Archive of Our Own

The phone rings, and Renoir knows he will get no answer.

There is some irony to it all. He wanted was to keep his family safe, and now he's losing them, one after the other. By his fault, from his actions. His flimsy card castle is falling apart around him, and he has no one to blame but himself.

Aline barely talks to him these days. She hasn't forgotten his willingness to follow the doctors' advice, nor will she ever forgive him. Again, he can't blame her. Knowing what he now knows, he can't forgive himself either. He could have killed his son. Not laid him to rest, not prevent further suffering. Killed. Aline had put herself between Verso and the world, refused to budge. She protected him, until he was ready to wake up.

Renoir has many regrets. Over the last year, he seemed to have made mistakes after mistakes. Now, as Alicia refuses his calls and Verso refuses to come home, he wonders what he could have done different.

With all the information he now has, he knows many wrongs turns, of course. Had he known Verso would recover, he never would have pushed Aline so hard. He would have supported her as she had needed, would have ignored the doctors' advices. Perhaps then, Aline wouldn't have broken down, with her husband firmly on her side. Perhaps then, she wouldn't have banished Alicia from the family.

Just a small embranchment on the road. Just another decision, that Renoir should have taken.

Instead, he'd rushed to acquiesce to the doctors' advice. To kill his son, just because he was too worried about his wife and daughter.

He wonders if Verso knows, what his own father had tried to do. If Verso would ever forgive him, were he to learn. Not that Verso isn't already furious with him.

"Has he answered ?" Aline asks as she enters the studio, not bothering to knock. Her phone is in her hands, and Renoir knows it is full of unanswered calls and texts. Neither Clea nor Verso had made any attempt to answer.

Renoir looks at his wife, and sees her exhaustion. Two days ago, Clea had come to visit, and left with Verso when both parents had their backs turned. Then, hours later, after Aline had almost called the police in her worry, Clea had sent a single message. I drove Verso to Alicia's flat. Leave them alone. She hadn't picked up her phone since.

"Verso is safe." Renoir tries to reassure his wife, ignoring his own worry. "He's with Alicia and Clea, they won't let anything happen to him."

Aline scoffs, voice turning from fretting to cold. "Alicia is the reason he needs looking after in the first place. He missed therapy for two days. He didn't take his medication with him, Renoir. He can't even communicate, if anything goes wrong. Why exactly, should I stop worrying ?" She sounds almost flat in her delivery, anger pushed so far it turns freezing.

"What do you want me to do ?" Renoir asks, almost pleading. He wishes he could defend Alicia without making his wife angry, but her worry is too overwhelming. "Verso is furious with us both. We can't risk pushing him ever farther away."

"So you'll do nothing ? Fine, then give me the address, and I'll go on my own." Aline demands.

Renoir considers it, for a moment. Imagines his wife turning up at Alicia's doorstep, his daughter seeing her mother for the first time in almost year. Not to see her though, but to pick up Verso as if he were a disobedient child. As if Aline could not trust Alicia to care for her own brother.

Then again, would it be better for Renoir to go instead ? He lied to his daughter, no matter how well intentioned he had been at the time. Alicia had left what little family she thought she could trust behind, just because Renoir had been too much of a coward to put her wants and needs first. Verso had spent four months worrying about his little sister, probably setting his recovery back in the process, because Renoir had just let the lie fester. And Clea, stuck in the middle, both angry at Alicia for her mistake and at her parents for their inaction.

"I will go." Renoir finally decides, and Aline frowns. "If only to bring Verso his medication and remind him of his appointments. But we can't force him home if he doesn't wish to come." Aline would insist on it too much, were she to go. Besides, Alicia and Verso both deserve to vent their anger, and Renoir would prefer they yell at him than Aline.

"He needs to, Renoir. He is under our care." Aline insists.

"He is an adult." Renoir reminds her. She'd spent too many months at Verso's bedside, afraid of closing her eyes and miss her son's last breath. Renoir understands her concern, but understands their son's resentment even more. "His body is diminished, but not his mind. He can decide for himself what he wants, and we owe him that much."

He sees Aline hesitate. A year ago, she wouldn't have. She'd have trusted her husband to handle the matter, would have trusted him to have their children's best interests at heart. It hurts, to see his wife so wary, even as Renoir knows he deserves the caution.

"Very well." Aline says after a moment. "But do try to convince our convalescing son to come back home. At least for his care. His health must go before his feelings, Renoir."

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

It's mid afternoon by the time Renoir parks near Professor Sinclair's flat. He sits in his car, looking at the building with something he refuses to call apprehension. He knows he's inviting a confrontation that neither of his children might be ready to have. As many excuses he has, he knows they'll both refuse to hear them - not that he can really blame them for that fact.

