Aidan William Stark ♚ Menelaus (avaliantman) wrote in mythologs, @ 2012-04-20 23:00:00 |
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Entry tags: | hermione, menelaus |
[completed/closed]
Characters: Hermione (bratosaurus) & Menelaus (avaliantman)
Date/Time: April 14th, morning
Location: Balthazar
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: It's too cute for words.
Summary: Daddy and daughter are reunited.
Never in Hermione's life had she ever really taken into account people's feelings about her tardiness. She was never early, so people tended not to hold their breath. But on this day she was early, there at 8:15 in all of her nervousness and jitters. Hermione could've kicked herself for being so nervous (was it nerves, or was it anger?) but she drowned her sorrows in a cup of iced water instead. Wanting to be casual, she'd thrown on her nicest shirt and pair of jeans, opting to ignore any dresses for the sake of appearing natural. Not nervous, like this was a date. Or a meeting of father and daughter.
Something wouldn't settle down in her stomach, and so she tried to pass it off as hunger, but as the clock ticked closer to 8:30, it became apparent that apprehension was going to swallow her whole before Menelaus even got there. She polished off her glass of water, choosing to munch of her ice cubes as she kept her eyes peeled and focused on the door.
Menelaus. Her father, in the flesh. She hadn't been half as neurotic around him the first time they'd met so briefly in the streets of Camlann. Now? Now she was chewing ice cubes to quell the tension, and he hadn't even walked through the door yet.
It had been his intention to get there as early as he could but traffic was unreliable and then he had gotten a call from his horse farm about a pony that had bitten one of the stable boys. And ten after eight-thirty, he walked into the Balthazar, looking for Denver, in his usual jeans, button-down shirt and well-worn boots. Ideal as he was going to have to go stomp about on his farm after this meeting.
Upon finding her (clearly looking toward the door he came in through, it appeared), he offered first a wave before taking a seat. "Sorry if I seem late. Something came up but I told them to hold it off 'til after noon because I had breakfast plans with a young lady." It wasn't flirting (she was fourteen) but good-natured amusement. "You could have ordered without me, though. How are you?"
It might have been pride that swelled up in Hermione's chest at his words. Might have been. She wasn't going to dwell on feelings as her father was here now, looking like all he needed to complete the image was a cowboy hat and a lasso. She shook her blonde head, fingering the menu now. Hunger clawed from the inside of her stomach at the touch.
"I wanted to wait. And I'm okay. Just happy I don't have school today." And happy he was here at all, and that he didn't ditch her. There was nothing worse than being stood up or abandoned, but this would go unmentioned. Then, the following happened, all quite unplanned: she didn't hold her tongue.
"Did you leave your cowboy hat at home?" It was only half a joke.
He grinned and ran a hand through his hair, feeling the absence of the hat then. "If I'd know it was necessary, I'd have worn it. Got one in the car, I think. Go ahead and order now. I don't know about you, but I'd be a wreck if I didn't have breakfast in the morning."
A menu was picked up, his eye moving to the right section of it. He knew he wasn't going to go for the goddamn half a grapefruit or the buckwheat crêpe but the full English breakfast with coffee. "And I don't know if you're like most girls your age but don't get the damn grapefruit. I don't know how that counts as a meal choice..."
Hermione couldn't disagree: breakfast was essential to prevent any later crankiness. Not one to drink coffee (yuck), she could only rely on breakfast to get her through tough mornings. Thankfully her mother was a fantastic cook, and breakfast typically varied from morning to morning. She remembered yesterday's: Belgian waffles with vanilla ice cream and syrup.
At the mention of grapefruit, it was only natural for her to scope out the option on the menu in disbelief, and upon spotting it, she laughed behind a hand. "Who would pay seven bucks for half a grapefruit? That's retarded." The menu fell shut in her hands. "I'm going to get the omelette with herbs."
"Someone who doesn't know how to go out and pick a grapefruit. You could get a whole one for less than that." But having lived in New York City for some time, he knew that people would always pay ridiculous prices.
