Hutch sat silent in his room as Julian left, closing the door behind himself. In the moment Hutch had no idea of what to say, his mind running though Julian's words, taking in what he'd said, seeking any truth they could find.
"I didn't betray him," Hutch sighed and returned to unpacking the bags, while muttering to himself. "Of course, he would idolize Casimir; he's, his father. Fathers should be the heroes in the eyes of their kids. At least he's motivated to get me out of here, though. Is that really the worst thing?"
Gathering the empty bags, he set them on the top of the dresser and took the pillowcases off the pillows on his bed.
"But why would he think I was the villain?" he questioned himself as he put the pillows on the top shelf of the closet. "Obviously Cas isn't the same now as he was when he was the King, but that's to be expected. Not that I can explain it to Jay without it sounding like a lame excuse for him to like me."
With an exasperated groan, he removed the duvet cover, and put the duvet off to the side, before stripping down the bed.
"Whatever. Everyone else is fine with me being here," he grumbled as he set his new pillow at the head of the bed. "I just need to stay focused and useful. What difference does it make how he thinks of me?"
Picking up the new sheet set, he pulled them from the packaging. The fabric was soft, thick, smooth, and cool to the touch.
"Oh wow," he exclaimed, snuggling the fabric to his cheek. "So soft. I am so, going to enjoy you later. Probably should have left you downstairs in the laundry room though."
Gathering up the packaging, he stuffed it all into one of the larger bags, and then put all the bedsheets and the two duvet covers into the laundry basket.
"Dammit. That little shit got into my head. Now, this is going to bother me for the rest of the night. But I know I wasn't the villain. I had to stop Salvador, king or not. He just doesn't understand that." Lowering his head, he rubbed at his forehead. "Then why does saying that out loud make me feel like shit?"
Silencing himself, he set the bag of trash on top of the laundry basket and carried it all downstairs. After putting on the first load of laundry, he emptied the bags of clothes, and removed all the tags and stickers. With the cloths sorted, for future loads, he gathered all his trash together and put in the bin, before heading it to the kitchen, where he washed his hands and turned his attention to making dinner.
It was easy for him to bury his uncertainty when he had other things to think about. Focusing on organizing the ingredients he needed and preparing them with the proper measurements and cuts, to how hot to get the pan on the stove and preheating the oven, while repeating 'make it amazing,' like a self-fulfilling mantra in his head.
He wasn't entirely certain of where everyone else had gone off to, but the house itself was perfectly quiet aside from the sounds of his cooking in the kitchen, which made the sound of someone coming in through the side door all that more apparent. Looking up from the cutting board, he hadn't expected to see Clara making her way inside juggling two garment bags and several other bags with large boxes in them.
"Hey, welcome home," he said, setting down the knife he was using. Wiping his hands on the apron he was wearing he rushed to her side, saying, "let me help you with that."
"I would be forever grateful," she remarked as he took the bags from her hand.
"Looks like we both got to do some shopping today."
Clara huffed and straightened her back. "Well, hello there!" she exclaimed with a jovial smile. "Thank you for that timely rescue."
"Not a problem. Where can I put all of this for you?"
"Let's take it into the living room for now. I'm still not sure exactly what is what, and I know mom's going to want to look it over," she explained as they carried everything into the living room.
Clara set the garment bags over the couch, and Hutch placed the bags he was carrying, gently onto the floor, still uncertain of what they might contain.
"So, I know we weren't expecting you for dinner, but since you're here now, can I entice you stay?"
Clara tapped at her chin and narrowed her eyes. "I don't know…" she hummed. "That looked awfully suspicious in there. Are you sure you know what you're supposed to be doing with all of that?"
"For your information, I'm an excellent cook. You can ask your father if you don't believe me. I know this will be the first dinner of mine you've ever eaten, but I really need this to go well, otherwise your mother might not hire me on as the family butler. Considering I just saved you from catastrophe, could you help a poor guy out with a massively biased opinion?" he asked, hands clasped before his chest, brows raised into the poorest impression he could of a sad puppy.
"Fine, but if I get food poisoning and have to miss out on the party because of you, I'll make sure you never work as a butler in this city again!" she replied with a jest filled warning.
"Oddly enough, I believe that would be reasonable. I will leave you to," he waved his hand around at the mountain of items, "sort this out. If you need me, you know where I will be."
"Thanks, and I am looking forward to eating a wonderful dinner," she remarked, her smile turning warm and pleasant. "Any idea where my mother might be?"
"Aside from the general, outside, I'm afraid I don't know."
"No worries. They are bound to show up eventually."
"Damn straight. I'll carry them to the table on wafts of my delicious dinner. Just crack a window when you want them to arrive," he remarked, waving his hands through the air as he retreated into the kitchen to get back to work.
As expected, a few minutes later, Celina came into the house, rubbing at her hands.
"My word it's getting cold out there," she commented as she came into the kitchen. "It feels like it's about to snow again at any moment."
"Would you like me to put on some water for tea?" Hutch offered, while stuffing the cavity of the chicken in front of him.
"That would be delightful, but I'm thinking hot cocoa might be a better."
"I'll let you know when it's ready. There's someone waiting for you in the living room, who really needs your help," he said, causing Celina to squint in an apprehensive manner.
"I'm not sure I like it when you're cryptic," she commented before walking away.
Hutch smiled to himself when he heard the women chirping happily in the other room.
"You're home!"
"I am!"
"Is this?"
"It is!"
"What an incredible surprise!"
There was an excited amount of squealing and then the conversation lowered until Hutch could only hear faint mutterings amidst the sounds of zippers, bags, and boxes.
With the chicken in the oven and the water boiled, Hutch prepared a tray of hot chocolate, and carried it into the living room, where Celina and Clara were still going through the packages and discussing the finer details of the upcoming New Year's Eve party.
The packaging was spread out across the floor, bags were piled beneath the table, and the garment bags had been sealed back up and placed over the back of the couch. Clara was quick to move the handbags from the top of the table when she saw Hutch come into the room, and once a spot was clear, he set down the tray and took a seat on the floor.
"So, I managed to get this one measured for a suit earlier today. If only your father was as cooperative. One of these days he's going to put on his tux, and it isn't going to fit anymore," Clara remarked, as they each took one of the mugs of hot chocolate, topped with a mound of whipped cream.
"In my defense, I had no idea what was going on," Hutch admitted.
"If you had, would have protested?" Clara asked of him.
"Absolutely not," he answered, hand over heart. "I just would have looked a little less lost while going through it."
"Oh, please. He's exaggerating. But now that the shop has your measurements, I can have as many suits as needed made specifically for you."
Clara giggled, wiping some cream from her lip. "I can hardly wait to see you lined up with Dad and Jay. The three of you are going to look spectacular."
Hutch chuckled along with her. "I'm certain we will. But I promise you this, nothing could compare to seeing us in our ceremonial armor. Shoulder to shoulder in matte black armor, draped in heavy green cloaks, phla'qoa feathers standing upright, like mohawks down the center of our helmets, swords hanging at our sides. We were a sight to see."
"Indeed, we were," Casimir remarked as he came into the room. "But I promise, the tuxedoes are far more comfortable than our armor."
"We'll have to see about that," he replied, feeling a touch nostalgic at the thought of the times he had spent with Cascel and the first division, decked out in their armor, complaining about the nobles while attending parties at the palace.