He can only hope that, when all is said and done, he won't have lost his children's love on top of their trust.

Sighing, Renoir pushes open the car door and slowly gets out, leaning heavily on his cane. It's a pain he dearly hopes Verso will soon be free of. Opening the truck, he pulls out a bag with some of Verso's belongings - clothes, toiletry, and more importantly, his medication. When he'd left with his sister, Verso hadn't taken anything with him. Part of Renoir is hopeful that Verso means to come back, that he just needs a few days to reconnect with his Alicia. Another part wonders if Clea hadn't simply whisked away her brother without giving him time to prepare a bag.

Walking to the building, then up to the second floor, Renoir steels himself for the upcoming confrontation. For the anger in his children's eyes. Possibly for their tears – both of his youngest had always been so sensitive.

As the apartment door opens before him, Renoir realises he hadn't prepared for one outcome. Gustave Sinclair looks at him with cold eyes and a white-knuckled grip on the door.

"What do you want ?" The younger man asks in a voice too flat to really read as a question. He looks ready to slam the door shut.

"Bonjour, Monsieur Sinclair." Renoir starts, trying to instil some politeness in the already devolving situation. "Are my children here ?" He doesn't delude himself into thinking the other man doesn't know who he is. The stormy look he receives can only come from a man who cares deeply about Alicia and knows exactly why she's furious at her father. It makes Renoir grateful, to know his daughter had been well cared for.

"They don't want to see you." The professor answers, and the door begins to close.

Renoir puts his cane in the way of the closing door, earning a glare from Sinclair. "I understand that they are both angry, but they cannot avoid their family forever. Let me speak to them-"

"If you don't remove your cane, you're going to need a new one." Sinclair cuts him off. Renoir barely has time to comply before the door slams in his face violently.

He stands here, in front of the apartment door, trying not to feel miffed. He should be happy that his children have found a protector –  and he is. He just never thought that protector would think of Renoir as the enemy. As someone his children needed protection from. As much as he understands Alicia and Verso's anger, Renoir cannot resolve the issue without talking to them. Without getting the chance to explain.

He considers waiting until his family needs to leave, but it feels petty and inefficient. Both of his children are stubborn, and he could be here for a long time. Alicia might try to leave through the window.

Instead, he sighs and leans on the door briefly, then lowers his bag to the doormat. He hasn't heard any sound from the other side, so Sinclair is probably still besides the door, waiting to see if Renoir actually leaves.

"I have bought some of Verso's belongings. Please make sure he takes his medication. And he has an appointment at the hospital tomorrow at nine. If he doesn't want to come home, he'll also need to continue his physical and speech therapy at the hospital or in your home, see to it." He instructs to the door. Tightening his grip on his cane, he adds. "Please tell my children that I love them, and never intended to hurt them. They can call at anytime, and are both welcome home."

Then, he starts to walk back to his car. As the lift's doors close, he hears the apartment door open briefly.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Renoir knows he should go home. Aline will want to know, and will undoubtedly be angry at his failure to see their children and check on Verso. Renoir can only hope Sinclair will pass his message along and make sure Verso is taken care of.

He is tired of having everyone angry with his decisions, as much as he understands them.

Alicia has every right to be furious with his lie, of course, but surely she knows it stemmed from love. He hid the truth from Verso, but his son had been so fragile after waking up that Renoir hadn't dare unsettle him more. And Clea had been as angry at Alicia as Aline had been. She made her own decisions, had agreed to the lie in the end.

As much as he wants his children's forgiveness, a part of Renoir resents their anger. He loves his children, and had never intended to hurt them. It hurts that they don't seem to understand this.

He drives absentmindedly, and realizes halfway through that he isn't taking the path to the manor. Instead, the road he's taken leads him near the city centre. He sighs, but doesn't change course. Perhaps Clea will be more willing to talk than her younger siblings.

He parks near her apartment as the sun begins to dip in the horizon, the street lit by lampposts and Christmas lights. Looking up, he sees light from Clea's studio windows. Sighing again, he prepares himself for another difficult talk.

When he knocks on his daughter's front door a few minutes later, he half hopes Clea will ignore it. But she must also think that postponing that talk further is unproductive, for she just frowns and waves him in. She's in her work clothes, stained with fresh clay and paint, which doesn't bode well for the oncoming talk –  she hates being interrupted when she sculpts.

"Are you here for advice ?" Clea asks, tone half confrontational already. She closes the door behind him, but pointedly doesn't offer him a seat. Renoir doesn't remove his coat – Clea won't let him get comfortable if she can pounce instead.

"I went to see your siblings."

Clea scoffs, and turns around to get back to her studio, not even waving for Renoir to follow. He does anyway, as his daughter had expected. The studio is well lit as always, her current projects on display. Renoir looks to the far corner, toward the Lampmaster broken statue. Clea had kept it like that for months after destroying it, like a painful reminder.