Approving of her choice, he signaled the waiter to inform them of their orders. With the fellow's back turned, Menelaus leaned back in his chair. "It's strange seeing you in person here." 'Here' was a reference to the real world, opposed to their run-in at Camlann. "I kept picturing you some fussy dress and ribbon up until now."
"You do know people don't dress like that here, right?" she questioned him, clinking the side of her empty glass with a nail. "I don't have any ribbons, anyway." God forbid she did dress like that -- what kind of looks would that get her in a crowded place like New York? Those dresses had her appreciating her jeans a whole lot more after they were 'returned' back home.
Hermione decided to ignore the urge to tell him a dress would've made her feel extremely dorky and far too much like a little girl.
"Not most folks. Unless you're going to a gypsy wedding, I guess or if you're a little girl going to church." Menelaus smiled fondly. "I remember my sister-in-law complaining about her childhood Sundays of being put into frilly dresses and forced to stand still while her hair was pulled into tight pigtails. She said she'd never do that to her future daughters and then made me promise that if I had a daughter, I wouldn't do that to her.
"But I probably would." Not that Helen was all that keen on having a kid. A problem to consider later.
Now that the topic of kids had been breached, Hermione was going to have to tread carefully. Despite how much she wanted to just spit it out, something along the lines of "don't do that to me because I'd hate it", she had to have some tact. Tact was good, wasn't it?
She picked up the napkin folding up her utensils. "Do you think about having kids? You seem like you'd have one already."
Tact was generally considered a mark of good sense. Generally. Menelaus did not often reveal to have such a thing but that was his own issue.
"I don't," he admitted a bit regretfully. "To be honest, children weren't something I wanted to think about until I was thirty-five but with my wife around, I like the idea of them." Frowning, he added, "Not that Helen's all keen to be a container for nine months. I can't blame her but..." Menelaus allowed that to trial off just as their food arrived. A mild thanks was offered and he waited for the waiter to go.
"But she was before," Hermione pointed out after a quiet thank you to the waiter. Her glass of orange juice was pulled closer, almost protectively. "The mother of your children."
There was something unnatural about speaking her mother as if she were someone else's mother. Some other woman by the name of Helen. But this was in fact her own -- Helen, the mother who never was and never would be. The prospect of her mother having any children made her envious. To be perfectly frank, she didn't care if Menelaus had children. In fact, it was better he didn't.
But tact, she had to have some of that before launching into her revelation.
Menelaus laughed after a sip of coffee. "Birth control wasn't as easy like today. And she was the queen so a kid to inherit the throne was necessary. I think we were very lucky to have a daughter as well." Cutting into the sausages, he smiled at old memories that were all his and not Aidan's. "Helen hated being pregnant. I think she was beyond relieved when it was over. Don't think it was all vanity either. I'm sure it was a stress on her.
"But I like to think it was worth it. She gave me the pinkest, most wrinkled bundle. Who knew beauty could spring from such a weird looking thing?" A pause. "I'm pretty sure Helen was no looker when she was born either. And she was hatched from an egg. I've seen newborn chicks. They aren't cute."
The blonde was grateful she'd only taken a small sip of her orange juice when he'd said that -- she nearly spat it across the table. Her mother as a baby chick was too priceless a mental image. Menelaus was right -- they were pretty atrocious looking, but eventually the fluffiness would come. Moving on from that train of thought.
Hermione poked at her omelette before cutting into it with her fork. "Do you think she hated having a daughter?" She avoided eye contact this time.
He could not profess to be constantly good with catching small details, like that lack of eye contact. Also, sausage and bacon, yummy.
