ONE SHINY GUINEA

A/N: Hey Guys, good news and bad news. The good news is this chapter is huge so let's all rejoice. I suggest you savor it in small appetizing portions because here's the bad news: everything is on permanent hiatus until I find out how busy my student life is gonna be. For a further explanation please see my profile.
M-rated, just like the story.
Other than that, I just want to say thank you to all who read faithfully during my little stint of fanfic writing. And of course to everyone who reviewed and alerted and favorited and blah blah blah. I'm glad you enjoyed the stories.
I leave you now with the reverse of Illegitimate.

That's what could've happened, but how about this?

One Shiny Guinea

Chapter 3

Six Years

The door swings open. Movement stunting because the corner hits her foot before she pounces back. She's unseen behind carved and catered wood, just the pads of tiny fingers clamping around the bulbous doorknob. He helps her steady the shuddering slab, gives it a shove because the handle is level with her head. She has her mother's height.

When he steps inside the house, musty with the July heat, her tiny body is clipped to the back of the door like a Christmas decoration. Caramel hair collected in a thick ponytail, the end flipping out. Pale arms straining against the dark mahogany. She's wearing a tiny purple tank top patterned with yellow sunflowers and a pair of jeans that end halfway down her shins, the same sunflowers embroidered in the denim.

She tries to close the door with same method used to move giant slabs of limestone across the desert. Head bowed to her bare feet. The mat clusters under the rim, hinders the already difficult task as it bundles and stutters across the hardwood floor. Subtly sticks his hand to the top of the frame, jabs it once when she rams into it and it closes. She tucks some longer bangs behind her ear, hands fall to her hips and she shakes her head as she sighs at the difficult door. She and the door should star in a sitcom. He'd always watch.

"Daddy." Grins and hugs his leg. Missed it. The contact with her. Finger fans out her bangs disheveled from the battle. She rests the tip of her chin at his thigh. A bit small for her age, the doctor told him last time he was privileged enough to be at a visit. A goddamn doctor's visit is a privilege. "I missed you."

"I missed you too." Holds underneath her scrawny arm and lifts her into his. Gathers her against his chest and grins as she strangles him in a hug, tiny face nuzzling his cheek. Tiny heart beating underneath his hand. Adjusts her ponytail, hair longer than two months ago. Two months. "We're going to have fun this weekend. We'll do whatever you want."

"I drew you a picture." Dark blue eyes sparkle, hands press against his chest and she beams. Can't contain her excitement. He's surprised he got through the door without the picture being thrust into his hand. The thing is, he wants it. Wants to frame it. To put it on his fridge which is already a veritable collage of her baby pictures and drawings. Or in his locker, a smaller, more cramped collage.

"You did?" Toes off his sandals. Arms still full of his daughter because two months is too damn long to go without seeing her. Without being able to hold her. It's bad enough he can't see her every day, especially at her age when something new happens every day. Was worse when she was a baby. Something new happened every hour and he missed most of it.

Nods, lips pursing together as she leans her body forward. Arm relaxing around his neck, his fingers floating to hold hers. She points with her spare hand towards the coffee table. "Over there."

The house is still ever her house. Baby or no baby. Daughter or no daughter. Boyfriend or no boyfriend. The only difference, aside from their daughter, are the few wicker toy boxes bordering under the front window. Everything gets played with and then put away. If it doesn't it disappears. He has toys littering the main room of his apartment from two months ago. She's the stricter one. Can't be strict when he only sees her on the weekend, supposed to have her weekends.

Steps between the couches, quilt folded across the back in perfection. Throw pillows set at definite angles. But on the coffee table among the novel and the TV remote is a crayon colored picture. It's a gray swirl, with gray extremities set on a green field with brown forks and a yellow dab in the background. It's an abstract mess and it makes him smile, because it's obviously an elephant. "That is a perfect elephant."

Claps her hands and hugs his neck while he still stares at the gray blob. That could be a trunk and those might be ears, but they might be the seventh and eighth legs. Plump lips fall straight in mourning as she points a finger to the trunk. "Steve said it was an airplane."

That's because Steve's an asshole. One who doesn't deserve to be in this house or in their lives. Wishes his daughter didn't have to put up with him. Didn't have to wake up with him there. Somehow he gets to be present for things he has no right to. Gets to have supper with her every single night. On what planet is that considered fair. "That's because Steve is stupid."

She giggles and rests her head against his shoulder. Steve bashing is something he's sure they'll enjoy for years to come. Jules always gives him shit, tells him not to badmouth her boyfriend in front of their daughter, but he can't help it. The guy tries to replace him when he still exists and does a half-assed job at it. All he can hope for is that she's on his side during her rebellious teenage phase.

Kisses her forehead and fixes her bangs again because there's a small part in them. "It's the best elephant I've ever seen."

"Talia?" Jules bounds down the stairs. Bare feet shrouded under the billow of a dress, but their rhythmic slap echoes through the room. "Talia?"

"Take it easy, she's with me." Stands from crouching by the coffee table, Talia's legs swinging off his lap as he examined her picture.

"Jesus." Holds a hand to her flushing chest peeking out from a wine hued strapless dress. Pale expanse of a collarbone and the perfect hint of cleavage. Hair twisted up in a bun, fountain of free wisps hiding the clip. Calms at their daughter in his arms, but then her brows grow course. "What have I told you about opening the door?"

"Relax Jules, it was just me."

"Yeah, until one day it's not. Until one day she says 'Daddy' and a guy who wants into the house answers 'yes'."

Talia sags in his arms. Face turns into his neck in humiliation. Feels the heat from her flushed cheek against his skin and he bumps her once with his arm. "Oh Tally, it's not your fault." Glares at Jules while rubs her back, flips her ponytail.

"Oh Baby, Mommy's not angry at you." Both move towards each other; meet on the frayed edge of the area rug. Jules curls close to his side, long neck bare and the color of ivory. Chest absolutely flawless as she caresses the back of Talia's buried head. Smells her aroma, her scent, the perfume which adheres to his skin. Licks his lips inadvertently at the sight of painted red lips, the slender fingers coaxing their daughter from hiding. "I—we just don't want anything to happen to you."

So distracted by the strands of hair tickling her neck, the shadows of strands, he doesn't notice his cue and gets an elbow in the ribs for it. "That's right; Mommy and Daddy love you very much. We don't want you to get hurt."

"So?—" Jules stares at him holding her arms out in an empty gesture. Like they're playing charades and he's supposed to guess what she wants him to do next. It's basically how they co-parent.

"So?—" Talia stares up at him. Ocean blue eyes misty from near tears caused by something that wasn't her fault. She was just as excited to see him as he was to see her. They've both taught her about strangers. About the bad people in the world. Taught her from the youngest age possible. Because they've seen everything.

"So what should she do, Sam?"

"Oh, wait for Mommy to open the door." Talia nods at his words of wisdom and Jules kisses the back of her head. Turns away, attention moving to the bag and stuffed elephant their daughter's bringing for the weekend. Hips swivel tightly within the dress.

Presses his lips against Talia's temple and kisses her gently. Feels the muscles run slack as she closes her eyes. "Or maybe Steve should remember that we don't live in Medicine Hat and to lock the front door."

Talia giggles, the high pitch chortle of a Kindergartener. Probably doesn't understand the joke, definitely doesn't understand the entire joke. Just knows that they hate Steve. It's like having his own sidekick and he loves it.

"Sam." It's distinct first and last warning. Voice stern and short, eyes slits as she glances over bare shoulders from the purple cartoon character adorned bag. Her back curves as she bends her knees, skirt of the dress willowing around her feet.

"You look nice." Leans against the back of the couch and uses her probable triple check of the bag as a reason to triple check her out.

"Mommy's going to a party." Talia explains, fingers tapping against his t-shirt, then alternate to tracing the design on the front. His little sidekick.

"A party?"

Jules shrugs, uncomfortable with the whole idea. The dress, the hairdo, the makeup, the shoes she'll be forced to wear to make her at least three inches taller, the idea of him taking their daughter for a weekend. "Some charity thing downtown. Steve's getting honorable mention."

Wants to say a slew of inappropriate names for the awards Steve should be getting. Name the fucking award banquet after Steve. The guy who moved in on his family before the pot had a chance to cool. Hopes he got burned. "Isn't that great for Steve."

"Sam," sighs his name. Not in the angry tone she usually reserves for it. More downtrodden. Fingers massage her forehead as her eyelid flutters. "We're probably not going to be out for that long tonight. I've been fighting a bad headache all day, so if you need—"

"We'll be fine Jules."

"I'm just letting you know we'll be home."

"And I'm just letting you know that I can take care of our—"

"Hey is that Sam?" Steve's voice shatters their fight, which is ironic considering he's usually the reason for all their fights. Wouldn't have a problem seeing their daughter, his daughter, if it wasn't for Jules' boyfriend. What complicates the situation more is Steve's need to be completely complacent when he gets infuriated. When he raises his voice to him, or tries to discuss things with him, Steve just agrees. Like he's already won.

Doesn't respond. Just glares at Jules, because she's the one who's dragging him through this. Who forces Talia to live with Steve. Who cuts short their visits. But he can't hold the grudge against her. It's both their fault. He didn't want a baby, didn't want a concrete family, didn't want a commitment. This is what he got instead. A baby girl who he only gets to see three dozen times a year, and an ex-girlfriend he—he yearns to be more amicable with. Has to sit by and watch Steve own it all.

"Yeah it's me," mumbles it. Just holds Talia, wishes they could just leave. Grab the bags and leave because this is cutting into their weekend. Remembers so clearly the Sunday in March Jules came to pick her up. Asked if he had a second to chat. Thought something was wrong. Thought something had happened to someone at the SRU. Thought she was going to say what he'd been thinking since Talia was born. That it wasn't working, that they were better together. That it was stupid to do this to themselves and their daughter. Instead she said she'd met someone. They were dating. A year later Steve moved in. Four months later and—

"Well hey Sam." Steve's hand slides down the banister, surveys the living room like a king over his land. Smiles at Talia who does nothing in return, and then links an arm around Jules' waist. "Did you tell him yet?"

"Tell me what?"

"Let's go in the kitch—"

"Can this wait until Sunday? Because you're kind of cutting into my weekend with our daughter."

Her plump lips purse in pain from his words. Eyes angle towards the floor and she blinks once. Hand rubs at the back of her neck where tangles of hair tap her skin. "Please, it's important."

"Fine. Five minutes."

"Come on, Kiddo." Steve lunges forward to remove his daughter from his arms. Simultaneously they both flinch back. His arms come up to protect her. Her head ducks down against his neck.

"No. I want to stay with Daddy."

"Your parents need to have a little talk." Steve, face adorned with the biggest grin in the county merely stands a foot away. "We should check your bags, make sure you have everything. Like your elephant."

Talia tilts her head at him because the almost five-year-old knows, and can clearly see the elephant slumped on top of her purple weekend bag. Uses the same glare he gives, inherited from a young age. It questions intelligence and demeans. He's never been prouder.

"Talia, Mommy needs to talk to Daddy." Jules kisses their daughter on the forehead. Her hands holding her plump cheeks, continues speaking with a fakest grin he's ever seen. "Go to the bathroom and make sure there's nothing else you want to take."

Reluctantly, Talia nods. Reluctantly, he releases his daughter, the most perfect thing ever created. Bounces clear of Steve, ponytail propelling, legs pumping as she swerves around him and slams the door to the half-bath under the stairs.

Follows Jules into the kitchen to find the fridge another collage. No baby pictures, those are framed and on the wall or expertly pasted into an album. But there's at least a dozen crayon drawings on the fridge. One definitely of a crocodile, maybe an alligator. Wonders if Talia knows the difference. Should take her to the zoo this weekend and teach her.

"So what's so—"

"Steve got offered a promotion. That's what this party downtown is for."

"Great. Great for Steve." Wants to yell to the bastard obviously eavesdropping on their conversation from where he's perched on the arm of the living room sofa. They can all celebrate what an amazingly fantastic human being Steve is.

"Sam," Voice is so tried, so fatigued and pressed. Sifted and distorted by feelings, by emotions, by conflictions, by fights, by the pain of a headache. "The promotion is in Ottawa."

Shakes his head. Jaw locked, ignoring the nauseous clashing in his stomach coupling with insurmountable rage. "No. No—"

"We're flying out tomorrow morning to look at hous—"

"No Jules. No." Paces around the kitchen quarantined between the island and the rest of the counter. Fingers flit around, tremble in the air, then to wash over his mouth and cradle his chin.

"Sam, you knew this was going to—"

"You can do whatever the fuck you want. I don't give a shit about you. But that is my daughter, and you're not taking her away from me." Won't sit by while she grows up without him. Won't see her once or twice a year and be amazed at what a young woman she's grown into. Listen to her tell stories about things he should've been there for.