"Have you talked to them ?" Renoir asks as Clea continues to ignore him, picking up her chisel to work on her current project – still in the early stages, but Renoir can see the beginning of too many arms taking form.

"Alicia is still miffed." Clea comments in a detached tone that Renoir knows hide deeper pain. "Apparently, bringing Verso to her doesn't erase my participation in your lies. Shocking, isn't it."

Renoir suppresses his flinch, and leans on his cane with both hands. "I was doing what I thought was best at the time. And as angry as you were, you didn't tell Alicia either." He reminds his daughter, trying to keep any accusation from his tone. From Clea's glare as she turns back sharply, he failed.

"What was I suppose to say to her ? Verso is alive, but we'll need to pull the plug in two weeks ? In two months ? You forced an impossible choice on me."

"I was trying to spare her. I am truly sorry that you felt trapped, it wasn't my intention."

Clea laughs, the sound sharp and without a trace of happiness. She turns back to her sculpture, but doesn't lift her tools to it. "Your apology is as meaningless as it is pitiful. Maybe work on it, just in case Alicia and Verso ever agree to speak to you and Aline again."

"What would you have done in my place, Clea ? How would you have prevented all this hurt, without knowing the future ?"

The question hangs, and Renoir sees his daughter tense, her head lowering for a moment as she clenches her fist. He waits patiently for her answer, looking back to the Lampmaster broken form. Most of its lamps are on the floor, swept under its feet. Verso had always hated those lamps as a child, begging his sister to stop mocking him. As an adult, he'd found some humour in Clea's creation, but there had always been some hurt in his eyes when he looked at it. Did he see his sister's love for him as she teased him with it, or did he truly think she was mocking his fear of the dark ? As cruel as Clea could seem, Renoir has no doubt she would stop immediately if her little brother was honest with his feelings.

"You were supposed to protect Alicia and Verso." Clea says after a while. Turning back, he sees her watching him and the Lampmaster in turn, expression unreadable. "Even with Aline going mad, even with- you were supposed to protect them, to protect Alicia, even against her family."

"I know I have failed as a father, ma chérie." Renoir says softly, the admittance heavy to his heart. "I tried to protect both Aline and Alicia, and failed at both."

Clea doesn't answer, but there's conflict in her eyes, anger diminishing. She looks at her broken statue again. "Do you think it can be repaired ?" She asks after a moment, eyes not leaving her work.

"Perhaps. You could tear it all down and start anew, or we could restore some of it, glue the parts back and accept that it will never be the same."

When Clea next scoffs, there's a smile pulling at her lips. Neither of them is fool enough to believe they are talking about the broken statue.

"Make something new out of the old... It will require everyone to pull their weight. I hope you're ready to do your part, Renoir."

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Aline is angry as expected, when Renoir finally comes home. He knows she's worried most of all, and cannot bring himself to blame her for her words. Clea's words circle in his mind, and he knows he can't let the statu quo to continue as is. At one point, he'll need to talk with Aline, and all of them will have to accept their faults. As much as he loves her, he knows Aline isn't blameless. In this matter, only Alicia and Verso are.

If this family has any hope of mending, they'll all need to talk and admit their wrongdoings. Renoir is self aware enough to know the difficulty of that task, but he has made progress with Clea. She hasn't forgiven anything, he knows, but if she's willing to move forward, how can he not meet her halfway ? How can he refuse to do his part, as requested ?

That night, after Aline has gone to bed, Renoir lingers. He goes to his children's rooms, one by one. Clea's is almost completely bare, having long moved out even before the fire. Most of her remaining belongings had been destroyed then, but she left a few sets of clothes since. After Verso was released from the hospital, she had also brought a harp in her attempts to bond with her brother again, on the few nights she had agreed to a family dinner.

Alicia's room is next. A room his daughter hadn't even entered since the fire. Renoir had tried to make it as close to the original as possible, to make his daughter feel at home once she came back. Of course, she never did. She left the hospital for Verso's apartment, then for Sinclair's. Still, the room is ready, if Alicia ever forgives her parents. Her books wait, none of them her beloved copies, but all as close as possible. Perhaps, like Clea's statue, they can accept the changes, make something new. Still, the books will never be the ones Alicia had cherished, with her annotated pages and numerous gift notes on the first pages. Renoir's heart aches at the reminder of all that was lost.