"Hated having a daughter? No. I think she's just a terrible mother and couldn't express herself properly at times. Well, the Paris thing wasn't her fault. She left under another influence and was kept away because of the Trojans and then later the Gods. That detour into Egypt wasn't planned." And had, in fact, been incredibly annoying. He still wasn't feeling warm to the Gods even now about keeping him from making his family whole again. Still, it had somehow been good for them to reconnect even if not perfect. "Helen's too selfish to be a good mother. I guess that's a fact known to even someone who's just met her. Her father's an asshat and everyone knows that as well. I guess she inherited some of that from him."
A forkful of deliciousness paused on the way to his mouth and then wiggled as he shook it at her lightly. "Hermione would be justified in thinking her mother was an awful person. She didn't remember her when she came back so that was a cold thing to swallow after over ten years of separation. I know she tried in ways but I don't think she could hate her own child. She just isn't the most cuddly woman with children."
The tip of Hermione's fork scraped the plate rather roughly for a scoop of egg. Something that felt like irritation surged inside of her gut. Menelaus trying to point out all these redeeming qualities in her mother, but she wasn't buying it. The anger she felt toward her mother was real. Anger and agony came hand in hand in her mind.
Just before bringing the fork up to her mouth, she risked it all. "I do think she's an awful person. It was like never having a mother at all." And in went the mouthful to be chewed.
The fork was set down while she had spoken and he then spooned up some beans. A small shrug was offered as the implication of what she had said didn't reach his brain as quickly as he would later wish it had. "Believe me, I've had my share of bad mothers and she pretty much--"
All speech stopped when his brain finally absorbed the information. ...what did she say? A bean trembled from its precarious perch on his spoon before tumbling down back into his plate, all while he stared at her. The girl had referenced to his wife as being her mother. And his wife, as far as he knew, had been a rotten mother to only one child. The only child they shared.
"I think I'm real glad I'm in a restaurant with you, missy, because I'm not sure what I'd be doing to you right now for telling me like this." His spoon was set down without any drama and though he was trying his damned best to glare at her, there was the problem of his also looking like he wanted to burst into a huge grin. "Just how long have you known?"
Even as he said that, faint memories of Zurvan trickled in, scene by scene.
Still chewing as he spoke, Hermione only watched him silently, desperately hoping her apprehension wasn't showing. She swallowed hard, wrapped her fingers around the orange juice, and then finally opened her mouth.
"I've known for about two years," she offered with a one-sided shrug, like it was no big deal. In reality, she wanted to leap across the table, sloshing food all about so she could get wrapped up in her father's arms. It was a silly, childish thing to want, and yet she wanted it. At the same time, appearances counted for something.
"I wanted to tell you earlier." But I couldn't.
The damn table was the only reason he hadn't hauled her up in a tight hug. His daughter, his true daughter, was here and she was young and adorable. She was at an age where he could just feel like a papa at his age (one who became a father in college, perhaps).
God knew how Helen would handle it but he was thrilled. He would make up for any lack of enthusiasm or heap of apprehension his wife might have. And, with the table still in mind, he reached across to grasp one of her hands.
"You should have. You don't know how long I've felt like I'm missing someone in my life. I had your mother but I didn't have you." Long fingers wrapped around her hand and gave it a good, hard squeeze. "Don't ever keep far from me again."
His reaction to her revelation was all she needed to ease the tension from her shoulders. It washed away at his touch, which was warm and how she expected it to feel. Her own smaller fingers squeezed back.
"I won't." Tension melting, melting. "But you have to promise me the same thing. You have to promise you won't just leave. And if you do, that you'll tell me and come back." The little blonde had gone on knowing so little of her parents for far too long. Clytemnestra had made the effort to be a mother, and she was undoubtedly a better mother than Helen could ever really be, but she wasn't mother material. People like Lena were.
"Okay? Don't just leave me again."
It did break his heart to hear that. He was many things and had turned his back on plenty of family members but he still had a place in his heart for his daughter. Having her back meant doing some things better than before. Such as not marrying her off to idiots who couldn't see her value, not leaving her to deal with any messes and, of course, being there for her.
There was going to be the most fierce of hugs for his little girl the moment they stood up. She wasn't going to escape without one.
