The long pause in activity should be expected.

Celia Blackadder has never been the most present mother. It was expected. Her own childhood had been spent under the hand of hired help, seeing her parents being a rare and daunting thing that always ended up filling her with disappointment as well as dread. Her treating her own children in such a way should be expected.

It is not the absence of Andy Blackadder that draws her to to the study. His absence is how it should be, how she was raised was proper; no, she simply needed one of the books from there.

She comes into the room just in time to see the second book arc through the air, hit the fireplace and start to burn.

"Andrew!" She bites out, harsh and warning, before storming over. She is quick to kneel down and take both if his little hands in hers, pulling him around to face her. "Andrew Blackadder, what on Earth do you think you're doing?" Her tone is sharp and low, yet she does not yell. Blackadders not yell. They wear disappointment on their sleeves and rub noses in shame. She will not. Yell.

Celia tightened her grip a bit to squeeze, not enough to hurt her son, but then she pulled her hands away. A hand was raised up to rub a thumb under his eyes, smudging away any traces of tears she could reach. "Andy, we both know you're too smart for lies." While still stern, her voice was softer now. "And clean off your face. You know how grandad gets if he sees you with tear tracks." Blackadders don't cry. the man's voice spoke in her mind on cue.

With the issues mostly resolved, the thought crossed Celia's mind to leave Andy Blackadder with one of the maids and go about her work. But, in one of the rare times she had some pull of motherly instinct, she stood back up and offered her hand to her son. This time of his own violation, not forcing his hands into her own like before.

All things considered, Celia Blackadder was a terrible mother. She was distant and cold in her affections, keeping her heart closed even to her own flesh and blood. To many who looked from the outside in, while she certainly gave her children everything they needed to survive, her lack of love and emotional distance were clear even to the casual observer.

But Celia did love her kids, even if she didn't show it well, even if admitting it even to herself was sometimes like pulling teeth. And in the future, Andy must have had some bit of care left for her when she would go missing. This, perhaps, could be one of the rare moments of affection she showed instead of another example of her inept mothering.

"It's almost lunchtime. Have you eaten yet? Let's go get something."

"Do you know why I was upset?" When her hand isn't taken, Celia pulls it back. She won't force it on him. Instead, she straightens up and goes to wait by the door, so that Andy Blackadder can follow him into the kitchen. It was better for him to let him figure out things on his own.

But, then Celia would need to assess for herself why she had been upset. The reasonable thing would be that playing with fire was dangerous, and Andy could have gotten hurt. Or, perhaps started a larger fire that spread to more of the house. Yet, Celia was also upset over the books themselves being destroyed. They were precious in a different way. She wondered if that made her a bad person.

"Can you make it up onto the stool on your own?" She motioned to one of the tall chairs at the kitchen's island counter as she moved over to the fridge. She was a tall woman and sometimes had trouble getting into the seats. Andy was only seven. But, she was sure he would figure it out. He always managed to get into things as it was.

A kettle was pulled from a cabinet and filled with water, placed on the stove to warm. Then a pan and the makings of a cheese toastie- Celia was not an adept cook but she could at least manage very simple things. "Do you want a biscuit with blueberry or strawberry jam?" She was pretty sure they still had some of those in the cabinet.

"I can in theory." Celia had never baked her own biscuits. The ones she was offering to Andy Blackadder were ones that the cook had made yesterday, all tidied up and placed in tins to eat at their leisure. She had never been one for sweets, but- she plucked a small plate from the cabinet, slid the cheese toastie on and placed a single blueberry biscuit to the side. This was placed in front of Andy before she poured a cup of hot water, a tea bag placed inside and offered to the boy as well.

Celia kept her back to him, taking extra time and care as she started another toastie for herself; more just to mull things over and kill time than for the act of it itself.

"If something had happened, you could have gotten very hurt; even with your Pokemon there with you." She finally said, bringing the topic back around to the books and the fire. She decided to just bury the deeper feelings, the more selfish ones, for now. She didn't want to face them, let alone try to explain them to her son. "I don't want you to be hurt." Which was a truth, deep down, she did care for Andy. She did love him. She wanted him to be happy and avoid pain. So why did it still taste like a lie as she said it?

A small frown pinched Celia's face.

"Close your mouth when you chew. And let your tea steep." She still did fetch the milk and sugar, placing it where he could reach. Her own tea was fixed, sitting before her with the toastie on her plate, as if waiting. Chewing on her words to Andy Blackadder.

"Epitaph," She started, and it was clear she was trying to be gentle. Trying. Celia was not a good mother but occasionally she did try. "Was trying to make you feel better?" Repeated, to make sure she heard right. "Why was he trying to make you feel better, Andy?" And she tried to keep her tone light and any accusations out of her tone.

"I see." Celia said, as if she really understood and was not left with more questions. She took a dainty bite of her food, chewed it slowly.

"What made the book so sad?" Fingers were dusted of crumbs over her plate, a napkin plucked from the container to remove any grease; she hated the texture of finger foods.