Verso's room is the most recent and updated, of course. For months after the fire, it had been a sanctum. Aline had insisted on restoring it as soon as possible, and as close to the old room as possible. Then, she had spent many nights there after visiting hours, unwilling to cut herself from Verso's presence, as diluted as it was. Then, after Verso woke up, Renoir had the room partially remodelled in preparation, according to the doctors' advice. It creates a strange dichotomy. Old and new, even if the old is a false pretence. Renoir wonders if Verso resented it, in those months after coming home. If he missed his old piano, his books and canvases. His old train sets, carefully preserved from his childhood. Of course, Verso had said nothing, hiding behind his smile as always, but his silence had felt heavy. At one point, he'd be well enough to go back to his own apartment, and perhaps then he'd feel more at home.

Renoir goes to sit on the piano bench, uncomfortably reminded of the last true conversation he had with Verso, before his son shut down after the truth came out. A shameful part of him regrets that decision, and Renoir wonders if he could have broached the subject in a better way.

Pulling his phone out of his pocket, he looks at the screen with the same hope mixed with dread he felt for the past two weeks. But yet again, there are no answer, no new message. He had tried to call Alicia, over and over again, but hadn't been able to bring himself to just write her the truth. He had wanted to tell her face to face, to be here for his daughter. In the end, Verso and Clea had just taken the matter in their own hands at the first opportunity, and Renoir had been robbed of the opportunity for penance.

His messages to Verso over the last two days have been similarly ignored, and Renoir wonders if he has even read them. He is unsure if Verso even took his phone with him, when Clea whisked him away. His notebook, at least, is nowhere to be found, so he must have the means to communicate.

Renoir considers sending another message, but after the afternoon's confrontation, he's reluctant to steer more trouble. He can only hope Sinclair will pass the message along, and wait. As much as it grates, perhaps he should leave the ball in his children court, just this once. Let them decide when they're ready to talk.

Still, when he finally goes to bed, he makes sure his phone is close by. Just in case.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

He finds Aline in her greenhouse. She sits facing away from him, her canvas already full of colours as she hums one of Verso's compositions. Renoir stops a few paces away, just watches his wife work, seemingly untroubled for once.

He remembers maybe similar scenes over the years, yet he can't tire of the sight. The first time he had seen Aline, back when they were still so young and looking for the world's wonders, she had been just as immersed in her painting. Renoir had been fascinated to see her work, to watch her colours blend and form new shapes that gradually transformed into a beautiful garden. He hadn't dared interrupt her then, but she'd taken a brief pause to turn back to him and smile.

Then she had asked "do you want to try ?" and Renoir had been lost ever since. He'd discovered his love for painting in the same breath as his love for Aline, and been unable and unwilling to dissociate the two since.

Today, he's stricken by a similar incertitude. As he goes to sit on a nearby bench to watch Aline works, she doesn't turn to him, doesn't acknowledge his presence despite the inelegant noise of his cane announcing him. It hurts, weighting on his heart like lead, as much as he deserves her anger.

Renoir leans on his cane and watches in silence. Aline continues to ignore him, but she stops humming, and her motions betray her agitation. On the canvas, the shape a man before a grand piano is slowly forming. Renoir isn't surprised. On the few times Aline had taken the time to paint in the past year, she'd always painted Verso. Always from before the fire, whole and smiling. In the few paintings depicting all three children, she always stopped before painting Alicia's face.

"Unless you have news of Verso, you can leave." Aline breaks the silence when her patience vanishes. She doesn't turn, focused on her painting in clear dismissal.

"I only wish to talk. We cannot continue as is, mon amour."

Aline stops painting, and finally looks at him. The motion is reminiscent of Clea's just the day before, and it almost makes Renoir smile. Clea had always been more like her mother than she'd ever wanted to be.

"What do you want, Renoir ? What could you possibly say or do that you haven't in the past year ?"

"I know my faults. I know I built my own misery. I only wanted to do what felt best for our family, and almost killed our son." He chokes out, the words as hard to voice as they were the first time. "It is a shame that I will die with. But we cannot continue in this limbo. It is unfair to us both, and to our children."

Aline doesn't answer, but she doesn't turn back to her canvas. Her eyes remain cold, but there is something beyond the ice, softer and perhaps regretful. Renoir stands up, limbs heavy as he needs to lean heavily on his cane. He starts to walk to the stairs, to leave his wife to her peace, but stops. He hesitates, but knows he must continue. They cannot continue to pretend, barely hidden behind theatre masks.

"We will have to make a decision, the both of us. I have no wish to leave you, my love. I want to repair what we have both broken in our grief and pain. But if you truly cannot stand the sight of me, if my very presence brings you pain... Then perhaps it is better that we go on our separate ways."

It wrenches at his heart, just to think it. Saying the words is akin to tearing out his own soul. But, as the saying goes, if you love something, set it free.

With luck, he'll be able to live the second part.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Alright, we can talk. Come to Gustave's.

