (and even an actual umbrella or two) he usually kept there. He hovered there for half a second, head still bowed over his desk, his ears turned to the rooms beyond his own.

The sound did not repeat itself. Hershel considered the handle of his rapier, and then rose to his feet and slipped out of his study without it. He knew the layout of his own flat better than any intruder might. If he had to, he could pick up any number of decorative bowls and vases in order to defend himself.

Someone was muttering to themselves in the kitchen. Hershel paused just outside to listen. After a moment, his shoulders relaxed, and he stepped around the corner with his arms folded.

Luke knelt in the middle of a pot apocalypse, grumbling as he wrestled one after the other back into their cupboard beside the stove. None of the glass lids appeared to be cracked or broken, Hershel determined after a quick sweep of the chaos. They had simply rolled all across the kitchen floor. Luke fumbled with one and almost dropped it, but caught it again and regaled it with a scornful glare.

"Having trouble, Luke?" Hershel said.

Luke whirled and nearly dropped the lid again. "Oh," he said, pressing his back against the stove. "I was just, er— Well, I was going to—"

Hershel smiled. He picked up the saucepan that sat tilted against the wall beside the door. "You aren't in trouble. I'd just like to know how my cooking utensils ended up all over the floor."

Luke's shoulders slouched. He folded his arms and glared at the open cupboard beside him. "I didn't mean to," he said, "honest I didn't! It's just that you were busy, and it's getting late, so I was going to try to make something for dinner."

Hershel frowned. His first reaction was that it couldn't possibly be that late already. He clearly remembered sending Luke off to do his homework and checking the time before he sat down at his own desk. They had returned from campus only a few hours ago, hadn't they?

The clock on the stove said otherwise. He gave it a rueful look, and almost as though to spite him, the bright green digits ticked forward to the next minute, instead of doing something more desirable like reversing themselves.

"Well," he said, "it appears I quite lost track of the time." Luke rolled his eyes skyward, and Hershel arched one eyebrow. "You could have brought it to my attention."

"You were busy," Luke said, but despite the steadiness of his voice, he didn't quite meet Hershel's eyes. "And you asked me not to disturb you until you were finished."

Hershel regarded him in silence. Then he closed his eyes and sighed very quietly, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. Yes, he remembered that clearly enough, as well. But he hadn't been quite so forceful about it as Luke seemed to believe. Where in the world had he gotten that idea from?

"My work isn't so important that I'm going to ignore you if you're getting hungry," Hershel said. "Your needs always take precedence."

"I thought I could handle macaroni and cheese by myself," Luke muttered. "I wasn't going to bother you because it wasn't important. It would have been fine if the pots hadn't all fallen out." He picked up a skillet and turned back to the cupboard, his jaw set. "So I'll just put them away again except for the one I need. I'll make enough for you to eat whenever you're hungry."

He stacked the skillet on top of one of the deeper pots and reached for another. As soon as he drew his hands away, the skillet slid off the pot and clattered to the floor again. Hershel's lips quirked at the level of pure vitriol in the look Luke gave it.

Hershel sat down on the tile beside Luke and set his saucepan down on top of the fallen skillet. He met Luke's glare with a gentle smile.

"Nest them inside each other," he said, picking up a slightly smaller pot and setting it inside the saucepan. "When you stack them together like this, it makes it much easier to put them away. Think of it the way you would a puzzle."

Determination flared in Luke's eyes. Hershel snaked two of the smaller pots and placed them on the stove as Luke set to work. He kept watch out of the corner of his eye as Luke spent the next several minutes organizing the fallen cookware, using a level of caution and care he hadn't shown before.

"There!" Luke stood and put his hands on his waist, grinning. "Done! Now I guess I'll need..." His voice trailed off. A smile twitched at the corners of Hershel's lips at the dawning realization on Luke's face. While he had been so deftly organizing the pots and pans, Hershel had set a pot of water to boil. He opened a box of uncooked noodles and poured them into the pot as Luke's silence stretched on.

"Do you mind fetching the milk and some cheese?" Hershel asked, switching on the second burner. "Whatever kind of cheese you'd like. There's plenty."

Luke brought the items wordlessly from the refridgerator. It wasn't until Hershel set him to stirring the cheese sauce while he drained the noodles that Luke spoke again, staring into the pot with morose eyes.

"I could've done it myself."

"I know," Hershel said, tipping his hat back from his forehead—the steam from the noodles had him unfortunately sweaty, and it would be a shame to stain the inside too terribly. "But a true gentleman must never shirk his responsibilities, no matter what."

Luke frowned at him. "But your work—"

"Can wait," Hershel said firmly. "A gentleman must also admit to his mistakes, Luke. And I've made a very critical one today." He picked up the strainer and carried it over to the stove, repressing a smile as Luke scrambled out of his way. "I've neglected to take into account a very important variable, one I've never had to consider before: you."

Luke folded his arms and looked away. "But I can take care of myself! You don't have to worry so much about me. I promised you that I'd stay out of your way, and I will, honest!"

"You misunderstand me," Hershel said gently. "For as long as you choose to stay here, yes, it is my responsibility to care for you. But it's also my privilege to do so. The only problem is that I've lived by myself for a very long time now. You'll have to forgive me if it takes me some time to adjust."

Luke cast him a skeptical look. "When do you normally eat dinner?"

Hershel's smile was dry. "Late, if I get to it at all. There have been days when I didn't even leave my office until now."

He finished mixing the macaroni and turned off the stove. When he pulled the pot off and turned around, he found Luke standing right in the middle of the kitchen with his hands on his hips. His eyes were firm, and Hershel had to struggle to keep his eyes from crinkling in amusement at that stern expression.

"Then from now on," Luke said, "I'm going to make sure you always come out to eat dinner on-time! Emmy already makes sure you leave your office at a regular time, so I can do this instead. And I'll be sure to fetch you for lunch on weekends, too. I'd wake you for breakfast, but you're always awake before I am anyway."

"Then why don't I wake you for breakfast, instead?" Hershel asked. "It's a bit closer to even that way."

Luke considered for a moment. Then he nodded, his expression still solemn. "Deal. That way we're both responsible for each other, instead of you being responsible all the time. Because if a gentleman always takes responsibility for everything else, then who's going to be responsible for him?"

He flashed Hershel a bright grin, and darted around him to fetch a set of bowls and spoons. Hershel said nothing in response to the question, but it seemed he didn't need to. Luke was certain enough of his own answer. And really, whatever solution he found to his puzzle, who was Hershel to argue? As long as Luke was content, then so was he.