It feels like a goodbye, but Klaus doesn't know if it should be. If he should let it settle between them like something that needs to be said before it's too late. He stares down into his coffee as he wrestles with the unease in his gut, with the nerves that rattle a few screws loose and make him feel a little bit more like the man from all those years ago.
"How could I not trust you, I mean look at that face," he gestures to Patrick, raising his eyes now to look the man in the face.
He's struck suddenly by how much he adores the man across from him, how much he adores the sweet little girl tucked into the bed down the hall, how much this life has restored the shattered, estranged pieces of his heart. He doesn't want to go. He knows for a fact that whatever waits for them back home will chew them up and spit them out, just like it always has. Nothing their father did ever came without a price.
"You and Claire and Allison are all I have," he says quietly, a fond smile on his face. "You're my family, and I'd very much like to keep it that way, thank you. I can't promise I won't make Claire into a miniature version of myself, but really I'd just be doing you both a favor."
It's easier to tease, to joke, to try and dismiss the welling pressure that points toward danger, that points toward something bad. "But we don't really say that stuff. You know, too busy being the good, old-fashioned men of the house," he swings an arm up in a flex, dropping his voice for dramatic effect. "Can't show those feelings around here. Sign'a weakness."
The energy rushes out of him on a sigh, however, and he brings the coffee cup to his lips, draining it. "So I just thought I should rip the band-aid off and say it."
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"How could I not trust you, I mean look at that face," he gestures to Patrick, raising his eyes now to look the man in the face.
He's struck suddenly by how much he adores the man across from him, how much he adores the sweet little girl tucked into the bed down the hall, how much this life has restored the shattered, estranged pieces of his heart. He doesn't want to go. He knows for a fact that whatever waits for them back home will chew them up and spit them out, just like it always has. Nothing their father did ever came without a price.
"You and Claire and Allison are all I have," he says quietly, a fond smile on his face. "You're my family, and I'd very much like to keep it that way, thank you. I can't promise I won't make Claire into a miniature version of myself, but really I'd just be doing you both a favor."
It's easier to tease, to joke, to try and dismiss the welling pressure that points toward danger, that points toward something bad. "But we don't really say that stuff. You know, too busy being the good, old-fashioned men of the house," he swings an arm up in a flex, dropping his voice for dramatic effect. "Can't show those feelings around here. Sign'a weakness."
The energy rushes out of him on a sigh, however, and he brings the coffee cup to his lips, draining it. "So I just thought I should rip the band-aid off and say it."