Renoir looks at the message from Alicia for the tenth time, and tries not to let his hope soar. It is progress, he tries to tell himself. No matter the outcome, he'll finally be able to see his daughter. To check on her, not from afar as he had to for the past year.

Now, in front of Sinclair's front door once more, he steels himself. He prepares himself for yelling and recrimination, for the anger in his children's eyes, for his apologies to be rejected as Clea did.

He knocks on the door.

The seconds limp by, each longer than the last, because the door finally opens. Sinclair looks at him without a word, eyes just as unforgiving as before. He just steps to the side, letting Renoir enter, pointedly unwelcoming.

"Thank you for hosting us, Monsieur." Renoir attempts, and Sinclair seems to try to school his features into a more polite smile. He doubts the man will ever like him, but he has been kind and patient to Alicia, and presumably to Verso. Hopefully, he'll allow Renoir to repay this kindness one day.

Renoir looks around the apartment as he follows his host to the living room. It is small, but cosy. Lived in, in a way the manor has ceased to be. He stops cold a few paces later, barely paying attention to Sinclair leaving the room. On the couch, looking as nervous as he feels, are Alicia and Verso.

Alicia looks good, he's relieved to see. The burns on her face stand out less, no more of an angry and painful looking red. Her right eye is pale and milky, unfortunately as lost as the doctors had feared, but Alicia isn't hiding it behind her hair anymore. She looks more confident, more settled.

Verso somehow looks healthier than he did the week before, colours returning to his face. He looks at Renoir with a conflicted expression, his notebook clenched tightly in one hand. He makes an aborted movement, almost moving in front of Alicia. It pains Renoir, to see his son so defensive.

Renoir still smiles at his children as he takes the seat obviously left for him in the armchair. He longs to embrace both of them, but neither would welcome him in their space.

"I'm so glad to see you, ma chérie." Renoir tells his daughter when no one seems to want to take the first step.

Alicia's face twists in a grimace, and she glares at him. "You lied to me." She doesn't yell. It would be easier, if she was. Instead, her icy rage barely conceals her hurt, and Renoir aches at having placed both in her heart.

"Alicia-" He starts, but his daughter immediately interrupts.

"It's Maelle."

Renoir startles. He looks at Verso, but sees no surprise in his attentive gaze. He feels wrong footed, suddenly, as he looks at both of his children. There's a stubborn look in Alicia's face. Maelle's. She doesn't say anything else, waiting for her father to acknowledge the correction, and Renoir finds he can't deny her. Not after all he's done.

"Maelle." He smiles. He wants to ask where the name comes from, when she chose it. Why she chose to change her name. Perhaps he'll be able to later, once the air around feels less tense. Once he’s earned the right to. "I never meant to hurt you, ma chérie." He says instead, because it feels too important to omit.

Alicia- Maelle scoffs. "Well, you did a wonderful job at that." She tries very hard to sound accusingly sarcastic, but her tone is too wet with repressed tears. Next to her, Verso puts a grounding hand on her arm, still silent.

"I am truly sorry. I thought I could protect everyone, and instead hurt you all."

"You lied to me !" Maelle cries out. She angrily gets up, dislodging her brother as she tries to tower over Renoir. "You lied ! You said Verso- I grieved for my brother for months ! How could you do this to me ?! Clea ! Maman ! You ! I know it was my fault, but- Do you all hate me ? Why would you-"

As his daughter breaks into sobs, unable to maintain her anger as sorrow comes forth, Renoir wants nothing more than to get up and embrace her. Tell her everything would be alright, that he's here for her and will always love her. But he can't, because he was the one to put sorrow in her heart.

Instead, Verso pulls his sister into his embrace, head against his shoulder as he gently pets her hair. When Renoir looks at his face, he's met with a glare as Verso pulls his sister tighter against his chest. And so Renoir waits, each sob from his daughter wrenching at his heart as he's left to the side, unable to do anything but wait.

It reminds him too much of those long months at the hospital.

"I know my words cannot be enough, not after everything." He says softly once Maelle's sobs have calmed down. "But I beg you to believe this : I do not hate you, ma chérie. I would never be able to feel anything but love for you, no matter what. Your mother loves you, your sister loves you. We made many mistakes, and hurt you terribly. But none of those mistakes were yours. You did nothing wrong, Maelle. Please, you can hate me for everything I've done to you, but do not hate yourself."

Maelle sniffs, shoulders shaking with her tears. Her fists remain clenched in Verso's shirt as he continues to rub at her back soothingly.

"Then why ?" Her voice is small when she finally speaks, shaking with her sobs. She turns in her brother's embrace, just enough to look at Renoir. "Why, papa ?"

