They were both apologizing, and this didn't make sense. Icarus apologized for simple things that didn't particularly matter at this juncture. His uncle apologized for something he had no control over. And there in front of him was a demon made of liquid amber that he shouldn't have reached to accept, but he did. He pulled the glass of scotch closer and stared into it as if it were a crystal ball.

Quinn shook his head a little. "No. Neither of you need to apologize. Especially not you, Uncle Dan. I wasn't sent here. I volunteered to come." It was a good start to get that out of the way first. Maybe it would help soothe the man who was pacing nearby.

His divining scotch reminded him that he was ten years old again...

"Quinn, get in 'ere. Yer ma an' I need t'talk to ye!" His father sounded angry. By now the letter from the school had come, he knew it. Ma and Da had read the things his teacher said about him. About how he had broke Billy Dempsey's nose and Pryce Connor's arm. What he knew the letter didn't say was why he had done it. Hearing his father angry made him angry. They'd never understand.

He marched into the kitchen with his hands balled into tight fists at his sides. His father was sitting at the table with a decided frown on his face and a neatly folded piece of paper in his hand. His mother was standing over his shoulder bunching up her apron. And his uncle Dan, completely unaware of the situation at hand, came wandering into the kitchen behind him. He felt a hand on his shoulder and an unfamiliar note of restrained anger in his uncle's voice. "What's goin' on in 'ere then?"

"Stay out of this, Dan. It don't concern ye," said his father.

He felt his uncle's hand tighten some on his shoulder. "Don't concern me? I'm standin' right 'ere, ain't I? I live in this 'ouse too, don't I?" The one hand moved from his shoulder, replaced by the other when his uncle stepped behind him. The first hand touched to the back of his head. "I'm part o' this family, and Quinn 'ere seems upset about somethin'. What concerns the lad concerns me too."

"Dani," his mother pleaded gently. "Please jus' leave this to us will ye?"

There was silence in the kitchen for the time. He saw his father's eyes narrow, and by the shadows playing off the lamps he could only guess that his uncle had shook his head defiantly. Why was he standing here backing him up? He didn't even know what happened. This didn't make sense.

"I broke Billy Dempsey's nose," Quinn shouted. He felt like he needed to clear the air and he knew what this was about. Angry tears streaked down his face and his fists balled up tighter at his sides. "And that git Pryce! I broke 'is stupid arm fer grabbin' me too rough!"

"Quinn," his mother interjected, frowning. "Y'know what sort o' damage y'done?"

"I don't care," he shrieked. "I don't care! They d'served it!"

"Aye!" Uncle Dan echoed his fervor, surprisingly. "M'sure the boys rightly did d'serve it. An' I'm wagerin' that there letter says otherwise. What d'those prats at the school know anyway? They didn' see it, did they?"

Why? Why was his uncle sticking up for him? Even he knew his parents right. He hated them for siding with the school, with the headmaster, with the parents of the other kids who he'd almost killed. It really had been a close call. He hated them for that, but he knew deep down that they were right. He had done wrong and should be punished for it.

Someone was talking again in the here and now. He tore his gaze out of his glass of scotch and looked up. For a moment he'd forgotten where he was and why he was here. Only long enough to recall the memories that made more sense now that he was older.

He looked over at his uncle and knew why he was pacing that short distance away. Stay there, he silently begged him. Stay there and don't feel what I'm feeling. It was best that way. Best to keep unwanted tempers from flaring again like they had so many years ago.