"I promise you, I won't even think of it. I will not see you abandoned again."
"I want to tell you everything," she gushed, nearly sticking an elbow into her omelette. "But I don't think I have time for everything today. Can we make this a regular thing? Breakfast? Talking to you over the network all the time might become weird." But Hermione didn't mind it, as long as she got the chance to speak with her father.
As for hugs, she'd hardly protest -- she'd been yearning for one since meeting her father all those weeks ago.
Maybe it was just him but her enthusiasm was infectious though he wasn't about to gush like a teenage girl. As he spoke, he reached out to tap her plate out of the way in case her elbow got feisty again. "Sure thing, darling. Just check with me a day in advance. Sometimes I've got to go out of town but I'll rearrange what I need to so I can see you."
He would have offered to just take her out of town with him but that might get a little odd for her parents if they ever found out. Not that he believed them to be more important than himself but the fact that he had no legal claim over her could hurt them more in the long run.
At the mention of going out of town, her brightness dimmed some, but not enough to fade out. Still, it was probably for his ranch. Not for war or for fetching any kidnapped wives, but to tend to his horses. She was sure that had to be it. She had to believe her father wanted to remain in New York with her for good. And with Helen, of course.
"I have school on weekdays, but I have free weekends. Saturdays are always better than Sundays," Hermione suggested with a knowing toss of her head.
"I'll keep my Saturday's clean for you. Better you get all your work done on a Sunday anyway. I suppose it'll be more fresh in your brain when you get back to school." He was trying to be helpful though, if he recalled well, he hadn't benefited too much from that logic.
"Do you go to private or public school anyway? Your folks are good people, right?"
Hermione couldn't disagree with that logic. But she couldn't agree that doing school work was a good use of her time. It got done, but sometimes with much effort on her part. Particularly Math and English (stupid grammar).
"Private school. I go to the same school as Pheme, you know her, right?" A lot of people did, she presumed. Cara got around, and not in that way.
Private was better even if he himself had gone to public. But it was different with one's children at times. He wanted to make sure things were above average for her. He wondered if there was even a way to pay for her college education. ...that might be a bit awkward, though.
"I know her. She's a bit mischievous but seems like a good kid at heart. And what about your family? Tell me about them."
Her omelette was going to be ignored at this rate, but Hermione had better and more important things to worry about. She did, however, take a moment to sip at her orange juice before replying. "My family is pretty boring. My parents work really hard, but they don't pay too much attention to what I'm doing. I have two older brothers, Jude and Kit. Kit's closer to my age than Jude is, but he's still twenty." The fact that he'd been to jail stayed quiet. That wasn't something anyone outside of their family was supposed to know, even if this was her father.
She decided to move the spotlight from her. "What about your family? Do they live in Texas?"
Menelaus was no better with his breakfast. His little girl was sitting across from him and his nineteen dollar breakfast plus coffee could go to hell. If necessary, he'd grab something on the road later.
"Brothers are good. Protective, I hope even if your folks are lax about you. And yeah, my whole family's from Texas. Been there for a number of generations, near Austin. I've got three brothers, one older, two younger. The older one married his childhood sweetheart and she's always been like a sister to me anyway. One of my younger brothers got married recently, too. No nieces or nephews yet."
It seemed his coffee finally was noted but not picked up. "My mother and father are divorced but they've never really mattered," he added a bit gruffly. "I've got a cousin here in the city as well. She's got a little one of her own. We're close enough in age that she's also like a sister to me."
Finally Hermione had the sense to poke at her omelette, forking a little piece. "It never bothered you, that they got divorced?" The omelette bit met the end of her fork. "I don't think I'd take it well if my parents got divorced." She chewed on her breakfast thoughtfully.