"I thought I could spare you some of the pain, at the time." Renoir confesses, letting his grief come to the surface. "After Aline had her breakdown and refused to allow you near Verso, I didn't know what to do to help. The doctors all said that-" He looks at Verso, who returns his gaze with softer eyes. There's something all too understanding in those eyes. "I believed my lie would become truth all too soon. I've never been gladder to be proven wrong." Verso tentatively smiles at him, but avoids his gaze in the next breath. Maelle squeezes her brother tighter, unconsciously making sure he's still here with her. Yet again, Renoir has to stifle his need to get up and embrace them both. Instead, he continues, addressing Maelle again. "Your mother... She became mad with a grief that had nowhere to go. We were all lost, stuck in that hospital, unable to grieve but also unable to hope. I thought that by my lie, I'd set you free to grieve in peace, to move on when we couldn't. It's a decision I will regret to my dying breath."

Silence falls again, but Maelle doesn't start crying again. Instead, she looks pensive as she wipes some lingering tears from her face.

"I had no one, after." She whispers, voice once again too small. "I couldn't- Maman and Clea just yelled at me, and you- I was all alone."

Renoir has to blink back tears to see his daughter's, and he finally loses the battle. Tentatively, he gets up from the armchair to approach the couch. His children don't protest as he sits back down near them, leaving his cane to the side to lift a hand to each of them. Maelle tenses under his touch, but doesn't recoil from him. Verso seems to hesitate, before leaning slightly into the touch just as tentatively as Renoir. He's left his notebook to the side, hasn't tried to say anything, and Renoir wishes to hear his thoughts but doesn't know how to ask.

It takes a few minutes, but Maelle leans away from his touch, and Renoir immediately steps back.

"I don't know how to feel." She admits.

"I understand. It's a lot. Do you wish me to leave ?" As much as he wants to stay with his children, he can't outstay his welcome, fragile as it was in the first place.

He tries not to be disappointed as Maelle nods. He takes his can in hand and begins to stand up, smiling at his children gently. Maelle doesn't smile back, but she also doesn't frown or start crying again. Maybe, his traitorous heart sings, maybe you can have hope. There the sound of a pen scribbling on paper, and Renoir waits patiently as Verso finally decides to join the conversation.

"I don't know if I can forgive you."Verso writes, and Renoir tries not to show the pain those words bring. "But our family is too precious to abandon. Give us some time ?"

Renoir smiles through his tears, and chokes out "Of course, mon ange. Take all the time you need."

He turns toward the door, leaving his children seated on the couch.

"Please take care of each other. And come home, whenever you're ready."

Then he leaves, and tries to ignore his heart breaking and mending in equal measures.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

The following days are hard to go through. Renoir keeps his phone near him always, jumping every time it chimes. Neither Alicia –  Maelle – nor Verso call or message him, and he tries to respect their need for distance. He pleads with Aline to also stop her messaging Verso, to give him time, but he's unsure if she listens.

Clea visits once, takes one look at her father's haggard appearance and smirks as she tells him about seeing her siblings. She doesn't elaborate on how it went, and Renoir hopes she had better luck about bridging the gap than he did. He's glad to see his daughter calmer, more settled. Her anger had started to simmer down after Verso woke up, finally able to see past her resentment toward her little sister, and Renoir is very relieved.

Aline avoids him, most of the time. Since their last discussion, and Renoir last pleas, she's been withdrawn. When Renoir catches her looking at him, her eyes show more conflict than anger, and he can only hope his beloved wife is thinking about his words. He hopes that their relationship can be repaired, that Aline will want to fight for it as much as he does, but he dreads her decision. Looking at a future without Aline by his side feels unnatural and dreadful.

Feeling unsettled and unmoored, Renoir spends most of the days in his atelier, trying to focus on colours and composition instead of his worry about his family. It's a difficult task. He cannot make any shade of grey without seeing Maelle's stormy eye as her anger mixes with her grief. Any attempt to gentle his brush strokes remind him of Aline's gentle guidance over the years. He cannot even distract himself with his vinyl records –  too many of those being gentle piano music.

It takes a week for the tenuous peace to break. Renoir is in his atelier again, the room silent as he works on a commissioned canvas. He's been at it for a few hours, the work mindless and usually beneath him, but at least distracting. Aline, to his knowledge, has gone to her greenhouse, whether to paint or just to avoid him, and there is no one else at home.

Therefore, it's startles him, when he hears the soft knock at his atelier's door.

Few people have the keys to enter the manor at all. And Clea never knocks. Renoir gets up quickly, rushing to open the door. Verso looks at him nervously, his hand not gripping his cane still lifted as if to knock again.

"Verso." Renoir greets in a breath, smiling as gently as he can.

"Hi, papa."

Renoir startles, shock overcoming his features as he hears his son's voice for the first time in a year. It sounds rough and weak, barely above a whisper, but it's unmistakably Verso's voice.

