The smell of eggs wanders up to Marcel's room. It shouldn't be there. He has a compelled housekeeper, but he gave her the week off. It's not as if anyone would break in, simply to cook.

Marcel shoves his feet into some slippers and heads downstairs. The house is quiet, bar the sounds coming from the kitchen. From a quick glance, Caroline's car is out of the driveway. Klaus' remains.

His father stands in the kitchen, transferring food onto plates. Marcel takes him in. In the years after he began living with them, the Mikaelsons wore the suits and gowns made from the finest threads. The only time he saw them in anything but was when Klaus painted. For once, he'd look human. Natural.

While Elijah still keeps up a sense of formality, Klaus has mostly let it fall to the wayside. Button down shirts, opened to exposed his chest paired with jeans and occasionally a leather is jacket are the norm now. Continuing to look like an actual person and not the terrifying hybrid.

"What are you doing?" Marcel asks.

Klaus looks up from his plating. "Making breakfast."

Marcel frowns. "Why?"

"I was famished, and you need to eat as well." Klaus gestures to his creation. "I made your favorite."

Marcel eyes the dish. The poached eggs and fruit aren't anything exciting. Then, he spots the two beignets. They are drenched in powdered sugar that just barely escape getting on the rest of the food. The vaguest hint of a smile tugs on his lips, but he's quick to let it disappear.

"I know you didn't make those," he says.

Klaus raises a brow. "Of course not, I went to the bakery in town. You hardly have the supplies for me to make them here."

Marcel pokes at one, some of the sugar getting on his sugar. "Elijah would have your head if he knew you were feeding me this so early in the morning. He always screamed at you for spoiling me with sweets…and just about everything else."

Klaus chuckles, shaking his head. "Luckily for us, your uncle is at home with his own child to fuss over. A bit of a hypocrite he is, considering Kol is spoiled rotten."

"Kol? Spoiled?" Marcel smirks. His father matches it. "Who would've guessed?"

Marcel grabs his and heads to the table where a tall glass of blood awaits him. Klaus joins soon after. The two sit in silence for a moment. Forks scrape against the plates and glasses clank against the table every few seconds. Marcel picks up a beignet. It's been too long since he indulged himself in one of these. Usually just at a party or if someone brings them by the house. It brings him back to his childhood. One of the good parts of it, anyway.

He takes a bite. It's still warm. The mixture of the dough combined with the sugar is a delight to the senses. He must be smiling a bit too much, because Klaus is looking at him with one of his own. The same only a father can get when watching their child do something "cute". It's been a long time since someone's looked at him in such a way. Marcel shifts in his seat and places the half-eaten pastry down, wiping at his mouth with a napkin.

"Where's Caroline?"

Klaus lifts his glass. "She went back to the house for the morning. Something about needing to chat with Hayley."

"Oh. Do they not have jobs? I know Elijah just got a job at the school but the rest just seem to…be around."

"Rebekah and Matt are taking courses at the community college. Hayley is a stay-at-home-mom, at least that's the term she uses," Klaus shrugs and takes a sip of his blood. "Caroline keeps herself busy with different committees and such. And my place…is here."

Marcel purses his lips. "Right."

Klaus sighs. "That's something you agreed upon, Marcellus."

Marcel tilts his head back. So much for a civil breakfast. "I am more than aware."

"You act as if I forced this all on you."

"I never said that."

"Actions speak louder than words."

"If I didn't want you here, then you wouldn't be here, right?!" Marcel snaps. Klaus' nostrils flare temporarily but quickly return to normal. "God…"

"I am trying here, Marcellus. I truly am. I want to make up for last night, but you have to meet me halfway here."

Marcel is silent once again. He stares at the half-eaten beignet. Never before has he felt so miserable eating one of his favorite treats.

"I apologize for last night." Marcel's head snaps up. An apology? "While I have not changed my mind on my opinion, I did not handle it well."

Marcel blinks a couple of times. "No, you really didn't."

"My main priority is your safety. It's always been that." He sighs. "Or, perhaps at some point, it has been to keep you as close to me as possible. Especially after losing you." Pain flashes across Klaus' eyes. Marcel squirms uncomfortably. "I do not wish to go through that again."

"I'm not going to die, Papa," Marcel whispers, trying to bring comfort to his father as he wishes to be anywhere but this vulnerable conversation."

"You could, especially with that plan," Klaus wipes his hand on his napkin. "But I do not wish to discuss that business now. The point is, I should have let you speak. It would not change my mind on the subject nor stop me from trying to protect you. Still, I value your thoughts."

Marcel tilts his head. "You do?"

Klaus frowns off his shock. "Of course I do, you're my son."

"That hasn't mattered before."

His father purses his lips, exhaling through his nose. "I have always cared about what you thought, Marcellus, I just haven't put a lot of weight in it. Because once again, my objective has always been to keep you with me. You are so precious to me. From the moment we met, I knew you were meant to be my little boy. I suppose I forgot…you're not a little boy anymore."

Marcel hasn't been a little boy in quite some time. He isn't sure he was fully one when he met his father. At 10 years old, he was a pre-teen. And yet, Klaus did treat him younger than that in certain ways. Sometimes, it was annoying and thus why he turned to Elijah. Others, it felt comforting. Safe. Knowing that no matter what, he had his papa to tend to him.

He lost sense of that feeling over the century since they were separated.

"I do not wish to push you away," Klaus continues. "Nor do I wish to keep you prisoner. I want you to want to be around me."

Marcel's stomach does a somersault. Klaus' eyes are painted with pain, sincerity, vulnerability. He's always been an emotional man, but there is something different about this.

"I…I want to be around you," Marcel makes out. "I want you to run this kingdom with me. It's just…actually with me."

"I shall work on that," Klaus promises.

"Can you? This is your nature…"

"Everyone is capable of change. If this is what it takes to take you, I shall work on it." Klaus reaches over and squeezes his arm. "I meant what I said, my little warrior. I do not wish to lose you again."

Marcel nods, blinking tears out of his eyes. "I…I won't run anymore," he promises. He wants to mean it so badly, and maybe if he says it enough, he will. The look in his father's eye shows he doesn't entirely believe it either. "If you really mean what you say this time."

Klaus nods. "Aye, I promise."

Marcel lets out a deep breath as he shifts uncomfortably. It's so much easier to think that his father won't change. Not a happy thought, but to know he'll never have to confront those old feelings is safe. He's not opening himself up to get hurt once again.

Yet, he also knows he's hurt his father.

"We are not always going to agree," Klaus continues. "I shall work on not taking over completely when it comes to the supernatural side of things. However, you are still my son. And I will never stand by and let the world hurt you. Nor will I let you harm yourself. Are we understood?"

Marcel chews on his lip, feeling about 10 once again. "Yes, Papa."

Klaus smiles a little. "I love you, my little warrior."

Those six words are enough to cause a few tears to fall down Marcel's face as a smile of his own comes across his face. He quickly wipes them away, knowing Klaus can still see them.

"I love you too, Papa."

Klaus wipes at his own face, squeezing his son's arm once more. "Enough of that now. Let's finish eating. Once we're done, we can resume last night's discussion, calmly. No yelling…"

"And no running," Marcel promises.

This time, he actually means it.

Feel free to leave prompts :)