Resolutions; Two. [Marton/Christian]
Jun. 1st, 2005 12:50 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
palace_martonImmediately following this.
“Dad!”
Marton stopped, just about to push his bedroom door open and turned around to see Christian coming down the hall toward him at a rapid pace, his hair mussed, eyes over-large and his whole demeanor one of agitation.
“Something wrong?”
Christian stopped, rocked on his heels. “No. I . . . You got a minute?”
“Sure.”
They wandered back down the hallway the way they’d both come and out into the foyer where it was almost dark. Only the security lights were on and the doors behind which the silent observers sat twenty four hours a day were tightly closed. It was Christian who halted, raking his fingers through his hair and taking soft, but deep breaths, trying to calm himself, Marton saw.
“Can I ask you something?” he said eventually, when the silence between them had dragged on a little. He’d come to a halt beside the full-length windows that overlooked the gardens and Marton could see him a little better, courtesy of the moonlight spilling in through the glass. He moved to stand beside him, offering mute, physical comfort.
“Of course.” he said.
“It’s about . . . It’s . . . Dad? Do you plan to abdicate?” Christian was watching him intently.
Marton stuffed his hands in his pockets and returned the gaze. “One day, yes. What brought this on?”
Christian’s shoulders lifted and fell in what Marton supposed was meant to be a casual shrug. But he was still agitated, even though he was slowly calming down. “I was just talking to Callan.” he said. “Downstairs.”
“What about?” Marton turned around and leaned back on the upright between the panes of glass.
“’bout marriage and genes and potted plants.” Another shrug.
Jeans? Potted plants? It took Marton a second to make headway into his son’s thought processes. “Oh, genes! Right.”
Christian glanced at him. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay. Yes, I will abdicate one day. When you’re ready.”
“How will you know? I mean . . .” Christian made a vague gesture and then subsided again. Marton took his son by the upper arms and turned him so they were face to face.
“Listen.” he said in a gentle voice. “I intend for this to be a partnership long before I even consider moving aside, you hear me? Fifty-fifty, sixty-forty and then seventy-thirty, etcetera. I want to redress the balance, not create a new imbalance. I won’t even think about it until you are ready.”
“Okay.” Christian ducked his head and Marton was forced to use a finger under his son’s chin in order to see him again. Christian gave him a little smile. “I think I’m going to.” he said.
Even in the dim light, Marton could see his cheeks flush. This conversation had been confusing so far, no doubt about it, but then while he might not always understand how Christian’s thought processes ran he did have faith in the decisions he made. “You sure?”
Christian nodded, his voice gaining in strength. “Yeah. There’s been a lot to think about, like I said. But I have been and I talked to Callan about genetics and stuff tonight and . . . Well, I want to.”
Marton smiled, pulled his son into a hug and kissed his cheek. “Then you need supplies.” he said softly, feeling Christian’s chuckle as a vibration against his chest. “Any thoughts?”
Christian pulled back a little so he could look into Marton’s eyes. “If, if it’s alright,” he began. “I’d like grandmother’s ring. But only if you’re cool with it.”
“Of course I’m cool with it. It’s a lovely idea. I’ll have Lucius bring it up from the vault.”
Christian smiled, kissed his cheek, wrapped his arms around Marton and hugged him fiercely for a moment. “Love you, dad.”
“Love you too, son.”
“Dad!”
Marton stopped, just about to push his bedroom door open and turned around to see Christian coming down the hall toward him at a rapid pace, his hair mussed, eyes over-large and his whole demeanor one of agitation.
“Something wrong?”
Christian stopped, rocked on his heels. “No. I . . . You got a minute?”
“Sure.”
They wandered back down the hallway the way they’d both come and out into the foyer where it was almost dark. Only the security lights were on and the doors behind which the silent observers sat twenty four hours a day were tightly closed. It was Christian who halted, raking his fingers through his hair and taking soft, but deep breaths, trying to calm himself, Marton saw.
“Can I ask you something?” he said eventually, when the silence between them had dragged on a little. He’d come to a halt beside the full-length windows that overlooked the gardens and Marton could see him a little better, courtesy of the moonlight spilling in through the glass. He moved to stand beside him, offering mute, physical comfort.
“Of course.” he said.
“It’s about . . . It’s . . . Dad? Do you plan to abdicate?” Christian was watching him intently.
Marton stuffed his hands in his pockets and returned the gaze. “One day, yes. What brought this on?”
Christian’s shoulders lifted and fell in what Marton supposed was meant to be a casual shrug. But he was still agitated, even though he was slowly calming down. “I was just talking to Callan.” he said. “Downstairs.”
“What about?” Marton turned around and leaned back on the upright between the panes of glass.
“’bout marriage and genes and potted plants.” Another shrug.
Jeans? Potted plants? It took Marton a second to make headway into his son’s thought processes. “Oh, genes! Right.”
Christian glanced at him. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay. Yes, I will abdicate one day. When you’re ready.”
“How will you know? I mean . . .” Christian made a vague gesture and then subsided again. Marton took his son by the upper arms and turned him so they were face to face.
“Listen.” he said in a gentle voice. “I intend for this to be a partnership long before I even consider moving aside, you hear me? Fifty-fifty, sixty-forty and then seventy-thirty, etcetera. I want to redress the balance, not create a new imbalance. I won’t even think about it until you are ready.”
“Okay.” Christian ducked his head and Marton was forced to use a finger under his son’s chin in order to see him again. Christian gave him a little smile. “I think I’m going to.” he said.
Even in the dim light, Marton could see his cheeks flush. This conversation had been confusing so far, no doubt about it, but then while he might not always understand how Christian’s thought processes ran he did have faith in the decisions he made. “You sure?”
Christian nodded, his voice gaining in strength. “Yeah. There’s been a lot to think about, like I said. But I have been and I talked to Callan about genetics and stuff tonight and . . . Well, I want to.”
Marton smiled, pulled his son into a hug and kissed his cheek. “Then you need supplies.” he said softly, feeling Christian’s chuckle as a vibration against his chest. “Any thoughts?”
Christian pulled back a little so he could look into Marton’s eyes. “If, if it’s alright,” he began. “I’d like grandmother’s ring. But only if you’re cool with it.”
“Of course I’m cool with it. It’s a lovely idea. I’ll have Lucius bring it up from the vault.”
Christian smiled, kissed his cheek, wrapped his arms around Marton and hugged him fiercely for a moment. “Love you, dad.”
“Love you too, son.”