"You-" He starts. Stops. Deliberates on whether Verso would appreciate any question.

Verso shrugs, a small nervous smile reaching his lips. He gestures to the room behind Renoir, and Renoir moves asides to let him in. "Would you be more comfortable in the living room ?" He still asks, even as he pushes aside a few reference books off a chair to let his son sit down. Verso shakes his head, his ability –  or willingness –  to talk apparently dried out.

Instead, Verso puts his cane aside and pulls his notebook out of his coat pocket, writing quickly as Renoir pulls his chair closer.

"I want to talk to you."

Renoir frowns, reading the sentence twice before understanding the underlying message. "Your mother is worried about you too." He says softly, hoping it doesn't sound like a rebuke. "Have you answered some of her messages ?"

Verso shrugs again, twisting his pen in his hand in another nervous gesture, but doesn't answer. Renoir sighs, but as much as he wants to help Aline and Verso reconcile, he knows his own standing in Verso's mind is fragile enough as it is. He understands that Verso's anger at Aline is different from his anger at his father. He needs to repair his own relationship, if it is even possible, before attempting to help bridge the gap between his life and child.

"Is A-Maelle alright ?" He asks instead, and Verso relaxes.

"She's still thinking."Verso writes, and Renoir tries not to feel disappointment. If she's still thinking, it means she hasn't decided to cut him out of her life entirely. It means he still has a chance to mend things.

"What about you ?"

"I wish to have my family back as it was, but it's impossible."

Renoir feels his heart constrict painfully. Everyone had months to accept the situation, to see the changes. To witness the decaying in their family. Verso had woken up and had to accept not only his new limitations, but also had to adapt to the new dynamics in his family.

"I wish it were possible, son. But we can only try and mend what is repairable, and accept the changes."

Verso looks down, and puts his pen down to his notebook again, but doesn't write. He hesitates for another moment, and Renoir waits patiently. When Verso finally commits to writing, Renoir feels his heart break again.

"I feel like it's my fault. Maman, Clea, you. Maelle. All your lives were up handed because of me. I wish you-" Verso stops writing abruptly, scratching at the last sentence.

Renoir puts a hand over his son's, gently forcing him to lower his pen. "Verso, no. Please, blame me all you want. Blame anyone you need to, but not yourself. None of it was your fault."

How many of his children must he have that conversation with ? How could he have failed so much as a parent, that his son would blame himself for his own coma ? For his own pain ?

Then the last aborted sentence clicks in his mind, and Renoir flinches away. "You know." He murmurs. It's one truth he had hoped would never come to light, even as he knows it needed to. "Did Clea tell you ?"

Verso shakes his head, and starts to write again. "I heard you and maman fight, when I was still waking up."

"I'm so sorry." Renoir breathes out. He can only imagine Verso, still so confused and weak, hearing his own father discuss... He wonders how Verso was able to keep it all together for so long. How he didn't leave the moment he could.

"Maman couldn't let me go. It wasn't healthy, I understand."

When Renoir looks up from the paper with tears in his eyes, he sees the understanding in his son's eyes. It feels worse, somehow. "I've tried and failed to do the right thing many times in the past year. With Maelle, with you. I've run out of excuses. I should have trusted that you would come back to us, instead of abandoning you."

Verso shakes his head again, still showing none of the anger he should. Renoir wishes his son wasn't so good at masking his own emotions. It's difficult to know whether Verso actually empathizes, or if he simply doesn't want to show Renoir how hurt he is. If his desire to mend their family makes him hide away his pain instead of resolving it.

"Please, be honest about your feelings. We can't rebuild our family on broken foundations." He pleads, and watches for any sign of change in Verso's mask. Verso only frowns, eyes turning downcast.

There's the scratch of pen on paper, and Verso pushes his notebook forward again. "I don't know if I can forgive you for you did to Maelle."

The subject change is jarring, but Renoir can't call his son out on it, as much as he wants to. As always, Verso is trying to push down his pain in favour of others. He'll pretend to understand Renoir almost killing him in pursuit of his wife's peace, but will defend his sister to the very end.

"I have said my piece a week ago, and so has your sister. It's only fair that you get the same chance."

"What were you thinking ? When were you planning to tell her ? When she saw my grave, and saw the real date of my death ? You banished her from the family as effectively as maman did, and left her without support"

Verso's fingers are clenched tightly around his pen as he finishes, every part of him clearly tensed. There is no understanding anymore in his face.

Renoir takes a moment to read, to sort out his thoughts. "Any explanations I give will only feel like an excuse, I fear." He finally admits. "I wasn't thinking, Verso. You were dying, not even able to breathe on your own. Your mother couldn't cope, Clea was looking for an outlet that Al-Maelle gave her too easily. And Maelle... She was miserable, barely willing to sit through her own therapy and take her medication. I... All that pain, it affected me too. And I sought to put a plaster on a bleeding wound, without thinking the consequences through."