"You hardly see her now."

"You won't let me see her. I was supposed to have weekends, then you wanted them. Then you wanted weekdays. I phone and I phone and you won't let me see her."

"She needs stabili—"

"She needs her goddamn parents, Jules. Both of them. Mother and father. Not mother and replacement." Gets hit with the image of Talia crying for him and him being in a different city. Five hours away instead of downtown traffic away. Instead of a car ride away.

"You'll still get to see her holidays."

Hands crash down on the counter. Fingers blanch; dry of pigment from fury. Trying to keep his temper in reins because he knows Talia's in the other room, waiting to go home with him, waiting to have a fun weekend after not seeing him for two months. Two months of him phoning and leaving messages everyday begging to see his daughter. "You do this Jules, and I'll sue you for custody."

"Sam—"

Doesn't have the support system she has. Doesn't have a solid stupid asshole for a partner. Doesn't have the same job flexibility since she's on part-time and been shuffled to Team Three. "I'll change shifts, give up being Team Leader, I'll get a completely different job. There is nothing that I wouldn't sacrifice for my little girl and you can't seem to understand that."

"You're overre—"

"I'm done." Waves her off, won't even look at her. For the first time in their six year disfigured relationship he fully blames her for something. Knows she doesn't want to move to Ottawa, but she remains silent on the subject and their daughter hurts for it.

"Sam, it's not going to be as bad as you think." Steve trails him from behind the safety of the couch. Bastard should. He wants to punch him. He has no right. Absolutely no right. Understands he can take Jules, something he's not fond of, but there's no way they're separating him from Talia.

"Daddy?" Tips her head up from where she's collapsed beside her purple bag, elephant ears folded in her hand, white sandals strapped to her feet unevenly done in her style because she probably didn't want Steve to help her.

"Come on, Tally." Grabs her, the elephant, and the bag in one swoop of his arm. Jules always bitches at him not to carry her everywhere. She's old enough and can use her own two legs to walk. He's carried her since she was a newborn. Never once used a stroller, only used a car seat, well in the car. Holds her because one time he didn't. Thought of himself first and the result broke his heart. Holds her because one day he won't be able to, thought it would be because she would be too big, not because she would be in Ottawa.

Slips his sandals on his feet, feels the pull of Jules behind him. Following him. Knows she's talking and his defense mechanism functions by blocking out every single word she's speaking because he's had enough of her shit today. Opens the door and just before he slams it behind him declares, "Have fun in Ottawa."

"Do you want some cookies?" Tries to read the grocery list. It's in his own writing. It has to be in his own writing. He wrote it, remembers jotting it down while gulping the leftover coffee from the pot before he ran out of the apartment. The first thing is bread. It might be eggs. It might be a mixture of both. Might as well get both.

Sets her in the front of the shopping cart. Legs swinging in excitement, head checking over her shoulder as his hand steadies her foot and fixes the clasp on the side of her sandal. "Can we make them? I like mixing."

His fingers ring around the handle of the cart. "I don't know, Tally. Daddy doesn't know how to make—" Her hands fall on top. Find the grooves between his knuckles. He doesn't even own anything pans that go in the oven. "We'll see what they have."

Unfurls a plastic bag and lets her hold it while he drops some oranges in. Told her to hold it tight once because if she didn't the fruit would fall to the ground. She nodded, he dropped the fruit in and the bag hit the ground. She glanced at him with a twitching, pouting lip and he had to spend five minutes reassuring her he wasn't angry and the fruit was okay. Now every time she braces herself, teeth mash and eyes squint.

Holds her hands as he shows her how to knot it. Sort of knows how to knot. Jules swears she does. Says she forgets to around him. Maybe she just wants him to teach her the proper way. The non-Steve way. Tongue peeks from her mouth as she ties the bag. Contains more air than oranges. After grabbing bananas and apples, they move to the bread.

"Why don't you have a Steve?" Plush elephant sits in her lap and her fingers fold the seam of its ear. Glances up with big, inquisitive eyes when he doesn't answer.

"Why don't I have a what?" Curbs the cart by the giant wall of bread. Endless loaves of bread as far as the eye can see. Her feet flex, toes aim to the floor, and then settle.

"A Steve. Someone to yell at you like Mommy does with Steve when you're not around." Bends the elephant's trunk, tips it forward then back. Waddles it's feet along the handle.

"Well Daddy likes women." Pushes the cart forward a few inches. Can't really blame her for that one. Hasn't ever let any of the women he's been with meet her, because none of them have been that serious. Licks his bottom lip, a little distracted by the mention of household arguments. Excites him a little to know Steve's getting a good verbal sassing. To know everything isn't perfect. His little sidekick.

"Then why don't you have a girl Steve?"

"It's—It's complicated Talia. Daddy works a lot." Suddenly it's like talking to his mom long-distance from Vancouver. How's my granddaughter? How are things at work? Seeing anyone special? Sam, you can't just wait around for her forever.

"Oh. Okay. I thought you loved Mommy."

"I do love your Mommy, just—" Sighs, hand shading his eyes as he grabs a soft loaf of bread. Has to tell Jules not to leave the TV on. Not to let her watch daytime talk shows or wherever she's getting basic psychological inclinations from. "Me and Mommy are friends. I love Mommy like a friend."

And it's bullshit. Complete bullshit that sets off his lie alarms as he speaks it, and probably Talia's too, but she doesn't say anything. Patronizes him in her tap of his hand and nod of her head. "Okay."

Manages to grab a few more things without anymore Steve or familial relationship conversations sparking. But as they reach the refrigerated section for eggs she states. "Taylor wants to be my Steve."

"What?" Grabs the carton of eggs and watches her cuddle the elephant for warmth.

"A boy at scho—"

"What's his last nam—no—no—you—stay, stay away from him." Shakes the eggs at her a few times before he catches his warped reflection in an overhead mirrored bubble at the warehouse doors. Exhales and puts the eggs in the larger part of the cart. "Just—just—just don't touch Taylor. Stay away from Taylor and if he touches you, tell your teac—tell me. You tell me. Stay away from Taylor. Taylor has cooties."

"That's what I said." Giggles, pointing to her boney chest. Elephant still caught in a chokehold.

"Good." Kisses her forehead and grasps her cold hand. Skims his thumb over her fingers as he turns the corner looking for milk and a check out. Surprised that went to well. Might use that in ten years after her first boyfriend. Just replace cooties with herpes. "What kind of a name is Taylor anyway?"

"Can we get ice cream instead of cookies?" Head cranes around exploring the aisle while he retrieves a carton of milk.

"Yeah, sure." Little relieved she would rather have ice cream. Would've gotten her both. Then again, Sunday night when he drops her off he doesn't need get reprimanded from Jules because she feeds their daughter fruit as a snack and he feeds her candy. "What kind?"

"The kind from the restaurant."

"I wasn't at the restaurant, Sweetie."

"Oh, umm." Purses her lips, furrows her brows and crosses her arms in such deep thought. Hand parks at her chin as she ponders aloud, "It had candy in it. And they had colors."

"Smarties." His daughter doesn't know what Smarties are. He's taking her out for Halloween this year. He's demanding to take her out. He'll buy the costume. He'll dress up with her and they'll get every single candy on the planet, eat them all and both call in sick the next day.

Finds a carton buried in the open freezer and digs it out. Wiping the frost of the side, he shows her the picture. "Yes." Taps a finger at the side. "This one. Can we get it?"

"Of course." Forgets Steve is lactose intolerant and that milk and milk products are a myth in that house. No wonder she's so short for her age. Her tiny bones are craving calcium and that jackass is solely denying it to her.

Maybe for her birthday he'll get her an ice cream cake. Watch Steve vomit as they celebrate. It's the gift that keeps on giving really. Pushes the cart out of the aisle and into the normally air conditioned store. Rubs his hands up and down her bare shoulders to warm her. "Your birthday's coming up soon? Do you know what you want?"

She grins. An all knowing grin. The kind of grins evil geniuses use after trapping the hero, stroking a cat and revealing their plan. The kind of grin where her little hands should be steepling together and a deep maniacal laugh escaping her throat. But she only grins and nods her head.

"So what do you want?"

"I want a baby brother."

Screeches the cart to a halt in the middle of the grocery store. Lets disgruntled customers and employees plow their way around him in the mid-Friday pre-weekend rush. "A what?"

"A baby brother. Or sister. But brother more."

"Tally," exhales sharply shaking his head. This grocery trip has been one with his therapist, his mother and teenage daughter all wrapped up in the body of his near five-year-old. "Daddy loves you very much, but that's not happening."

"Why not?"

"Because I don't have a girl Steve for one." Pulls up at the end of a line. Separates his items with a blocker and then starts putting the frozen things on first. "You'd have better luck asking Mommy and Ste—Don't. Do not ask Mommy and Steve. Have you asked Mommy and Steve?"

Deep blue eyes wide, full lips gapping to allow her silent shock at his sudden interruption of himself. Sits still but shakes her head. Ponytail sways.

"Good. Do Daddy a big favor and don't ask them that." Couldn't handle them having a baby. Thought he couldn't handle having a baby, a daughter and then Talia was born and he didn't know how he ever took a breath without her. Knows he won't be able to function with the addition of a Steve spawn. Son of Steve lurking around the house. And then of course when he comes to pick up Talia they'd make him take Steve freaking Jr. too even though he has no parental ties to the kid because he's nothing but a babysitter to them. "Especially Steve. Don't talk to Steve. He has cooties too."

"That's what I said." Talia juts a thumb to her chest again. Eyebrows raised and expression a little cheeky. She's just beginning to understand the concept of jokes. She's hilarious, funnier than all the guys on Team One. More intelligent than them to. Has no kids to hang around with, only adults who psychologically profile people for a living. Wishes he could give her a sibling so she could be a kid with someone.

Chuckles at her, holds her cheek and kisses the crown of her head. Remembers when she was little. Is still little. Remembers when she was younger. Used to play games with her on the couch. Watch her inch forward on her bum from his peripherals and turn slowly. She'd chuckle deeply and bounce, hair short in medium brown curls. Would sit on his lap and have breakfast together. Pick at his cereal. Never had a highchair. Never needed one. "I love you, Tally."

"Love you too, Daddy."

"Aww, is this your daughter?" Cashier, a good five years younger than him has starry eyes over the cuteness of their situation. It happens a lot when they go out together. Women mooning over Talia. Over him. Over them together and the lack of a maternal figure. The thing is he doesn't want any of them, especially when he's with Talia. He doesn't want any of them because they're not the one woman he does want.

Roots around in his back pocket for his wallet and pushes Talia and the cart through to the end of the checkout. "Yeah."

The cashier scans the last item, then leans forward on the metal ledge. The buttons on her generic green polo shirt buttoned down, offering up a lot. "She's so cute."

"How much?"

"What?

"The groceries?"

"Oh sorry."

Finally gets the total out of her and hands her a wad of bills. Feels Talia's cheek press into his arm. Thinks she's hugging, his hand fixing her bangs again, but she leans forward to address the cashier. "He doesn't have a Steve and I really want a baby brother for my birthday."

"Talia." Growls it at her as he grabs his handful of change.

"You're not at work."

Storms out of the store. Molars grind molars as the cart dips from the curve of pavement onto the asphalt of parking lot. Talia sits staring up at him, eyebrows crashing into slants of concern. "Are you mad?"

"I'm not—"

"Don't be mad, Daddy." Hand clasps around his wrist tightly like he's going to shove the cart across the parking lot with her in it and leave. "I'm sorry."

Stops at the back of his SUV, rear lights flash red as he pops the trunk. "I'm not mad. It's just; people should have babies with someone they really love."

"So you do love Mommy?"

Sighs and rests his nose against hers. Her hand touches his cheek as she rubs her nose to his.

In his back pocket, his cell phone rings. Illuminates in the twilight of the parking lot. The sky's swirls of tangerines and flamingo pinks. "This is probably your mother telling me she's home." Or checking in because he left in a rampage. They want to take his daughter away.

Cradles the phone, cheek to shoulder, as he lifts two plastic bags to the trunk of his car. The rustling might be useful, could tell her it's static interference, and then smash his phone so she'll give him at least two hours alone with their daughter. "Our daughter's fine, Jules."

"Mr. Braddock?"

"What?" Doesn't recognize the nasally female voice on the other end of the line. Shifts his shoulder to adjust the speaker as he yanks two more bags out of the cart and shoves them into the back of the car.

"Samuel Braddock?"

"Yeah?" Slams the trunk door shut. Probably a telemarketer. Should just hang up. If it was important they would call back. But something tells him not to hang up. Glances to Talia blowing her cheeks up making trumpeting sounds at her elephant, and something tells him not to hang up.