Despite her parents in this life not being her true parents, they were still her mother and father. They'd still raised her and her brothers, still come to parent-teacher meetings, sports games, plays. There was no immediate danger of them divorcing each other, as far as she knew, and that was a comfort. It bothered her, the idea that it was a possibility. Maybe her views on family were not idealistic -- that a family would always be together no matter what. It was all she wanted: a family who loved her and stayed with her. Having been mostly denied that in her first life, apart from her cousin and makeshift mother-aunt, it was ideal that she could have this in her current life.
"No. You remember who my parents were back home, don't you?" The cunning yet cruel Atreus and the whore Aerope. He had all the respect and affection for the man who had shown up his brother by feeding him his own sons but sneered at the mother who dallied with her brother-in-law with ease. She had gotten what she deserved in the end with Atreus drowning her. "I know you didn't get a chance to know them but you might have heard the stories about them.
"My mother wasn't faithful to my father in his life. I don't speak to her unless I have to. I don't speak much with my father as well for...certain reasons." A small shrug and he poked at his bacon. "We weren't very close anyway so it's not a major issue."
Fingers reached for the orange juice. "I'd share my parents, only I think they'd be weirded out. I'd probably have to tell them you're a family friend of Cara's. I know they don't talk to her uncle, so they wouldn't find it too bizarre. Did you know her uncle's a knight?" All the words kept spilling out of Hermione's mouth, and she put a stop to them with a long sip of juice.
For whatever reason, it was far too easy to speak to her father. After all that had happened, she wanted to tell him everything. Suddenly the prospect of ignoring him and never revealing herself seemed preposterous.
That had to get a laugh and he didn't disappoint there. "It's alright, darling. You can keep your folks and I'll just dote on you like a daddy whenever I can. And sure, I know Agravaine's a knight. He's seems a bit rough for one but maybe that's the best kind over the super romantic and ridiculous. Sort of makes me wonder how men got softer and softer from our days."
Not Spartan by birth, he still had immense pride in the people he ruled over and knew well that many other Greeks also were fierce in their own ways. He didn't doubt the Arthurians had their own brand of violent and harshness but he was going to stick with his own kind when it came to taking sides.
"They grew up," was Hermione's first contribution over the rim of her juice. Men from their days were brutes, but there were stories of kinder men, like Hector. But she would hold a grudge against him and his family for taking her mother, even when it had only been stupid Paris' fault. That she would never let go of.
"But now if you're too soft, you get called things."
The bacon was finished up as his daughter spoke and then he went after the reminder of the sausages. He'd easily agree about Hector but Hector, in his opinion, had been the most decent man of his family. The rest he could happily see burn in Tartarus.
"No man or woman ought to be too soft. It just makes you a target and then you're pretty screwed for life. You have to have defenses as well as a way to make sure no one messes with you."
Eventually half of Hermione's omelette would be missing, happily gobbled up. She was fighting an urge to bring up her entire breakfast at the mention of Hector's family (Paris, how she wanted to see him strung up by his ears), but she valiantly fought it in favor of keeping her stomach happy.
She wiped her mouth with a napkin. "And what about teenagers? If we're taught that soft is okay, won't we grow up being doormats?"
"You will. But you never were a doormat, Hermione." It felt so good to say that name. Denver was a decent name but Hermione would hold the most weight. "You never let anyone walk on you and it makes me proud. I know of all the young people on the community, you could outlast them in anything."
Overconfidence? Well, he was very fond of his little girl.
Hearing those words -- it made her swell with pride. Pride and joy at hearing her father say such things; it was all she could ask for. Her happiness reflected in her eyes, but she maintained her decent poker face. It was one of the few things she was talented at.
"I'll outlast them in a second. No one makes a doormat out of me." Ring ring -- yes, this is Hermione's ego speaking.
And Daddy was never more pleased. Those were his genes speaking even after centuries. And Helen's, he'd give her that. "That's my girl.
"So I was thinking, if you can wrangle up a clever reason and excuse one weekend, you can come up to my horse farm and pick out a pony we can take care of for you. Figure I got to spoil you somehow now that I have you back."