"I don't know if your regrets are enough."Verso admits, and Renoir tries not to be disappointed again. His son is trying. Is being honest as requested. If they cannot heal as a family, then Renoir will gladly let his children heal away from him.

"I understand. I do not expect your forgiveness. I just wish for you to be happy. Tell me what you need, and I'll do my best to provide."

"I don't know."Verso writes again. A few droplets of water fall on the notebook page, and Verso wipes them hurriedly before continuing. "I don't want to lose you, but I don't know how to forgive you."

Renoir gently lifts a hand to his son's face, wiping away new tears as he cradles his cheek. "I don’t have the answer. I can only offer you my love, and hope that we can build anew."

He feels Verso leaning into his touch, before turning back to his stained notebook.

"I will need to talk to maman."

"It doesn't have to be today, if you don't feel up to it." Renoir gently says. Any conversation with Aline will be hard enough, and Verso is already upset.

"Are you still fighting ?"

Renoir tries not to wince. Evidently, their arguments in the evenings hadn't been quiet enough. "Your mother and I have had many disagreements, but they shouldn't be your problem to handle."

"I'm not a child."Verso frowns, and Renoir has to refrain from smiling.

"I meant that you should focus on your own recovery and not burden yourself with your mother and my marital problems."

There's a chuckle, sounding wet and cut too short, but here all the same. Renoir smiles. "Do you want to talk to her now ? She's in the greenhouse, I believe. Or, you can come back another day."

Verso straightens, wiping remaining tears from his face with a stubborn expression. "I'll go see her. Hear what she has to say."

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Renoir isn't invited to the greenhouse, Aline and Verso keeping their conversation to themselves. He only sees his son's exhausted face an hour later, face wet with new tears but eyes more peaceful. He smiles at Renoir as he promises to answer messages from his parents before leaving.

He finds Aline still in the greenhouse, her own tears not dried yet. When she sees Renoir, she doesn't frown in anger. Instead, she waves him closer and allows him to sit next to her on the bench.

"Verso is angry at me." Aline whispers, the words visibly paining her. "For what I did to Alicia."

"She prefers Maelle, now." Renoir can't help but correct gently.

Aline scoffs, then shakes herself. "Yes, he told me. Maelle. It suits her, doesn't it ? She was always Verso's little princess. Sometimes, I wonder. If it had been someone else in the manor that night..."

"He would have done the same for any of us. You can't blame Maelle for being loved by her brother."

"Is that what I did ?" Aline asks. She looks at the canvas in front of her. There are five people depicted, playing in a garden. Even unfinished, Renoir recognises the scene as a memory of happier times. "I couldn't look at her, Renoir. Every time I did, I only saw the flames. I couldn't offer her the comfort she needed, not when Verso- He said he never blamed her, Renoir, but how could he not ? When her foolishness destroyed him ?"

"Maelle made a mistake. One that had harsh consequences, but a mistake nonetheless. But we didn't, Aline. We didn't make mistakes, when we chose to banish her from the family, first you then me. We made those choices, and we're the only ones to blame for them. And yet Verso is choosing to take the steps to heal, instead of forsaking us."

Aline looks at him, finally turning from her canvas. "What about you, Renoir. Do you also want to fight for our family, or leave us- leave me ?"

Her words are accusatory, but her tone shows too much hurt for them to land as she intended. "I cannot imagine a world where I am happy without you, mon amour. But I can't keep hurting you by my very presence." Renoir answers carefully. His words more than a week ago had landed closer to her heart than he had intended. He wonders if she's been ruminating them all this time, refusing to take the first step in bringing their argument back to the table. "I have talked with all of our children, and all of them want to try and mend our family. I want to try, even if they may never forgive me."

He doesn't ask the obvious question, and Aline doesn't answer. She falls silent, turning back to her canvas. Her eyes linger on each figure in turn. The two adults in the paintings are off to the side, his counterpart embracing his wife as they watch their children. Clea is drawing, carelessly sitting on the ground, while Verso is playing with a barely walking Alicia. It had been their first extended vacation after Alicia's birth, and she had loved looking at the sights, giggling in her parents’ arms.

"How can we move forward ?" Aline finally breaks the silence. "How can we forgive each other ?"

"I don't know." Renoir admits, as he did to Verso. "But I still want to try. I have enough regrets as it is, I cannot add this one."

"I suppose we both owe this to our children. Try, and hope that we don't fail again."

There's a gentle touch on his hand, and Renoir looks down to see Aline interlacing their fingers. It doesn't feel like forgiveness exactly.

But it feels like trying.

He holds her hand, and smiles.