"I'm Martha Gallant a nurse in the North York General emergency room. You're listed as the emergency contact for a Ms. Julianna Callighan and—"

"What happened?" Hand claps to the side of his face, staples the phone there. The other inadvertently clamps down on the side of the cart, quaking it. Talia stops playing and stares up at him. "Is she okay?"

"There's been a situation and she requested we call you."

Fully dark now, downtown traffic bustles past them, not caring what emergency they're going to deal with. Parked the car in a lot across the street, unbuckled Talia and rushed across the street. Strides quickly up the concrete slope to the automated emergency room doors. Crushes her hand in his as he barrels into the hospital. Her short legs pump to keep up, turn from a jog into a run. "Is Mommy going to be okay?"

"Talia, I don't know." Keeps asking him. Seeking a reassurance he can't give. Can't promise her that Jules will be fine because if he gets here and hears the worse string of words, he's lied to their daughter, and she'll remember it. She'll remember he said everything would be fine and he lied. "I don't know."

Finds the triage desk pillowed behind layers of bullet proof glass. Curly haired, middle-aged nurse flipping through files. Lady on the phone told him to go to the triage desk. Wouldn't tell him what was wrong with Jules, just to go to the triage desk and ask to see her. Speed increases as blurs of waiting room seats, some empty, some occupied, zip past him. Like if one single person cuts in front of him he's liable to bring down the hospital.

Hands slam against the edge of the counter as he braces himself. The older woman looks up, half upset at his presence, half upset he hasn't already told her what he needs. Then he notices he feels unburdened, feels a little lighter than usual. Both of his hands are on the counter. One was meant to be—

Swings around and only finds the glare of industrial lighting against the freshly buffered floors. Scattered people filling seats. Someone with a broken arm. A drunk leaning to one side. A woman holding a baby. But his daughter—

"Talia."

"Daddy."

Hand yanks on the hem of his shirt. Stands perfectly fine, perfectly still beside him. Elephant by the ear in one hand, his shirt in the other. Chest heaving a little from having to run to catch him.

"Don't let go of my hand."

"But you—"

"No. No, Talia." Wags a finger at her, hand cementing her in place by the shoulder. Voice a stern whisper as he looms over her. "When we're out you can't just run around. You could get lost. Someone could take you. I'm already dealing with what happened—"

"You went too fast." Drops the clump of shirt material in her hand. Shuffles back on her feet, wrenching her shoulder from his hand. Face growing flushed and blue eyes shimmering. Chokes the elephant with both hands, brings its head to her mouth sobbing, eyes flooding with tears darkening the top of its head. "I couldn't keep up. You went too fast."

Crouches so he's level with her, no longer casting a shadow over her. Holds his hand out to her, but she flattens herself against the front of the desk. "Sweetie—"

"I'm scared. I don't like it here." Shakes her head. Face hidden by the elephant. Bland bead eyes staring at him. Shoulders convulse as she cries, "I'm scared, Daddy."

"Come here." Fingers graze her side. Feel the overpowering accordion of her lungs and her ribs. Lunges at his open arms, white sandaled feet dangle. Scoops a hand underneath her bottom and cradles her head to his shoulder. Has nightmares, has had them since she was old enough to recognize what they were. Always ends up walking around with her, talking her down from the fantastical dreamscape.

Sniffles against his neck. Calm and quiet. Pretends like nothing happens. It's how she acts. How they both do, her and Jules. It's so eerily similar that it leaves him with the bittersweet memories of caring for Jules during her recovery. Helping her body heal a channel through her chest. The nightmares she had from medications, from pain. How she was finally cleared to start retraining for the team, which meant physical activities, which meant sex. How their very first time in three months the condom broke and they got a daughter. A daughter he thought would mean the end of his life, but became his life.

"I will never let anything happen to you." Echoes his very first words to her. From Jules, to her chest, after some crying he cut the cord. The doctors cleaned her up. Jules held her. Then while they took care of Jules, he got to hold her. Touched his nose to hers and promised her.

Nods as he rubs her back, because she believes him. She should. He'll go down kicking and screaming, in bullets and bombs before a single hair on her head is harmed.

"Can I help you?" Nurse asks, pen bouncing off the desk top on the other side of the glass. Her cheek lumps against a balled fist.

"I'm Sam Braddock. I'm the emergency contact for Julianna Callaghan. They told me—"

"Yes, Mr. Braddock, come on back." There's a buzz, a whoosh, something straight out of science fiction movies as the door locks free. "I'm Martha, the nurse who contacted you."

Holds a hand to Talia's back as he darts through the door. Becomes part of the swiftly moving emergency room. Steps back as someone rolls a gurney by with a badly burned man upon it. Might let his hand press a little harder. "What's going on? Is she okay?"

"Erin?" Nurse beckons with her hand as a younger, skinner woman approaches. Straight red hair and a frail smile. Everything about her appears malnourished. Like a houseplant that hasn't seen direct sunlight in days. "Erin is a social worker; she's going to take your daughter to the family room."

"My daughter is going to stay with me."

"Mr. Braddock." The social worker steps forward, a clipboard in hand. The idea makes him nervous. Like they're doing a checkup on his parenting skills, like this could be used against him in the future. Definitely doesn't want to abandon Talia in a place she's expressed fear of. "It might be a good idea to go talk to Ms. Callaghan, and then ease your daughter in on the situation."

"What situation?"

"Ms. Callaghan sustained injuries to her face. Bruises, a black eye, a fat lip. There's a cut that requires sutures. There's blood. It's not exactly something you'd want your daughter to be exposed to."

"I'm not leaving my daughter alone."

"I'll stay with her the entire—"

"How long is this going to take?"

The nurse's round, deep eyes meet his, unsurprised by his reaction, by his anger, by his fear. Clacks her fingernails once against the chart. "We just have to do the sutures. But every time we try to she becomes agitated."

"How long?"

"An hour at the most."

Groans because he actually has to make the choice. Actually has to choose between. But won't. Can't. Still can't. Has to. "Talia." Nudges her off his shoulder and floats her towards the ground. Hears the magical click of her shoes hitting the floor. Holds her steadily by the waist, frame of her body hidden underneath the flow of her shirt. Hair more than tousled from emotions. "Daddy needs to go help Mommy."

"I want to come." Pushes forward, hand touches his knee. Elephant thrown into his lap as she expects to be whisked into his arms again.

"You can't, Sweetie."

"Why not?" Voice cracks, heartbroken. Talia doesn't throw fits. She doesn't throw tantrums. For a single child of a split household she doesn't make demands. She's not spoiled. She doesn't yell, or scream, or cry for things when she doesn't receive them. But she's always been loved. Always been able to see him or Jules when she asks. Craves love over attention, over material things. Which is why Ottawa won't work.

Fingers fold into the wrinkles in his jeans. Saucer eyes stare at him, like he's about to abandon her. He is, not permanently, not by choice. "Mommy's hurt and Daddy has to go help her."

"I want to help."

"You can. You can, Sweetheart." Clicks the clasp of his watch and shakes it off his hand. Runs a thumb over the gouges in the connecting links. "Me and Mommy need to help her, but we need to make sure you're safe. So Erin is going to take you to a play room for a little bit."

"Like school?"

"Like school. There's going to be toys there, and she's going to be with you the whole time." Talia glances slowly to the social worker who nods her head in agreement. He takes her hand in his, and slips his watch into her palm. Shows the face of it to her. "See the little hand? When the little hand is on the nine, Daddy will be back."

Brings the watch close to her eyes, peering at the numbers, the hands. He points out the smaller hand at the eight for her. Her lips pout for a brief second, but she nods. Bangs sway, and the elephant fused to her side. "Okay."

"I know it's scary, Talia." Tips her chin up, finds the same wide blue eyes. Full of fear, full of hesitancy. "But Daddy wouldn't let anyone hurt you."

Nods again. More self confidant with a purse instead of a pout. "You're going to help Mommy."

"Yes."

"You'll be back at the nine?"

"Yes."

"Then we can all go home?"

"Yes." Doesn't know about that. Where Jules will go, where Steve is. What actually happened to put her in the hospital. But he has an hour to deal with all that. Kisses the crown of her head and watches her grasp lightly onto the red-head's hand as she leads her in the opposite direction down the hallway. She checks over her shoulder, glances at him as the crowd swallows her up.

When he's positive he can't see her, he spins back to the nurse. "Where is she?"

"Exam Room 3." Gives a weak nod of her head and starts surprisingly fast gait for a very stocky body.

"What happened to her?"

"I'm not legally allowed to divulge any details. You'll have to get that information from Ms. Callaghan."

"Is she in pain?"

"Not enough to allow us to treat her." Stops her clean tennis shoes before a door. Horizontal blinds are pulled tight and his stomach clenches like someone kicked him. "She's agitated. Try not to make her angrier."

"Yeah." Isn't even listening anymore. They've know her for a few hours at most. He's know her for almost six years. He knows how to make her angry at the flick of a light switch. Knows how to disappoint her quicker than that. Told him she was pregnant and he left for a month.

Opens the door, and finds her still clad in a wine evening gown drooping to the middle of her back. The lighting in the room casts a shadow across the columns in her spine curving forward as she's rests her elbows on her knees. On her right shoulder there's spatter of what looks to be paint, what he knows is blood.

"Jules?"

Body pinches straight and she wrenches to the side. "Sam? Is Talia—She shouldn't—"

"No. No." Shuts the door behind him, the blinds flutter as he approaches her on the far side of the bed. "She's here, she's with a nurse. I told her I had to help you."

"I'm fine." Hand cups over the injured portion of her face. Can only distinguish fractions of damage. Fat lip protruding like a rip strawberry. The blacks, reds and violets blushing from under her fingers' cover like a field of pansies.

Knuckles knock the gurney baseboard as his hands swing in awkward passivity. Doesn't know how to approach her. What she's comfortable with. Knows how he feels around her, but not how she feels around him. "Then why are you in a hospital?"

"You a doctor now?" Blood in dollops and blows varnish her chest. Over her smooth collarbone. Over the perfect amount of cleavage now sinking in a dress beginning to rot away from her body like the shed skin of a snake.

Wants to remind her, she called him. She was the one who, once again, interrupted his weekend with their daughter to drag him into her shit. But her eye, the one unguarded, imitates Talia's. Saucer big in emotion. In hidden innocence. In terror. Doesn't respond to her quip. Sits at the end of the gurney, far enough away so if anything did happen she would still feel comfortable. "What happened?"

Shifts beside him, not uncomfortable at his presence because she's closer to him, feels the lack of warmth from her exposed skin. Maybe the question agonizes. Arm falls from her face, a maple key in the wind. The action stunts for a second like she disagreed with the nature of it, the honesty of it, but both hands dip into the stretching material across her lap. Doesn't stare at her face. Not to birth more discomfort by gawking at her injuries. Doesn't want to see them.

Bruises lace the wrist of her right arm. Like the crest of an ocean swell eternally crashing against her skin. Eternally biting against her skin. Like something branded her. Heated five fingertips over a bonfire and stabbed them into her body. Without forethought, his left hand replaces her left hand softly stroking to serenity. Snuffing out the heated blue flames. Shocked by his own casualness. Shocked by her allowance of it. Muscles, bones and cords tender under his thumb as he questions with a softer tone, "What happened?"

Head bows forward, she swallows, ringlets from her updo still caressing her neck. "I, um. I came home—we came home early. We came home early." Eyes narrow in pain, in recollection. For the first time he glimpses the right side of her face in eclipse. The black eye engorged red with a scratch through the lid. A deeper cut on her cheek oozing molasses blood, attempting to clot and failing. The circles and flares of colors popping. "I was in the kitchen; Steve was in the living room. Someone came into the house and they shot him. They just shot him. Right in the head."

Fingers twitch, tremble chaotic. Her pupil dilates as it focuses on the privacy curtain. A horrific pallet of colors similar to those sprouting on her face. Colors in waterfalls and tendrils. In vertical wavelengths clashing at each other, violent and primordial. All he can think of is now there's no reason for her to move to Ottawa. Being shot in what Steve considered his own house, must not have been a nice way to die and he feels a surge of remorse. Maybe he should've snuffed his blatant hatred for the man who stole his family a little. But in hindsight, glad it was him and not her. She has a daughter. He lo—cares about her a hell of a lot more than he ever did Steve. Would've broken the code to save her over Steve, both of them know it, which is why they shuffled teams so much. And the bastard probably left the door unlocked.

His hand spreads over her palm. Soothes bouncing fingers. Massages the muscle branching down from her thumb until her hand wilts. Stops its hectic motions, relaxes. Four cold tips bend to consume his thumb. She's freezing. Visibly shaking from shock. Doesn't have a coat because it's humid as hell outside.