"I'll think up a clever reason," the blonde assured him, reaching for her last piece of toast. "My parents think they keep an eye on me, but they don't do a very good job." After biting into her toast and swallowing, she tilted her head thoughtfully to one side. "Will the pony already have a name, or will I get to confuse it and give it another one?"
His coffee was a vile sort of lukewarm. Cold he could handle but lukewarm was just awful. It was nudged away in favour the rest of his breakfast. "We can pick one we haven't named yet. There are a couple of those roaming around since we don't name all of them with the expectation they will get purchased. We just end up saying 'girl' or 'boy' when needed."
More toast was nibbled on as Hermione nodded, listening intently. She nearly forgot to swallow before speaking. "Then I'll pick one." A piece of slightly burned crust was picked off and deposited in her plate. "Will I get to ride it?" Because that was the most important part, being able to ride a pony you sort of owned.
"Depends which one you pick. I know with the horses, I prefer them around four years old, depending on how they've grown and their breed. If you pick a pony that's after the age of five, that should be alright since they take longer to mature and their bones are stronger by then. With both, we do get them used to the saddle while they can't be ridden so when they are old enough, they aren't odd about it later."
He paused, signaling to the waiter to request some water. When that was accomplished, he resumed. "So it's up to you how quickly you wanna ride one. Just stick to light riding at first, though and then work with him or her to go beyond that."
For whatever reason, it was bizarre to Hermione that she was a young girl and yet she knew absolutely nothing of horses. Weren't ponies a girl thing to like? Maybe she wasn't girly enough to be able to fit into that group. Whatever the reason, she didn't quite care to know. She'd learn from her father, who would be more interesting than any book.
"I can do light riding." A bite to her toast. "I'm sure I can convince my parents I'm out for a weekend with Cara. They won't question it."
Menelaus had no objection to being considered interesting. He thought he was pretty awesome.
"That's a good idea. Hell of a lot more reasonable that 'hey, I'm getting into this strange guy's car and going away for the rest of the day to play with ponies'." Feeling full, he nudged away his plate to make room for one arm on the table. If he was at home, he'd have stretched out his legs but he didn't care for a waiter tripping over him. "When the weather's real good and you don't have any exams, I'll take you both up. It's a big place and you can get acquainted with the horses and ponies. Couple of cats and dogs around as well. Sometimes the ducks come over from a pond near by."
"We don't have exams until June," she informed him after one last scrape of her fork against the plate. "So anytime is okay. I'll let Cara know." A pause. "I don't know if I should be calling her Pheme or not. This whole... knowing about each other is really new. Telling anybody about myself is new."
Including her father. That part went unsaid.
"Call her whatever you're comfortable with since you know who she really is. I personally would call her Pheme but if you can work it out yourself if you like Cara more. And you tell folks when you're ready. I won't even say anything to your mother."
Hermione picked at a piece of omelette stuck to her plate, eyes downcast. She wasn't even going to touch the topic of her mother. "I don't know if I'll tell my parents. It's not something they would understand. I don't even think I can tell my brothers, but one of them is here, so that must mean something, right?" Finally, she risked a glance up. "Maybe he's someone, too."
"If he's on the community, he is. There isn't a soul on that community that isn't someone. You can hope he's not Orestes, though, or your Uncle Agamemnon." If Clytemnestra arrived, it would be all over for the poor kid.
"He may not know as well. But if you think he might, ask him."
Orestes. The thought had never occurred to her that her brother could ever be her cousin, or even her uncle. But part of her felt reassured that if he ever showed himself, she'd know. She would have to. That glass of orange juice was reached for again, gripped tight.
"I'm going to wait and see. Cara -- Pheme -- said she might do some digging, since it's her 'thing'." Even though something inside told her that if Cara poked too much, she'd get bitten. It would be like her brother. "But he could be from some other pantheon, too."
He had to wonder how stealthy and clever Pheme was now in human form. Maybe he should start filtering his conversations with Helen. Though his wife did like the attention. ...and that was more reason to filter.
