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It starts shortly after Kaylie accosts him in his bedroom.
Of all the possible ways that encounter could have gone, this is perhaps the worst. (It definitely features in the top three, that’s for sure; Scanlan still hasn’t forgotten that one time he went home with a charming halfling lady only to wake up with a throbbing, swollen bruise on the back of his head, and his purse, lute, and dignity taken from him.)
It is also, somehow, the best way it could have gone. It takes him a while to see that, but once he does, he realises just how desperately he needed it. So, he starts thinking of ways he can change and do better--not quite certain if it’s for her, or for himself.
Really, it’s probably for both of them.
After they flee from Emon and the initial confusion and panic, courtesy of the Chroma Conclave, have subsided a bit, he seeks Vax out.
He’s not sure how to approach the subject, so he goes straight for it. “So, Vax, you and your father aren’t on the best of terms, are you?”
Vax scowls at him in confusion. “That is a way to put it, I guess. What’s this about, Shortie?”
Scanlan waves his hand dismissively. “I’m wondering: if there was one thing you wish your father had done for you when you were younger, what would it be?”
“Huh.” Vax’s eyes bore into him. “This is about Kaylie, isn’t it?”
Scanlan sighs. Oh boy. “Yes.” He can’t believe he actually expected Vax to not pick up on it. “It’s--”
“The most obvious thing, I suppose, is what every child wants from their parent: attention. I used to wish father would find some time to spend with his me and Vex. Teach us to shoot arrows or cast magic, or even sit down to have dinner with us. Of course, that was before I realised he was a colossal shithead .”
“I don’t think Kaylie needs me to teach her anything,” Scanlan says. It’s hard trying to keep the sudden sadness from creeping into his voice.
“It doesn’t have to be that, just, you know, some quality time with her!” Vax grins a little bit. “Preferably not in a jail cell.”
“I did break us both out,” Scanlan points out.
“Sure did, Shortie, sure did.” Vax ruffles his hair and walks away.
Scanlan needs to sleep on it.
When he wakes up, he has an idea.
If anyone pays any mind to his sudden insistence to make an excursion to the Vasselheim foods market, they don’t show it.
Halfway through walking around said market and staring at types of fruit and vegetables he doesn’t know the names of, Scanlan realises he’s very ill-equipped for this sort of thing. He should have made Keyleth come with him.
He makes do. Convincing Vanessa he needs to use the Slayers’ Take kitchen is the trickier part, but she finally relents with an exasperated sigh and a handwave. Not before an extensive conversation that devolved into downright pleading on his part, however.
Scanlan Shorthalt is not above a little begging from time to time, if the matter is important enough.
It’s early evening when he’s finally done. He steals a clean towel, which he throws over the pot, and marches out of the kitchen and straight to Vax’s room.
Vax opens the door, looking dishevelled and a bit surprised, and Scanlan slides in through the small crack.
“I hope you’re hungry,” he announces. He places the pot on the bed and uncovers it with a flourish.
Vax peers over his shoulder. “I was hungry, but I’m finding myself losing all of my appetite quite suddenly.”
“My mother used to make a stew for me when I got sick. It’s one of my fondest memories of home, and of her.”
“Did hers also smell like a three-day-old cadaver?” Vax asks him, but when he sees Scanlan’s glare, he heaves a sigh. “Fine, fine. I will try it. If I die, please tell my sister she can’t have my fucking boots.”
He takes the offered fork and scoops up some of the brownish lumpy mass. He lifts it up to his mouth, sniffs at it suspiciously, and goes for it.
In the next thirty seconds, Scanlan gets to experience the sight of Vax’s pale complexion turning purple, followed by a sickly yellow, before it settles on a green that seems frankly unnatural.
Vax swallows with difficulty. “Oh my fuck ,” he mumbles through the hand he’s pressing to his mouth.
There have been times in Scanlan’s life when hearing that phrase meant he was doing something right, but he somehow gets the feeling this isn’t one of them.
The second time he tries to cook, he ends up having to hold Vax’s hair back while he empties out the contents of his stomach. Between heaves, Vax vows he is never going to touch Scanlan’s cooking again.
Still, the next time Scanlan appears at his door with a steaming pot, he lets him in again. “You owe me, you know,” he says before digging in. He grimaces. “You owe me big fucking time.” That’s all he can muster before sprinting out of the room, hands clasped against his mouth.
The next few times go a bit better (at least there is no throwing anyone’s guts up involved), and Vax hasn’t resorted to his stealth shtick to avoid him, which Scanlan takes as a good sign.
He persists. It’s just a thing he does.
It’s about a month and a half later when he realises the smell wafting off the pot reminds him less of their Bag of Holding and more of a tavern.
A cheap seedy tavern, but a tavern nonetheless.
He scurries down the familiar hallway towards Vax’s room. Before he can raise his hand to knock, the door cracks open.
“Scanlan, I fucking love you to bits, but please--”
“I think I’ve got it,” Scanlan interrupts.
Vax’s face appears in the crack between door and jamb. His eyes narrow suspiciously, but then he caves in. The door opens.
“One thing that is somehow not clear to me,” Vax says as they’re walking into the room, “is why you keep trying to poison me with your cooking.”
“I have a very sensitive stomach,” Scanlan shoots out.
Vax throws him a sceptical glance. "Right." He sighs. "Okay then, let's get this over with."
As always, Scanlan has a fork at the ready. Vax takes it and gingerly scoops up a forkful.
Scanlan holds his breath.
Several moments pass, Vax's thoughtful chewing the only sound in the room. "Well," he ventures eventually, "I imagine one of my cloaks would have a similar taste if I were to make it into a stew." Even as he says that, he takes another bite.
Scanlan beams at him. "Yet I can't help but notice your current state of not even slightly vomiting."
"You have a keen eye, Scanlan Shorthalt," Vax retorts, but it doesn't sound nearly as pretentious around a mouthful of stew.
Scanlan doesn't comment on what's barely concealed appetite on Vax's part, he just lets him eat in peace.
He does try it, too, at Vax's repeated insistence. The dish is nothing like his mother's, not yet, but he has paid for many a meal that tasted worse than this one.
Plus, Vax practically licks the pot clean, so Scanlan writes it down as a definitive success.
When they’re done eating, Vax grows silent. He's nibbling on the fork, brow thoughtfully creased.
Scanlan waits for him to spill the beans (figuratively; at this point it seems fair to assume Vax won't be spilling any literal half-digested beans or other food this time.)
"All things considered, Shortie," he starts after a few minutes, "you know fuck-all about being a father."
"I would be offended if that was anything less than completely true."
"That said," and Vax leans forward and grabs his forearm, "I know you care a lot, and that is so fucking important. Even though it has very nearly killed me on multiple occasions this last month."
"Now that is a bit of an exaggeration."
" Maybe. Point is: If Kaylie gives you a chance, she's bound to appreciate it." Vax looks at him from under his eyelashes, smiling a bit. "And if she's anything like you, I know she’s going to."
Scanlan sighs. His heart fills with gratitude for Vax for saying this, and for bearing with his terrible cooking when he had every reason to blow him off.
He’s not sure he believes the words, but it’s a start. He returns Vax’s smile. "I hope you're right."