"I—um." Head turns to her lap. Silken wine material pulled tightly over the outline of two gorgeous, perfect thighs. They wiggle, shudder. Ripple wrinkles from the dip of her waist down to her knees. "I came out of the kitchen when I heard the shot, but Steve—"

"Jules—"

And she faces him directly for the first time. Blood curving, curling down the side of her face like finger paints. All over the kitchen table, the floor, the newspaper he put down, Talia's shirt and his arms and face. Somehow the page remained white. White, her eye white in shock, fear. Glazed with a layer of tears she doesn't shed because she doesn't blink. "It was clean through his temple. There was gray matter and—and—and." Skews her eye almost closed, eyebrows dive hard. The corner of her mouth droops as she sets her jaw, fingers grasp at his thumb with more strength. "I didn't even get to go to him before the guy whipped me around and shoved a gun in my face."

"What—" Brain forgets his sentence. Focuses on her body. Examines what he can without being obvious. It's hard to determine what happened without asking. Doesn't know if he has the right to. Most of her is swathed in maroon fabric, or daps of blood, or clustering bruises. But her dress sags on the right side, falls further under her arm. Fabric torn and tattered. He can't breathe. He grasps her hand because he can't breathe.

"He grabbed my wrist tight." Fingers drizzle over the bruises stamped into her skin. Sick shadows darkening the wrong squares. "Put the gun to my temple. Started dragging me towards the couch."

"I stepped on his foot and punched him." Straight bumpy line of her lips slowly raise as a reserved smile graces her face. Her eye scrolls over to him on the peripheral and she adds, "Broke his nose."

Shares her grin because he's so fucking proud. Has absolutely no right or need to be, but it's this brash feeling nestling inside of him beside his infinite relief. Steve, a guy who looms over her, is killed on an instant. She's a fraction of the size and fights back with a gun to her head. Did it for Talia, it's the same reason he's pushed himself through dire situations.

"He hit me with the butt of the gun." Points to her right eye, both somehow swollen and sunken on her face. Gash terrorizing the lid. "It hurt and—I fell. Hit me two more times, tried to get on top of me." Can't take his eyes off the disgusting colored curtain because he pictures it. Jules collapsing to the hardwood floors, by Steve's lifeless body. By the couch with the perfect quilt scarf and pillow accessories. "I kicked him in the balls and he dropped the gun. I got it, told him not to move. He did, so I shot him."

Her thigh pads against his. Has shifted closer in her recount. In his lifeless inspection of the kitsch curtain. Silk material cold, skin underneath it probably cold. "Are you okay?"

"Obviously not, I'm in the hospital."

"You know what I mean."

"I was fine with the police. Fine when they body bagged Steve. With having to go to the station tomorrow and defend myself for shooting that guy." Body droops forward. Dress peeling more from her skin. A hollow shell. Gradating shadows linger in the negative space where her skin mingles with the fabric. "But I got here, and everything hit me. The shock. The pain. The fear. Talia. I was alone and I didn't feel safe, Sam."

"You can always call me."

Shuts her eye, hand touching her left temple in passing. The action aborts and her arm falls limp into her lap. Recalls her headache, the one she'd been nursing all day, fighting all day. She slouches forward further and the cups of her dress inhale her breasts. "I didn't want—"

Fingers glide under her dipping chin. Skin isn't soft and smooth like the memories where he's laying his lips against every inch of her. It's sticky from blood and sweat. Gritty from dirt. It doesn't matter because the angle of her jaw still rests easily and perfectly in his hand. "You can always call me."

Settles her eye on his. Let's a single breath live and die before she blinks. Absorbs his compassion. Lips level and grow into a calm grin. Trust, it's something they have, have to have while sharing a daughter, but haven't shared in this intensity for almost six years. Nods into his hand, eye closing peacefully, fingers lounging at his wrist. Feels natural. Feels complete. Like he finally has the other half of his body back.

Three thumps at the door interrupt them. From him just inwardly thanking whoever, whatever, that she's okay. She survived. Sketching out every single detail of her because they haven't been this close in a long time. Not since Talia was a baby. She disengages from his thumb, near a caress bordering her lower lip. Clears her throat and sweeps a hand over her dress.

A woman allows herself into the room. Straight black hair swaying as she shuts the door. Her athletic build flanked by a caping white lab coat. She holds a clipboard at her thigh and raises an eyebrow almost in challenge. "Are we ready for sutures yet?"

It's obvious they tried at least once, probably many times, to get Jules to cooperate with them long enough to stitch her cheek. It's also obvious that Jules fought them off, was sanctioned to the back room, and requested they call him. She requested him. Hasn't requested his presence since Talia was born.

Jules doesn't answer. Knows she won't. Starts to arc forward again into a body huddle. The only time she ever gets submissive is sudden medical situations. At two months old Talia needed surgery for a noncancerous tumor in her lungs. Jules lost all mental capacity. The doctors kept asking them what they wanted to do. Leave it in and chance her growing up with a weak lung or take her to surgery. Jules just paced back and forth holding their gowned daughter like they were at a baptismal.

He said they should do it. She said she couldn't. Knew what it was like to get shot in the chest. How it felt recovering. The doctors kept saying babies are resilient and she kept saying fuck the doctors. Then encroaching their twenty-seventh hour without sleep, while Jules was breastfeeding, Talia started coughing, choking because she couldn't breathe. He told her they were getting the surgery. Jules shook her head, softly rubbed their whooping daughter's back and enlightened that if something went wrong, she didn't know if she would be able to forgive him. He answered it was a risk he was willing to take to save his daughter.

Everything turned out fine. Five hour surgery spent in the waiting room. Her jittery and glaring until they had their daughter back. But Jules, she doesn't like hospitals. Her mom died in one. She can't be relied on to make sound medical choices, which is why he's deferred to. Which is why she requested him.

"Yeah, we're ready."

The doctor wheels over a metal stand from the corner of the room. Sharp implemented tools of destruction enameled in metal and shining in the light. "And you are?"

"Sam, the emergency contact."

"Uh huh." Table light clicks on and flips forward drowning the room in an expansive bright beam. "You'll have to move to the edge of the gurney."

Jules shimmies to the side of the mattress. When he glances down her foot kicks up once, in anxiety, buried underneath the fronds of her dress. He only catches one bare toe. Shoeless. How she descended the stairs a few hours earlier to fret over Talia running out of the house.

"I have to inject the anesthetic. It's going to sting a bit." The doctor's thin fingers hold a vial to the light before she transfers its contents into a syringe. Flicks the end as a few drops bead and fastens her blue gloved hand to Jules' cheek.

His hand snakes into hers, caresses her tapping fingers. The needle plummets into her wound, eye winces closed as the clear contents pump into her face. In her hand his finger creates a horizontal line, connects it to a vertical line.

The doctor jerks the syringe from the gash. Jules laughs once, without the support of sound. Her eye shifts to him, a tear puckers and trips down her cheek. "That's a T."

"Yeah." Grins like an idiot. The doctor with a thick thread ready, is openly judging them. Rumbling her eyebrows and scoffing. "Yeah, it's a T."

Guards her hand in his as the first stitch goes in. Played the same game while she was in labor. To keep her mind of the pain, he held her hand and laced letters into her open palm with his fingers. The only letter she kept getting right was 'T' and they took it as a sign to narrow down the baby names to that letter. In all honesty he was just trying to drive her away from Margaret. From Peggy. Talia owes him.

"I know it—it's really inconsiderate of me to ask." The doctor has her battered face in a vice grip, thumb plowing in the gash as she stitches Jules' cheek like an old leather shoe. "But do you think you could keep Talia for a few extra days? Maybe until the end of the week?"

"Yeah." Perks up a little at the thought of spending more time with her. Could take her to the zoo. To the park. Try to get an extra day off during the week. Take her swimming, watch her flail around with water wings and then just settle for sprinklers. "Of course."

"I want to get the house clean and settled before she comes back." Muscles start to slacken as the solution combats the constant thresher of thread spinning at her face. "I want to get an alarm system installed before she comes back."

"I'll pay for half," huffs it as he slumps forward, elbows resting on his knees. Her hand still inadvertently a prisoner of war. When she laughs at his offer he shakes his head. Wants them to be safe. Both of them to be safe. Wants to dig a moat around the house and buy trained crocodiles. "I'm completely serious, at least let me pay for the labor wages."

Doesn't acknowledge his offer, just glances at him with an almost smile. One he thinks he remembers in the archives of his mind. From when they first dated. No before that. When it was just office flirting. "You're okay with her until Friday?"

"Oh yeah. We'll go to a Leaf's game, the bar, hit up an R-rated movie—"

"Sam."

"We'll be fine. Where are you going to stay?"

"Probably in a hotel downtown. Somewhere close in case she needs me or—"

"Why don't you come stay with us?" Doesn't realize he's still engulfing her hand in his. Holding it like a lost keepsake. She tenses at his suggestions, taking the implications in the wrong manner. Sure there are undertones. They have a child, there will always be undertones.

Slowly rescues her hand from the pit of warmth brewing between his caused by the rapid beat of his heart. Tries desperately to hide the flush gnawing at his cheeks. "Sam, I don't think that's—"

"Like you said, we'll be downtown. You can always get a room if things get to be too much." Just wants to guarantee she'll be safe. For Talia. They're a broken family yes, but she has two parents. Wants to protect the bond she and Jules have like an open flame on a windy day. For him. Because he loves her. He does. Always will. Not as a friend. Not as the mother of his daughter. As Jules, the only woman he wants.

"It's your time with her. I don't want to intrude."

"And you don't think Talia and I worrying about you holed up in some hotel room every five minutes isn't going to distract us?"

"Are you sure?" The doctor does a poor job of hiding her eye roll. Jules doesn't catch it from her bungled right eye, but he does. Like she's thinking he'll be back in here with her in nine months waiting for the safe delivery of a baby. She should be so privileged to touch his imaginary baby. And he should be so fucking lucky to touch Jules at all again, ever.

"Yeah. You can take the bedroom. I'll sleep on the couch. It'll be fun. It'll be like camping."

"Then sure, I mean—if you don't mind."

"Jules, it's fine." Can't help the smile he knows hurts his motives. Really just wants her safe. Knows how she gets after being hurt. How she was after being shot. Not just the physical rehabilitation, but the emotional turmoil. The nightmares. The avoidance. If he's around he can help.

The doctor clears her throat while weaving in another stitch. "I'm almost done here." Sentence complete, but the idea floats midair. The idea that they should scope out relationship problems and what to do next elsewhere when she's not around.

"You should go get Talia." Jules taps his forearm and points to the muted door. "I just want to hold her. If we're almost done—"

"No, of course. I'll be back in a few minutes."

Bounds out of the doorway and back into the hectic emergency room. Addled brain doesn't remember which way he came in and his sandaled feet do a single spin on the linoleum. Left looks promising. But then right has a lot of carts and forward seems like it might be the answer.

"Ms. Callaghan get her sutures yet?"

To his left, the nurse from before sits marking up a chart against the side of the avocado wall. Divots gouged out of it by gurney collisions and nervous nails. "They're just finishing up." He ambles towards her, away from the mainstream flow of personnel racing with gurneys and yelling jargon. "Where's the family room?"

"Down the hall and to the right." Points with the end of her pen to the right hall. Curly hair bundled at her face like winter wear. Nods a thank you but the moment he tries to leave, she beckons him back. "Her prescription is a heavy dose. Is there anyone she can stay with for the first week?"

"She's staying with me."

Smiles a little too intuitive. A little arrogant as she jots something down on the chart. "Go get 'em Tiger."

Doesn't know why he's rushing. They're almost half an hour early. Jules is relatively fine. Talia is fine. They're both safe and with him. They're all going to go home together for the first time since her birth and somehow pretend it's not awkward. Darting around people because he's nervous. Nervous because he's excited. Excited because for once he's completely relieved.

"Talia?" Calls her name from the glass double doors. The room is empty. Two couches scavenged at like a rotting carcass on the savannah by various families waiting in a swarm of anxiety to hear good news. Just praying for good news. Mounted TV distorted in rainbow waves as a reporter speaks in front of some building, muted.

The social worker stands beneath it. Clipboard still strapped to her chest like a bulletproof vest. Wants to tell her they do shit. Wants to tell her doors do shit, especially when left unlocked by stupid fucking paramedics who grew up on the welcoming bosom of the prairies. But he bites his tongue. Thinks Steve would've been educated by being a paramedic in Toronto, would've seen how people harm other people, by accident, by deficiency, for prosperity, for the sheer fun of it sometimes and that's what's scary. Steve's dead and he's mad because what happened to Jules could've been so much worse. It's horrible, makes him cringe and it's a mere teaspoon of what could have been inflicted on her. Doesn't even near the edge of his consciousness where he thinks of what could've happened if Talia was home.

His daughter stares at a painted mural on the wall. A bunch of jungle creatures with bright happy eyes parading by. Hunter and hunted hand-in-hand. Predator and prey happily celebrating something. A lion, a giraffe, a tiger, a gorilla. A snake weaving in at their feet. All in party hats. Talia stands before the elephant. Head hanging back, alternating between gaping at the painting and her own toy.

