
Harrow had never lived without the threat of war. He had been a boy, and a man, and now a father, in a world of recurring alarms and drills. Drills to prepare for attacks from Xadia, or the retaliation prompted by a first-strike attack the Coalition considered justified.
The lockdown, the shelter-in-place order, the potential for disruption of communication and supplies... all these things were familiar. But the cause, in this case, at his new home, at the flagship university on the shoulder of Mt. Kalik, was new to Harrow. As he went through the disaster checklist and the customary process of reassuring Callum, he tried to adjust to the idea that all of this is was caused by storms. It was both more and less terrifying. Lightning and wind, hail, sleet, and snow, lacked malice, but also fear and reason.
And, for the first time, Harrow knew he would be doing this alone. The ongoing state of emergency and Sarai's devotion to her post were turning their trial separation permanent. He refrained from further attempts to beg her to quit and come home, but the fact that this change was faultless and seemingly endorsed by nature didn't make it less sad or Harrow more ready to face it.
Harrow's mother, the university's chancellor, who had invited/begged him to take this job, had no time to help. She was busy looking after her many student charges, and the other staff and their families. There were a hundred logistical fires she needed to put out, and Harrow couldn't resent that, but he could still desperately wish to be someone's first priority.
In the evening, three days in, he had fed Ezran and was snuggling the sleepy toddler and stroking his hair while Callum drew, feeling both peaceful and overwhelmed. When the doorbell rang, Callum sprinted to the door and flung it wide open, letting in a mixture of snow and sleet, and three people, one of whom was familiar. It was Dr. Viren, the man from the daycare parking lot, herding a small boy, carrying a relatively enormous slow cooker, and a tiny girl with a picnic basket.
"We brought you dinner!" The girl yelled. "I made it myself! Dad said the recipe was probably too complicated, but I showed-"
"Hey!" The boy interrupted "I helped a lot! I chopped all the fucking vegetables!"
Viren sighed, frustration and embarrassment showing on his face and in his body language. He took several deep breaths before reproving the children.
"Claudia, it's polite to wait until you're invited in. Soren, it's not polite to use that language." Their excitement fell away as they retreated back to the door.
Viren knelt with practiced ease to ask Callum to get his father, but smacked his cane into the decorative umbrella rack by the door, precipitating a loud, chaotic collapse. Looking back, Harrow would always think of this as an appropriate introduction to a family of bright, awkward, impulsive, generous people who always danced their own singular steps through life.
When Viren caught sight of him he launched into what sounded like a lecture, about how bringing food to neighbors had become a tradition, and he did text first but there wasn't an answer, so they'd avoided most common allergens and followed traditional dietary rules just in case, and the meat for the stew was locally sourced, and the bread was from his uncle's bakery...
Harrow smiled warmly and and thanked him, then proceeded to ignore most of the stream of words as he guided Claudia and Soren into the kitchen and helped Callum set the table.
Dinner went well, and afterward the three older children headed to the playroom / art studio, with Ezran toddling after them. This led to a fair amount of screaming, but no blood, an equal amount of laughter, a creative mess, a plan for a collaborative project, and enraged sobbing when Ezran had to part from Soren, aka the source of banther-rides.
Meanwhile their fathers washed the dishes together and talked. When Harrow tried to apologize for missing the texts, and for the state of the apartment, Viren yelled at him, "Stop being a judgemental prick to my new friend!" and took his phone and scheduled the cleaner for twice a week.
That sort of thing became a pattern. Viren's opinion was that money was for spending, and resources and power more broadly were meant to be used. He had no patience for shame, but also very little consideration for the moral or social implications of most choices.