"He could be which wouldn't be too bad. In any case, you'll find out eventually and then deal with it."
That much was true: there was nothing to do but deal with the knowledge of her brother being another reincarnate, no matter who he was. What else was there to do? She'd still love her brother. Hermione gave a nod, pushing her glass and plate toward the center of the table to signal that she was done.
"... Did you ever tell your family about yourself?"
Before the waiter came by to take their plates, Menelaus offered up a reply, one marked by a quick shake of his head. "Good God, no. They'd take everything I have from me and probably find a legal way to make me stay back home in some room. Under constant watch and care."
He loved most of his family but there was no need for them to know something that would never hurt them. Less was better sometimes.
Hermione felt much the same way. Telling her parents anything would result in her being put under lock and key, possibly for good. No more community, no more Cara. Worst case scenario: mental asylum, but she had faith that her parents would never go that far. (One hoped.)
She smoothed the hair from her face. "The important people know. That's all that matters."
"That they do, darling. Some secrets are ok to keep." With the dishes taken and the bill brought, he took care of it without fuss, adding a decent tip considering this was the place he finally met his daughter. Maybe it would give him some more good karma, who knew?
Up on his feet, he didn't glance at his watch to see what time it was but kept his eyes on his little girl. What hour he reached the horse farm didn't matter.
She hoped some secrets were, because she had many. Following suit, Hermione rose to her feet, snagging a candy off the bill tray for later consumption. Without another word, she was moving toward her father, arms easily slipping around his middle in a hug. If anyone in the restaurant had anything to say about it, she would tell them to stuff it.
Menelaus would snap at anyone who thought the scene was anything outside of touching. Leaning down, he pressed a kiss to the top of his daughter's head, one arm tight around her. As cruel as it might sound, this was better than Diana, better than all his other children considering she could always be found in the world, in any life. His other children would fade away even if they carried his genes. He'd never meet with them in another life again.
But Hermione would always remain, in one form or another. Another kiss was offered but he remained hunched over her for a moment. "You and I are going to stay together, sweetheart. No war will take us apart again."
Hermione could have exploded. From happiness, from relief, from all the emotions swelling up inside and threatening to spill out in the form of embarrassing commentary. She opted not to say too much, in fear of saying something completely stupid. Her arms tightened around him, holding on in such a way that it seemed like she'd never let go.
"If anything keeps us apart, I'm not going to be happy. And if you ever leave, you had better take me with you."
They were definitely a pair, both flooded with great happiness and valuing the moment. Not daring to pull back yet, Menelaus ran his fingers through her hair as he made the assurance he damn well planned on keeping. There was no other choice unless he wanted to lose her.
"I promise on all that I love and treasure, I will."
Starting to feel that self-consciousness seep in when she heard whispers to her right, Hermione loosened her hold just enough to pull back and look her father in the eye. This was the sort of moment she would never have with her mother. It was Menelaus she trusted the most between her parents, the one she looked up to the most. While he'd failed her twice, once with leaving and the second time with failing to kill Andromache, he was still her father. Still the man she treasured above all over men, even her biological father.
"Good. I'm holding you to that."
A swift and hard glance was shot in the direction of those whispers. An urge came to him to snap out she was his daughter but one never knew who knew who in this city. It could all come back to bite him. So the cold shoulder was offered to them while he gave her shoulder a firm pat.
"You do that, darling. Come on, I'll drop you off somewhere before I head out."
Not one to shrink back in the face of whispers behind her back, the blonde tilted her chin up as she released her father's middle. Despite their differences, she and Helen -- her mother -- still had their similarities. They were both proud women, and nothing would change that, not even a slightly embarrassing display in a restaurant. Pride carried across reincarnations, no matter who they were. It wouldn't have taken a genius to figure that out about her mother.
She gave a quick nod, edging in the direction of the front door.
So far, a good start to the morning.