"Tally."

Perks her head to the side. Holds the elephant by the ear and it slaps against her leg as she bounds towards him. It's wearing his watch as a collar. With a smile she taps the face. "Daddy, you're early."

Groans as he lifts her up. It's almost nine and she hasn't had supper yet. Going to have to get Jules' pills, get settled in at the apartment. Pretend it's not going to be weird as fuck. "I thought you'd want to see Mommy."

"Yeah. Yeah."

Waves to the social worker, who is so idle, so bland, she blends into the final part of the mural. Falls between the couch cushions. Is buried under the constant string of ticker tape at the bottom of the news screen.

"Mommy's very—" searches for the proper word to explain it as he meshes with the traffic of the emergency room once again. All platelets in the same blood stream, exuding from Jules' cheek being sewn shut. "Sore right now."

"Why?"

Index finger presses into his chest. Half interested in the question, half in the bustle of the hospital. Eyes flicker back to his and then to a metal tray, then to his, then to a gurney. Disinterest brought about by overstimulation, hunger and sleep. "Well, um—okay you know when you fall and bruise your knee?"

"Yeah."

"Well that happened, but—to Mommy's face." Realizes the fault in his explanation. How is he supposed to explain to his five-year-old someone hit her mother? It's not something he was actually prepared for.

"Mommy fell on her face?"

"No. Just—Just be gentle." She puckers her lips and squints her eyes in confusion as he stops outside of the door. "Don't hug Mommy hard."

"Oh." Nods and taps his shoulder like she's in on the plan. "Okay."

Opened the door and remembers too late to warn Talia about the black eye. About the bruises. About the fat lip. That Jules is still her mother, despite looking a little different right now. In his mind, Talia would panic, cry until he removed her. Jules would be despondent over their daughter's reaction and somehow he'd have to stitch it back together.

"Hey Baby." Jules grins. Holds her arms open. Sutures are complete. Covert and sleeping under a piece of gauze. Dried blood from her chest and shoulder wiped clean and disposed of. Just puffy clumps of bruises.

"Mommy." Talia duplicates the gesture. Watch adorned elephant swinging, hitting the baseboard of the gurney. Injuries completely noticeable on Jules' face, but completely superfluous to their daughter. He sets her at the foot of the bed and she crawls towards Jules, ready to hug her, but stops short of falling into her arms. Instead taps her knee gently. "There. There."

He shakes his head, chuckling as Jules glances to him for elaboration. Her fingers running through Talia's ponytail. "I told her to be gentle with you."

Jules gasps and scoops Talia up as she claws at the gurney to scramble away. Folds her into her lap, holds her plump cheeks and litters kisses down the side of her face. "Never be afraid to hug Mommy." Talia giggles, catching her breathe and flips to fit against Jules' chest like she has since she was born.

Rediscovers his spot at the foot of the bed while Jules cradles their daughter's head, gently kisses her temple. He nods to her because they're going to have to tell Talia eventually. Sooner rather than later would be good. One day she might just ask where Steve went. "Baby, we have to talk." Angles her head back so she can speak directly to Talia. Their daughter's face immediately loses its joviality, drops into a reproduction of his stern serious grimace. "Something happened to Steve tonight."

"Is he hurt too? Did he have milk?"

"No. No, um—Steve got hurt really bad, Baby." Her bottom lip trembles as the weak restrain on the post medical dilemma emotions booms to the surface. She shakes her head as Talia glances on attentively, hands bracing herself on Jules' thighs. "He died."

He scoots down the bed allowing a few inches between Jules and himself. Finds his own voice too gentle to be real. Has been taught and perfected how to talk to half brained people with guns, people with hostages, strung out people, people powered by vengeance. Can't talk to his almost five-year-old. "Steve was with Mommy when a man hurt her."

Talia blinks harshly. Whips her head between him and Jules. Stares at Jules. The same ridged brows in investigation. Then turns back to him. Little chest pressuring away, flush and a sheen of sweat creeping over her skin. Jules wraps an arm around Talia's stomach, holds her back to her chest. Trying to relax her isn't working and when she finally speaks, her voice pitches, "Why would a man hurt Mommy?"

Inhales a shuddered breath to cover the own crack in his voice. In his heart. In his world. "Mommy and Daddy have told you about strangers." Vehemently nods her head. He talks to her about it every time he sees her. Since she could comprehend, she's known what to do. They've both taught her. Taught her the basics of fighting off someone she didn't know. Foot stomping, biting, kicking in the right place. Things that saved Jules life tonight. "Well he was a bad man."

Wrenches her body around to embrace Jules again. Holds on for dear life this time. Tiny arms grasping, head nuzzling at her chest. "I'm sorry Mommy."

Jules glances at him before touching the top of Talia's head. "Baby, you didn't—"

"It's all my fault. I opened the door."

Hand trails to her ponytail which she swings to cool their daughter off. "That didn't—"

"I don't want you to die." Talia keeps the same strength in her hug. Her head resting just under Jules' left breast, where an armor cracking bullet ripped through her body. Ironic because six years ago he was slumped over her in a hospital bed in the same position saying the exact same words. Tragic because he still feels the exact same way.

"I'm not dying." She sits their daughter up and wipes at her red swollen eyes with a thumb.

"I don't want Daddy to die."

"Daddy's not—"

"I don't want to die." Burrows her head back against Jules chest this time almost convulsing in sobs.

Jules rocks her gently, hand grazing her back as their daughter hyperventilates. "Talia, you're not going to die."

"Steve did."

"You're not." Jules caresses her cheeks softly, slowly. Cups a hand to her forehead to cool her down. Their daughter hiccups as she takes quieter inhalations.

"Well, some day."

"Jesus, Sam."

"You want to tell her she can live forever?"

"You want to try to defuse the situation a little, Braddock?" A little spark buried beneath the submissiveness instilled from medical drama.

"Tally, everyone dies." She lets out a rough sob and attempts to find solace with Jules once again, but he scoops up her scuttling body. "No, no. Come here."

"Everyone dies but there's a plan." Sits her in his lap, just like he did when she was a baby. One hand rubbing slow, dizzying circles into her back, the other consuming the front of her body, keeping it stationary. Tosses her hair off her back, lets her skin breathe. Feels the slowing of her inhalations. "See you've still got to go to school, high school, university, get a job—a safe one, get married, then have babies remember that, watch as they remake a lot of good movies into bad movies. You've got a lot more life in you. You've got nothing to be afraid of."

Releases the easy hold he had on her. Her skin retaining a state of normalcy, no layer of panic induced sweat, no blotches from crying, and no flushes from hyperventilating. Turns a weary head sideways, eyes half teared with concern. "What if it tries to get me before?"

Packs her back up in his arms, against his chest. Hand caresses the back of her head. "Well then it has to go through me first."

Jules raises an eyebrow at him, mouth drawn into a half smirk. "Nice speech."

Thought she might recognize it from the awful days after her first surgery, the brutal days after her second surgery. Her days in the hospital when her mood and self-esteem were more dangerous than her risk for post-op infection. The will to live, the love of life, the reason of being. Why she should even try. To walk, to sleep, to eat, to breathe. It scared him and it got to the point where he barely strayed from her side, from the hospital when she banished him. Just kept telling her she was worth it. She was his life and she needed to get better or he would get worse. "It helped you both, didn't it?"

Dishes land on the counter without so much as a clack. Glances over his shoulder at the muted TV flipping through the second half of a bright cartoon movie. The kitchen loiters in a humble darkness, but the living room bastes in the yellow glow of pot lights. The neon numbers imprinted on the microwave dictate that it's quarter past eleven. Hands gripping the counter he sighs.

Managed to get everyone home—well to his apartment. Had to stop off to get Jules' pain medication filled at a superstore. At that point she slumped in his front seat. Wilted to the door. Told her they would only be a few minutes. Told her to call him on his cell if anything happened, if she needed him, didn't feel safe. To honk the horn if anyone—she cut him off with a weary smile. Told him she would be fine, would come with them, but her outfit would be a wardrobe malfunction. It was half true; the cups of her red lace bra were exposed from within the peeled dress.

Dropped the prescription off and took Talia to get some pajamas. Jules didn't get a chance to grab anything before they took her to the hospital. They're allowed to grab some essential things from the house tomorrow like clothes. Doesn't know what she sleeps in now. When they were together, it was tank tops and pajama bottoms. Asked Talia and she yawned, "Pajamas."

Grabbed a black tank top in her size. Remembers her size from taking care of her, only he didn't factor in the six years and childbirth. Still fits, just a little snug, in the chest. Found the size of pajama pants she needed and Talia picked pink pajama hearts. Can't argue with a five-year-old on patterns for her mother. Jules won't either. The last thing they got was Smartie ice cream to replace the carton melted in his trunk.

After pizza and ice cream, Jules had a shower while he got Talia ready for bed in the half bath by her room. Helped her up on a stool to brush her teeth. Let her pick out purple shorted pajama bottoms with a white flowered t-shirt. She kept asking questions about Steve. Where he was now. If he was in heaven. Where they took him. How he got there. What would happen to his things. He started to get a pressure headache. Ice cream before bed wasn't a good idea.

Finished brushing her hair when Jules exited his bedroom. The only shower in the place is in the ensuite. Talia bounced to her, excited at the idea of a pajama party. Was a few months old when he stopped staying over nights. When she got old enough to separate from Jules for the night. Then the weekend. Would transfer a warm swaddled bundle into his arms at the door, and a diaper bag full of bottled breast milk.

They fell asleep on the couch trying to watch the movie. Finished with a few things in his bedroom and found Jules slanted sideways into the corner, Talia cradled in her lap. Reminded him of the only time she came to his apartment while pregnant. A sewage pipe burst in her house, though she had someone fixing it, she couldn't handle the smell.

Pushed by him in the doorway and threw up in his kitchen sink. Collapsed into the corner of his couch with heaving breathes. Arm thrown over her large, pale stomach, no longer contained in her tank top. "I threw up three times there." He stopped putting together the crib in the mess of a nursery. Started rubbing her stomach until she fell asleep. Until offended and battering Talia fell asleep.

"Alright." Hand nudges Talia away from Jules'. Slips his arms underneath her and scoops her to his chest. Her lashes finally open, fan and tickle the side of his neck. "Time for bed, Tally."

"I'm not tired," gurgles it into the fresh t-shirt he changed into. Hands falling limp at her side and mouth slightly open.

"Uh huh." Rubs her back as she snuggles into his chest. One heavy hand lifting to grasp his arm.

Subconsciously Jules notices the absence of heat and weight from her lap. The mother instinct kicks in and she shocks awake. Bolts from the arm of the couch into a sitting position and flinches her eye while trying to focus. He does what she prefers he do and pretends it never happened. "Here, say goodnight to Mommy."

Jules is finally adjusting to the light and her surroundings as he bends over with their daughter half hanging off of him. Talia's hand touches her jaw as she kisses her cheek. "Night Mommy."

"Night Baby." Jules grins, holds her for a second or two completely blissful. She drops a second kiss to Talia's temple and gathers her hair behind her back before he separates them.

"You should take your pills and go to bed." Nods towards the ajar door to the bedroom, the gaping mouth of gray hazed shadows. Talia hangs an arm around the front of his neck, her head lolling into the crook. "I changed the sheets and left a blanket and some socks out in case you get cold."

"Yeah." Massages her left temple as her eye disappears behind the solace of a pressuring lid. "Thank you."

"No problem." Observes her for a second more because something doesn't feel right. Well they've never all be together in the same house at the same time for this long, so it's a little unnerving. Especially since it's his apartment. But her response is programmed, empty. Obscuring of truth.

Pecks the Talia's forehead as he walks towards her bedroom. Light yellow walls in a kingdom of purple. Kept the paint from when he didn't know what was inside Jules and the color was gender friendly. But Talia picked all the purple. Curtains, bed sheets, a bookcase he painted, a bean bag chair, stencils of flowers on the wall. Just loves the color.

"Eventually she'll have to walk on her own, Sam." Jules voice echoes as she disappears into the darkness expelling from his bedroom. He almost rolls his eyes. It's a half assed attempt at a squabble. Talia's half asleep, he's carrying her to her bedroom and they're in his damn apartment. He'll do as he pleases.

Carries her everywhere because one time he set her down. Had a relapse of his pre-daughter, pre-Jules life and wanted to do something for himself for a change. Was tired of giving up every single one of his weekends to take care of Talia. He couldn't have a semblance of a social life on a weekday night after working an eight hour shift with possible overtime.

Talia was nine months old. Had sandy wisps of hair just long enough to reach the bottom of her ears. Had chubby little cheeks that appled when she stretched her plump lips into a grin. Had intuitive eyes that would watch him, from the car seat, from the couch, from behind a bottle.

The guys, who were just starting to treat him with a modicum of respect again, made fun of him because he hadn't been working out. Skipped the 5am workouts because Talia was just beginning to sleep through the night, which meant he could too. Didn't matter that she didn't live with him, he'd still randomly wake up to a phantom daughter crying.

With the gyms closed after he got off work, and really too exhausted to exercise, and the weekends spent with a baby, he might have gained a pound or two. The guys howled and asked who was the pregnant one, him or Jules.

Tried to do a few lesser exercises while Talia was down for a nap, but he only woke her up, and then he needed a nap. So he thought of the solution. Bought a playpen. A rectangle eyesore, made up like a little bamboo jail with a pad on the bottom. Shoved some of her toys in it, planned to set her in it and thought he'd be good for at least two hours.

But she saw the pen, and didn't want to go in. Pulled a grimace and clung onto the straps of his workout shirt. Pried little nails from around cotton and set her in frontwards as she hiccupped. He would be within eyesight, just on the other side of the room. Just wanted her to be far enough away that she would be safe and he could concentrate.

Immediately she crawled to the side and raised wobbly on her feet. Had been standing for the last few days. Jules took over forty pictures and showed him. He has twenty in his apartment and locker. Stuck a tiny hand through the bars for him and whimpered.

"Talia, I'm going to be right there." Pointed to the wall less than six feet away.

Turned his back to the pen and less than a second later heard a soft jingle against the floor. When he turned back, one of the toys he threw in there, she threw out. It rolled towards him and stopped at the end of the coffee table.

He groaned, picked up the jingling stuffed animal and marched back to the play pen. When he did, she stood up inside, her arms raised above her head expecting to be removed. Doesn't know if she did it on purpose or not, if she had the fortitude to compile a plan like that, but knowing her now, he thinks she did.

"Talia, no." He guided her hands down and watched her expectant face crack into another frown as she sniffled into tears. "I'm not going to hold you all the time. That's not the way this works. And if you throw this out again I'm keeping it."

Heard her crying and kept walking away from her. Something he would never do now. Wouldn't even think of doing now. Picked up hand weights and glanced back to her slumped forward against the side of the playpen. Her face splotched from crying, wet from tears. She stuck her hand through the bars reaching for him again and between one of her whimpers called, "Dada."

Dropped the weights to the floor, almost leapt over the coffee table and whisked her out of the playpen so fast she didn't get a chance to raise her arms. It wasn't her being difficult, or her being needy. It was her needing him and him being selfish. Sold the playpen for best offer that day and spent the rest of the night with her on his lap, listening to her say 'Dada'. Hasn't put her down since.

She starts to wake up, wiggling in his arms as he pulls back the blankets on her bed. Smoothes out the bottom sheet and plops her down so she bounces. She giggles, it's a game he invented to help her want to go to bed. Doesn't blame her, hears all of her nightmares. Nightmares Steve said they should contact a psychologist about. He left so he didn't hit Steve.

Covers her boney legs as she scoops up the elephant who's been waiting for her to come to bed since he got her ready almost an hour ago. Fixes the sheets around her chest when he notices the elephant still collared in his watch. Reaches out to retrieve it, but she snags the elephant from his path.

"Can I keep it for tonight?" Two arms crush the elephant to her chest. Cheek stretches and distorts from where it's pinned. "It makes me feel safe."

"Why don't you feel safe?" Perches on the edge of her bed. Feet under the covers almost press into his thigh. Eyes crash downwards, travel over the purple polka dots on her sheets. His hand stills one of her twitching feet under a dot.

"What if it gets me?"

"What if what gets you?"

"What got Steve."

"Oh Sweetie." Picks her up from under the covers like a fresh flower. Sits her in his lap sideways, like he used to when she was a baby. When she needed to be rocked to sleep, or burped. Used to hold her with a hand on her collarbone and pat her back. "We talked about this earlier. Everyone has a time, but yours isn't for a very long time."

"But Steve wasn't older than grandma or grandpa." Holds one of his hands in both of hers, keeps flipping it. Tracing it. Searching for the answer. Lips bump together and she glances up at him with a naïve blink. "So why did it get him?"

"Sometimes these things happen." Not just deaths but mistakes, overreactions, under reactions, spiteful words spat out of fear, one night of sex after ninety days of nothing and ending up with a baby but not a relationship. "There's a little burp in the plan."

"I don't want to be a burp." Doesn't sob it, more of a lament. A quiet whisper for something a thousand years in the past. An emotion she shouldn't even have experienced yet in her short life, let alone have control over. Pure misery.

"Hey. Hey." Lifts her up and she hangs like a marionette. Face slack in a frown and drooping eyes as she acknowledges him. "I would never let anything happen to you. You, you happen to be my favorite person."

Eyes roll up at him through thick lashes spread wide. One of her dangling arms touches her chest. "Me?"

"Yeah you." Bumps his nose against hers and she finally smiles. Wraps an arm around his neck. "Everything has to go through me before it can even see you."

"But what about Mommy?"

Helps her back underneath the covers. Scrawny little legs disappearing underneath a sea of polka dots. "She wouldn't let anything hurt you either."

"No, who's going to help her?"

Chuckles once, almost sarcastic, but she probably doesn't understand the implication. Pulls the sheet up around her chest. "Mommy doesn't need any help."

"What if she does?"

"She doe—"

"What if she does?" Interrupts him. Straightens from her reposed position. Elephant forgotten against the pillow. Hands planted in the mattress beside her waist. Eyes frightened, but stern.

"Then I'll watch out for her too. It's why I'll be on the couch. I'll be between both of you, to stop anything."

"Who will watch out for you?"

"While I'm watching out for you and Mommy, I'll keep my eye open for anything extra."

"But you'll get tired."

"That's why we need to sleep." Kisses her on the forehead. Thumb engulfing her cheek as he caresses it softly. "We can talk all about it tomorrow."

"Okay." Kisses his cheek, hand holding the opposite cheek in place. Not knowing that he'd ever move. Made that mistake once and it haunts him to this day. Has the same innate fear she holds about death when he thinks about what his life would be like if he stayed in Vancouver. Just never came back like he intended.

"Daddy." At the door she calls to him again. Eyes already half-lidded, elephant headlocked beside her. He stops just shy of flipping of the light. "If I get scared—"

"I'll be on the couch, if you get scared or have a nightmare; you come out and see me." Her answer is a group of indistinguishable syllables as he flips the switch and shuts her door without a sound.

Navigates through the darkened main room, city lights bleeding through the window. Decides not to turn any lights on in case Jules left the bedroom door open. Sees impeccably well in the dark, something handy for the army, for the SRU, for sniping. For fathering and waking up in the middle of the night to a three foot high silhouette in the shadows too scared to say something.

Dishes from the counter move into the sink without any clatter. Then he shuffles to the front door to check all the locks.

"You're really good with her."

Jolts at the raspy voice trying to elicit a conversation. His whole body, all of his muscles tense and he strains at least one. Thought he was good at seeing in the dark. Missed Jules sitting on the couch in plain sight. "You're a good dad."

Body adjusting from the extra surge of adrenaline pumping through him. He resets the chain lock, hiding his grin in case she's better at seeing in the dark than him. "Thanks. Would've been nice to know that when you were planning on taking her to Ottawa."

There's a brief pause of silence. Less than he expected for such a stinging remark. "I was never planning on taking her to Ottawa."

"Because that was made clear in the only conversation containing Ottawa we've ever had." Not true. After she got shot, on a trip home from a specialist, coming back from Ottawa to Toronto he got lost and she was complaining way too much. They got into a huge argument, and instead of prolonging the fight, they fucked in the backseat of his SUV. Condom from his wallet, heated by the sun, heated by his own anger and arousal broke. They've had plenty of conversations concerning Ottawa.

"I told Steve after you left that I didn't want to go. He said we'd talk about it later." Eyes fully adjusted to the weak city illumination, he witnesses her mash at her temple, rest her forehead against the back of the couch. Not really listening to her anymore because he remembers what happened. Doesn't know how he forgot. The overwhelming love, the need to protect and be with his daughter made him lash out when she wasn't trying to attack him.

"He proposed to me tonight, you know."

Now he's listening to her again. Hand stuck in the freezer, rooting around for an icepack to stick to the side of her face. The one all puffy raspberries.

"Got up in front of the whole fucking room of people accepted his award, his promotion and proposed to me."

Sighs. Feels the hot air from his throat turn into solid wisps in the freezer. Feels the ice tingle up his arm as it loses sensation. Doesn't know how to respond. Never knows what to say.

"I had to tell him no in front of all those people. I took a cab home. He came home and we had a real argument. One where he didn't just tell me to calm down and leave."

Discovers an icepack on the door. Bought three when he took Talia skating last winter and she went down like a sack of bricks on the ice. Hit her knee and her elbow. Scooped her up and rushed her to the side of the rink to discover black bruises at the points of impact. Bought her all the hot chocolate she would drink, wrapped her up on the couch and taped an icepack to each joint.

"I told him I wanted to end it."

Shuts the door and walks to the empty end of the couch. Words directed to her knees, decorated by pink hearts chosen by their daughter. Picked hearts because 'Mommy needs love'.

"That I've wanted to end it for a while."

Holds out the pack for her to take but she either ignores his offer, or doesn't notice it. Arms lightly embrace her angled legs; hug them to her chest as she stares at the hearts. Can only tell by the glint of glassiness in her eyes.

"Bastard left the door unlocked."

Sneaks his fingers between one of her tightly wound hands, transfers the pack into it. "Jules, what happened isn't your fault."

"I'm not saying it is." Cushions her face against the icepack and for a few seconds her healthy eye disappears, closes from the soothing temperature. "But I didn't make his final moments too pleasant."

"I'm sorry about earlier, about yelling. It would've been a lot easier if you'd just told me you were never going to Ottawa. Hell, in hindsight, it would've been easier if you didn't date him at all." Means for it to be a joke. Trying to build bridges with her, because they're in a very delicate place. She's been through a trauma; he'd like to remain someone she can rely on. Neither of them have ever been good at making connections. Acquaintances, friends, romances. They only ever had each other and when that broke, it broke.

"In hindsight it would've been a hell of a lot easier if you didn't say you stopped loving me the moment you found out I was pregnant. Then just come back and pretend you never said it at all." Forgets his jokes usually inadvertently birth arguments. Become competitions of who can hurt the other the most.

He's done. He's done hurting her. Fucked it up six years ago by not being adult enough. By wanting to live more, then realizing he didn't really have a life until he met her. Until she gave him the greatest thing he'll ever receive. Didn't realize how patient she was with him, even while he was tending to her bullet wound. While he was supporting her as much as she would allow while pregnant. "I said I was sorry."

"And I said your apology means shit."

Exhales sharply through his nose. Not because he's angry, but because she has every right to still harbor anger. She came to him, nervous, anxious, the smallest portion of a smile possible on her face and told him she was pregnant. Without waiting a second he told her he couldn't do it. That he couldn't be committed just yet. Couldn't be a father. That their relationship wasn't what she thought it was. He told her everything he knew wasn't true. "I was scared."

"And I wasn't?" Arm grows weary of holding the icepack to her eye and it slips slowly from her hand, hits her thigh before tumbling to the ground. "I was pregnant, just getting over being shot, not reinstated back to my job yet, and my boyfriend abandons me like a teenager because he's not ready?"

"It was only for a month."

"It was for six weeks."

"I needed time to think."

"And what did you think about Sam?"

"How much I missed you. How much I fucked this up." Can't look at her because she'll wear the same expression. The same mixture of hurt, of regret. Like meeting him, being with him was the worst choice of her life. Stoops forward and snatches the pack off the ground. Flops it in his open palm once. Stares down at the alien writing on it in the blue light. "I wanted to come back after the first day and I couldn't because I disappointed you. I couldn't face that."

"It just proved that what we had. What we felt. It wasn't real. The greatest gift two people who love each other can share is a child. And when I told you about yours, you ran."

He's done. Not willing to give into past emotions. Will acknowledge them. Be held responsible for them. But will not repeat them. Will not walk away from her. Can't. Can't lose her again. Shifts forward. Right hand tender in its movements as it pillows the pack back against the side of her face. "But I'm not running now."

"No." Laughs ruefully. Closes her eyes against the cold placating the bruises and scratches. Part of him thinks the brief moment of serenity is brought by his touch, his closeness. The lingering of his skin above hers. Part of him knows it is. "Which is amazing for Talia. But it doesn't mean anything for us."

Left hand masks her unmarred cheek. Steadies her face as he leans forward and captures her lips. Doesn't really know what he's doing. But it's the opposite of what his instincts are telling him. Suggest he bow out, let her know she's won the argument, that he's sorry he's an asshole and he'll spend the rest of his life knowing it.

Instead he feels her full lips, the top right bruised fatter, pulsating against his. The softness of her skin that's haunted him for six years. The wisps of hair, wet from her shower, tickling at the back of his hand. Her perfume, her aroma stalking underneath the dominant smell of his own shampoo and soap, but it's still there. Could pick it out of a crowd.

Her body constructs itself, rebuilds itself with stronger layers as she raises on bended knees. Hand shooting to his bicep for stability as she arches forward. An arm flings around his neck, elbow angle awkward and cool skinned. His hand drifts over her cheek, follows the smooth cords along her neck as his tongue plummets into her mouth. The icepack tumbles from protecting her eyes as he cradles her head. Fingers finally playing in silken threads of hair.

Sways closer to him, a cobra ready to strike, knees edging against his thigh as she rakes fingers through his hair. Lets them shiver down his neck and stand infinitesimal hairs on end. Tugs on the bottom of his shirt, slips a cold hand inside to sedate his fiery skin. Slithering over his stomach, to rest on his side.

Wants to drag her closer, her body level in height because of her stance. Kiss every inch of exposed skin. Every inch hidden away. But things like this, they don't just happen. They could happen before because there were no responsibilities. If they got hurt, it was only them. They were adults and could handle it with relative maturity and a six year grudge.

But now there's Talia. There's Talia who if this doesn't work out is even more fucked than she was before. There's the corpse of Steve which isn't even on ice yet. There's the mountain eroding on the side of Jules face and how having glorious, mindboggling, deliriously good sex isn't exactly a proper way for her to channel the shock, rage, and adrenaline in the hindsight of the attack.

"Wait," muffled by her tongue, her lips smothering him and he's stopping it. Wants to shoot himself because he's fucking stopping it. "Wait. Wait."

Grips her gently by the shoulders and keeps her a solid two inches from his face. Hears her raspy breaths, the exhalations float humid to his skin and he shivers when he's on fire. Licks his lips and tastes the past, present and future. Closes his eyes and feels the dejection coming, feels the rejection from within himself. "We shouldn't do this."

Gracefully folds back down into a sitting position, legs tucking neatly under her. "What—"

The list of excuses flows from his mouth like water from a tap. All the reasons why they can't be together. 'We're on the same team' finally isn't an issue, but their problems have swollen to planetary in size. "Talia's going to get the wrong idea. You need to take it easy and Ste—"

"Sam, if you don't want to do this, it's because you don't want to do this." Copies his stance. Slouches, arms draping over her knees. She never changes her attention from him. Not once. A glare in a room without light.

He doesn't answer because his brain clogs with questions. What does she want from this? Why is she doing this? Does she want him like he wants her? How long has she wanted him for? Why did they play games for six years? What are the repercussions? What about the endless perks? Why did it take six years? How natural her body feels to him, the movement, the scent, the taste. Six goddamn years.

With a combination of a sigh and a scoff, she shakes her head. Twists of hair tangle and swing as her hands brace against the edge of the couch to push herself up. Takes his mutism as a stark rejection. Guesses concrete actions work the best on her, because every time he's ever tried to verbally explain himself, she just gets pissed off.

Grabs her, the same cheek, fingers leaking onto her neck. Spare hand swallows the curve of her hip as he rips her towards him. Devours her lips, pulling on them like a strong undertow. Like magnetism, or whatever keeps bringing them back together. A soft gasp heaps in the back of her throat because he's clotting it, controlling it. Tongue demanding, dominating.

Runs his mouth from hers, across the clear portion of her face. Over her jaw line and swooping under her chin as he lifts her a few inches to border his body. Her thighs frame his as his lips fall to her neck traveling in slow, suctioning kisses. Hears his lips smack against her skin, hand slipping into the pajama pants to hold her ass, to push her into him.

She grinds down, hips rolling, breasts bobbing. Tongue twists around in the hollow of her neck. Lowers her back on the couch. Her hands yank at his t-shirt, first to get his attention, then to tear over his head. It plops to the coffee table demolishing an empty pop can which clatters to the carpet.

He's leaning half off the couch, one leg on the floor propping him up and the opposite knee between her legs. The soft flutter of her lips on his neck, his shoulder, his chest as he situates himself. Hand slides up her cotton covered stomach to knead one of her breasts as he sets hungry lips back at her chest.

A hand runs over his bare back, only encouraging his actions and his head falls to her cleavage, tongue lapping at tantalizing skin as his hand brings her nipple to strain against her shirt. She rocks up into him, nurses the swelling in his sweatpants. His hand shifts from the small of her back, to her hips intent to steady them. But the moment, the feeling, everything overwhelms him.

Mouth clamps over her opposite breast, still covered by her tight tank top. Aches to taste her, all of her, as his fingers glide inside of her panties. She tries to gasp a warning, a demand to slow down or something, but it's choked. Frees her breast over the collar of her shirt and he tastes her skin untainted. Tongue flicks over her budding nipple, mouth sucks and laps. Hand still entertaining her other breast, fully clothed.

Fingers dip deeper. Discover her more aroused than he expected. Answers the question of if she wanted him. Thighs jolt on the first stroke, and she gasps out a guttural response. Muscles tense from actions intended to loosen her up. Inhales shaky as he releases her breast and brings his mouth back to hers. Slows his movements to match the preset rhyme of her hips, she wraps an arm around his neck and trembles a sigh in a hint of pleasure.

As the frequency of her hip rocking increases, the brushes of his fingers do. Longer, deeper, fall in circles. Free hand splays over her stomach. Feels the compress and contract of the muscles as tension undulates through. Feels the steady rise of her breathing, swift exhales in huffs.

Their eyes connect amid the frantic gyrating and rotation of their bodies. The friction and thumping noises melt away for a second and something clicks between them. Like a gear wasn't quiet in place, or a bone wasn't quiet set. She nods. Swallows, smiles and nods. Arm anchors around his neck, sinks his head towards hers and she kisses him as he dives a finger inside of her.

Jules' history is complicated, tarnished and sullied by bad men. With certain things, with certain acts, he has to be careful not to trod in the same footprints bad men left on her soul so many years ago. Learned it, after their first time, knew something was awry and amazingly got a jittery straight answer the next day. The book of Jules, pages crusted and crumpled together pouring out of her mouth, like his reasons they shouldn't, until empty of self-imposed shame, she collapsed and he helped her stand up.

The full force of her grind, the tightness of her body courses against his hand. The tops of her soft thighs cushion, and with every shift her slightly wet panties tap at the back of his hand. With every shift, he rubs her a different way. She ripples against him, single bare breast streaking his chest as his second finger dips in. Her mouth is hot, only exhalations, and he sucks her lower lip into his mouth.

Tightness grows within her as her rocking increases, as his inner and outer strokes increase. Angles his head to lap at her breast. Too enticing to ever deny while his fingers breach and submerge. Tongue flicks at her nipple when she clenches, stops her bucking, but he keeps his dexterous digits flowing. She gasps again. More guttural, longer and louder than before. Than he ever remembers. For the sake of the ramshackle balance of their broken family, he abandons her breast and drowns her mouth in his.

Constriction wanes from her body, arms oil hinge from around his neck and back. Her torso falls slack in his arm as he withdraws his fingers from her. Hand grazing her panties, the pajama bottoms, cool air prickles his fingers dry as her mouth kisses his earlobe. Always played with his ears, flicked them to get his attention, rubbed them to calm him down, sucked on them turn him on.

Knows this and her hand already strangles his waistband, elastic but knotted in place. Wants to tell her he's fine. Something along the line of 'she doesn't have to' without sounding so Lifetime movie. She's still hurt, still in an abnormal place with everything occurring in one night. Wanted to help her relax, which happened. She did the same for him once, in a shower after a long shift. Never asked for it, never told her what was wrong, but it was her way of settling him down when ear massaging didn't work.

Hand tears through the trenches of his waistband and clasps him before he can utter a word. Holds him with soft strength, fingers curling around him, remembering perfectly just as he did moments ago. Strokes him slowly once. Once is enough to make him jump in her hand. To push him from maybe into yes. A hand snakes behind her, cups her ass as he lifts her up with him. Only word he manages is, "Bedroom."

Legs hook around his hips as she twists teasingly. Hand retreats from his pants, enthralling pressure immediately fades. Instead pinches at the waist of his pants to hold them in place. Band snapped during her indication or his response. Other hand glides into the shorter hair on the base of his skull. Fingers drag like feathers caught on a current. Mouth forms against his ear while footpads slap against cold hardwood floors. Kisses softly before flicking her tongue out.

Darts into the night shrouded bedroom. Blue moonlight from the row of square windows behind his bed adds an ethereal glow, blanches wrinkles on the sheets. Fishes blindly behind him for the door handle. Both of her hands consume his face as her mouth encloses his. The familiarity of it, her lips and tongue and taste. Her breast compressing against his chest, the strength of her thighs. Supports her with one hand on a black cotton tank top, then underneath it. The curve of her spine, individual columns set tight beneath her skin.

Shuts the door with relative silence but when he strides forward his pants end up boneless at his feet. It's a shrugging situation because he would've shucked them in a few minutes anyway. Steps out of them and inadvertently kicks them into the smoldering shadows creeping at the baseboards. Finally hits the corner of the bed with his knee and falls forward, her tumbling beneath.

Finds the hem of her tank top, hands slip underneath to smooth skin on her stomach which shudders at his sudden intrusion. Tickles over ribs and higher until she pulls up the bottom of her shirt, he deserts the underside of her breast to help guide the material over the side of her face. She tosses the balled fabric over his head while he dips to lap at her breasts. Tongue and lips dabbing with just the slightest intent at soft, pillowing skin.

Kisses until he rediscovers where an embered scar still burns. The pain of it relived in the single second of his pause. Kisses the skin, but without heat. Without necessity or eagerness or hunger. Just three soft pecks, head slightly sideways so his nose nuzzles the underside of her breast. The muscle, the rib bone, all reconstructed. Body rebuilt itself because she wanted to give up, he wouldn't let her and eventually, together, they made a recovery happen. Three months later when he was driving her home from a specialist in Ottawa she accused him of only wanting to be needed, he accused her of being incapable of needing anyone and at a pit stop on the 400 series, they made a baby.

Forehead rests against her, falls in the hollow above her navel. Breathes against her skin and in return breathes in her skin. Scent more aromatic than before. Rolls his head, supported by unseen, dangerously strong muscles. He lifts his neck, finds her propped on her elbows. Shakes his head at her. "Jules."

"Come here." Beckons him with a comprehending, stretched smile. Holds her arms open to him as she shoves up into a sitting position.

He has to ignore everything. The way her hair has fallen loose and is framing her face in frantic strands. The shift of her breasts. The inner curve of her torso. The way her pajama bottoms and panties have snuck almost to the top of her thighs in a work of art. Instead he climbs up and embraces her, knees digging into the mattress in the negative space between her splayed legs. Fuses her to him as he holds her. Just holds her.

Until one of her hands flutters to the band of his boxers. Pries back the elastic and slips stealth inside before his body reacts with a jump and a twitch. Jerks away from her hug, but her hand clasps around him with the same perfect technique as before.

"Jules—"

"Shh." Drags his face back to hers, lips laying a gentle persuasion over his. Her hand is so slow to begin anything, to jumpstart his incapable body. "Do you remember that one time you came home angry?"

"What does—"

"Just answer."

"Yes." Her hand slides down the length of him, torturous in speed but complete in style. Exhales hard for a second before her mouth covers his. Tongue licking at his lips, her lips plucking his skin.

"You wouldn't tell me what was wrong." Another arduous stroke as she uses her spare hand to guide his boxers to his knees. "You just pushed past me and went to the shower."

"I'm—" Another stroke from base to tip. And another. Thumb flicking once. "Sorry?"

"So I went in that shower with you." Faster now, almost successive in nature. Breasts start to jiggle from the movement of her arm. Has him getting harder.

"You shouldn't have," exhales it as her thumb rubs over his tip once, then twice.

"Like I didn't know what you did in there, Braddock. You took longer than me." No stop to the strokes as they evolve to pumps. Sweat starts to bead on the back of his neck as his heart beats faster.

"I meant." Reaches forward and cups one of her breasts because the bouncing is hypnotic. Trays it in his hand as her fisting movements screws slightly. "Shower was dirty. I was dirty. You—you could've— got—"

"You changed my bandage and cleaned my stitches after we got out. I was fine." Pressure building within her hand and with an animalistic urge he starts bucking his hips in time to her pumps. "You needed to relax and since we couldn't have sex it was the only way—"

Hand shoots to her wrist, binds it stable. "You need to stop if you want—"

"If you want."

Fingers curl into the side of her panties as he thrusts forward, forcing her to lay back. Hips wiggle as he yanks off her remaining clothes and tosses them to the opposite side of the bed. Head dives to taste the skin of her navel, her thighs. Works flawless skin into his mouth, darkening it a shade with his desire in his travels. Stays clear of her inner thighs as it was frequently a no fly zone for his mouth. Too many tainted memories from bad men.

When he tries to lean forward, her hand slams into his chest like a baseball bat. A little heavy breathed she whispers, "condom."

"Right." Boxers get tangled at his knees and after he fights with them for a few seconds he whips them somewhere across the room. Stumbles to his bedside table, in the back of the top drawer of there is a box in which are condoms so a rummaging daughter will hopefully never find them.

Tears the corner of the packet, pinches out the end of the condom and rolls it down to his base with a shudder left over from the phantom tactility of her hand. Climbs back on the bed, lips sucking their way up her body, hips, stomach, breasts, neck, until they regroup with her lips. She doesn't shove him off when he leans over her, hand massaging her thigh gently as he coaxes her legs wider.

Eyes shift to each other for a single second for any last objection and without one, he guides himself into her. Pushes full until he feels the déjà vu of their hips luring each other. Like he experienced it once before in a dream, or maybe is experiencing it now in a dream. Immediate warmth, immediate enclosure and immediate placation.

Hands root into the mattress at her sides as he conducts the flow. Sets the tepid undulation of his hips against hers as he bumps down. Keeps it gentle for the first few beats while adjusting. While gauging her already half masticated reaction. Shifts his hips when he feels her body tense in a negative way.

Her arms loop his neck as he buries his face in the side of hers. Nips and sucks at the soft skin. Her hair starts to stick to the thin layer of sweat on his face. At his back, her splayed fingers crumple into fists. Feels the air from her exhaled gasp dry his skin, moist from the dancing of her lips.

Hip snaps increase until the rhythmic slap of skin on skin echoes through the room. Lips trip up the side of her jawbone, to her cheek as she grows tight around him. Muscles tensing in a good way, arms locking around his neck again as her returns of his bumps lag. Then come to a complete stop as she gasps, his mouth sharing in her expressed pleasure. She ripples around him, hips bounce twice, stomach and thigh muscles twitch until she lolls.

Keeps the rhythm through her ride. Keeps the bumps, pace not slow and sultry like he'd intended. Catches on to his predicament quickly, and her hips buck into his, smack and crash like thunder. Body is closer to her, being pulled down by gravity. His arms weaken and her breasts bump his chest. Her mouth kisses him heavily, spinning, until he's gasping for air. Then moves to suck on his ear.

Arms wobble, strength flooding out of them as her body coaxes his, bumps with his. Her hips flick to the side beneath his, then roll in a tantalizing circle. His lips suckle at her collarbone to hush the guttural noises compiling in his throat. She chuckles, hand surfing through his sweat soaked hair as she taps kisses to his temple and his cheek. Keeps the rotation of her hips slow until she suddenly snaps them upwards. The action births the right friction. Finishes him though he keeps the grind of his hips to hers, now idled to accept him. The clash of flesh on flesh diminishes like a fleeting rainstorm.

Attempts to settle softly, but his arms collapse. Shaky, overworked, tired, strained, complete in euphoria as her fingers slip through the damp skin on the back of his neck. Both their chests heavy, his stunting hers, forcing restrained air as it restricts hers down. Her thumb massages gently into the muscles on his left bicep, the harsh pinch and cool release. His lips suck at the skin on her left breast. Taste the saltiness of her perspiration. Feel the supple skin tighten and dimple from his attraction.

"Sam." Fingers rub behind his ear as he's greedy with her body. The touch is soft, invoking control. His mouth abandons her blushing breast as he angles upwards with two elbows digging into the mattress. Hand still caressing the back of his head, with a weak voice she enlightens, "I'm tired."

The heavy moonlight flowing river free highlights random aspects of her body. Areas where his shadow hasn't swallowed her whole. Left breast glistening from sweat or saliva with a firm nipple. Left side of her neck lying on a bed of her hair, whorling out to the opposite pillow. The right side of her face, demolished, puffy, shaded even when haloed in light.

"I'm sorry." Kisses the side of her neck, feels the breeze of her fingers against his cheek. Gently draws on the scabbing gash sliced in her upper lip before withdrawing.

"It's not—"

Pushes back up onto a hand and carefully guides himself out of her. The condom stays in place; unbroken and he thinks they both sigh. Slides it free and ties it off. Disguises it in at least ten tissues from the side table and reminds himself to take the garbage out in the morning.

Her hand caresses the small of his back, in smooth, gentle licks. Ignores it, the emotions rotting away in his gut and heart dying to be satiated. Instead fills her hands with a prescription and a bottle of water. She furrows her eyebrows at him as he stands. Hands burrow through the covers to free them from underneath her. Floats the sheets to her hips as she sits up. "You should take your pills."

Hand clamps over the lid and her face skews as she thrusts her weight into the cap, trying to force it open. "What are—what—"

Offers an empty hand to her, which the bottle tumbles in. Tiny pills ticking away like time. The palm of his hand pressures against the lid grooves and it pops free. "I have to take care of—" nods to the wad of tissues on the nightstand as he hands the bottle back. "Just go to sleep."

Doesn't look at her again because he can't. The draw between them, whatever it is, magnetism or chemistry or the slew of other scientific terms to explain things that have no scientific relevance. Their attraction to each other has such strength that it acts as a sedative to him. It calms him down in moments of extreme fury. He craves it like addicts do with any other drug. The downside is everyone else becomes second to Jules, and he can't risk putting Talia into a lesser role. Tiny hands strangling for him, crying out 'Dada'.

Knows Jules is watching him, with the water to her mouth as he paces to the ensuite and shuts the door a little too frantically. Would give up almost everything to lie down beside Jules and fall asleep like it was six years ago. Like he never left and didn't fuck things up. There wasn't a time when he didn't love her. He never stopped loving her. He doesn't think there was a moment in his life where he didn't love her. Not when she wanted to remain separate entities after Talia was born, not when she brought Steve home and into their lives, not when she instilled the idea of moving to Ottawa. It's all talk, all for show.

Tosses the clump of tissues into the trash can. He'll change it in the morning. Flips the toilet seat up and pisses. He kissed her. He made the move on her. Every time that's how it's been, but she's been receptive every time. She wants him to stay, but what does that mean? Is it because of what happened to her earlier? Or because she wants what he wants.

Isn't this all he's ever wanted? Shakes and flushes the toilet. Ambles to the sink and washes his hands. Him together with Jules and their daughter. It would be the best for all of them. They already work opposite shifts on different teams. Wouldn't be replacing Steve, because Steve was just his replacement.

The problem would be if they tried. If they really tried to be a family and it didn't work out. Doesn't know why, maybe a second condom broke and another Callaghan-Braddock was created to be ferried around Toronto on the weekends. He'd be left to explain to Talia what happened, why it happened. The rekindling and snuffing out of their romance has consequences besides accident babies. They have to remember how it affects Talia, how seeing her parents together automatically generates a false hope within her.

Creeps across the bedroom, starts sifting through the pieces of discarded clothing on the ground for his boxers and his sweats. The bed squeaks as Jules drifts up, eyes hooded on the threshold of sleep. She blinks heavily and stifles a yawn while gathering the sheets at her torso. Breasts bare, and perfect, and puckered, and marked by his mouth. "What are you doing?"

"I'm going back to the couch." Finds her tank top. Then the legs of his sweats sticking out from underneath the corner of bed.

"You don't have to." Hoops her arms around her angled legs, lays her chin against her knees creating mountains under the sheets. Her breasts flatten to her thighs.

"Talia shouldn't see us together." Yanks his pants on, waistband loose around his hips as he abandons the need to find his boxers. Stares at her, because she's gorgeous. Lips a ruby red he wants to kisses until sleep claims him. Skin smooth, pristine, soft and curvy. Wants nothing more than to crawl back into his bed, mold his body to hers and pretend they've always been this way. "She might get the wrong idea if she sees—"

"What idea would—" Sighs into one of her hands. Aggravated and body compact. But the anger fades away with a simple expression. One they both share. Nervous and unsure, a weak smile. "Look, I don't know where this is going either. You've alwa—I mean I—we can talk about it tomorrow." The moonlight powders her disheveled hair ethereal and fairytale flawless. Tucks a bang behind her ear and finds the nerve to catch his gaze again. "But I really need you tonight; you always make me feel safe."

A lifetime has run its course in the last six hours. Keeps forgetting the trauma, deep seeded in her emotions, in her actions. Coming to fruition on the side of her face. Over her lips which are as full and fanciful as he remembers, undisturbed by the malicious intentions of others.

He makes her feel safe. He makes her feel safe. Creates a haven for her. A part of him wonders why. If it's because he can be the dominant in the miniscule lapse when she can't. He can tell a doctor to stitch up her face. Tell the surgeons to take a growth from their daughter's lungs. When he loves something, the love is integrated. Wired into the goods and bads. The healthys and sicks.

The majority doesn't bother with that, because it's an open invite to ensure her safety, ward off the nightmares when they come and they will. To hold her close even if it's just for tonight. "Of course."

"We don't have to touch or—"

"Jules, it's okay." Tank top wringing in his hand he approaches the bed with less zeal, more care. Free hand on his waistband which he's sure she broke in her fervor.

"I'll sleep better if you're here."

"So will I." Sinks on the edge of the bed. Air conditioning spits at his exposed back, picks at his skin. Rolls the sides of her top to a complete ring and reaches towards her.

"What's this for?"

Guides the shirt over her head, closed eye and paused conversations. Adjusts the snug cotton over her breasts, hands flitting, then tugging it to her stomach. Frees her hair, watches it cascade down her back. "She's going to come in here eventually, whether it's in five minutes, or in the morning. We should have clothes on."

"Yeah." He crawls under the covers as she bends over her side of the bed. In the blue moonlight he glimpses her hip, the top of her right thigh. A glowing crescent. Has to restrain himself not to reach out and give the alluring skin one more touch, one more grasp, one more caress, one more kiss, one more taste.

She shimmies into his boxers, the first thing she grabbed, and fixes back on the pillow. Arms ridged at her side, legs straight arrows in an attempt not to touch him. He wanted to leave her tonight, three times. It was so if this didn't—doesn't work out he won't have to explain to Talia why. Won't have to break her little heart. His hand shoots out and snags her hip, feels the comforting curve under the thin fabric of his boxers. Drags her back towards his side of the bed. She chuckles, spins towards him, nose an inch from his on the same shared pillow. "Thank you."

He pecks her lips one last time as she anchors his hand to her hip. Shifts her back and adjusts her position. Half her face in ruins. His heart skitters because things could've been so different. Could've been planning her funeral. Could've been finding her extreme psychiatric care. Instead she's warm against him, because he created warmth with her. "You never have to thank me."

Eyes inch open to a room swallowed in the gray light of dawn. Still predominantly dark, he differentiates a few more details than in blindness he waded through before. There's tranquility spread in the motionlessness behind her eye. Not wrenched shut, or flinching in pain. The tip of her nose compresses against his collarbone. Warm breath layers over his bare skin in even patterns. Right side of her face tipped upwards as she slumbers next to him.

Only roused once during the night. Stiffened completely beside him, then jerked back and straight awake. Eye wild as it scanned the dark room, breathes hissing from her like a leak. He turned the bedside lamp on. Watched half her features soften as she recognized him, the room, the situation. Brushed a hand through her hair, held the back of her head as she sighed against him. Left the light on for her as she stumbled to the washroom, then back. As he flicked it off, she nestled as close as she could get to him. Put his arms around her.

Collects her hair behind her ear, off the contused portion of her face. Discolored skin bloating and plunging around the gash in her eyelid. Top lip dipping, cut visible on the periphery. Her arms pin to her chest, two slack fists connecting their bodies. Without any indication of being awake, she shifts, shoulders rolling, back stretching, and sighs. He bows his head to her shoulder, tepid in the stagnant cool air of the morning. Places a kiss on the bare blade, smears it with his thumb. Savors her aroma, petals from her garden, mangos from her smoothies. Fragrances he glimpsed six years ago, was denied and now might reacquaint with. The suppleness of her skin, softer than the sheets.

"Daddy?" The faintest whisper gasps from behind him. Hushed in tone. The friction of his legs under the covers drowns it. Untangles his arms from around Jules, still dozing uninterrupted by the dulcet question. Worms away from her. Rotates, to face the edge of the bed, the end table, the alarm clock, and the tiny silhouetted form. Luminescent watch face glowing against her skin as an elephant hangs at her legs. "Daddy?"

"Mr. Tally Man." Greets her with a gruff voice. Throat thick with unheeded sleep. Hangs an arm out to touch her, but she springs backwards leaving air to sift through his fingers. Replays her defiance from the hospital. Supports himself on a forearm, fingers from his empty hand twist in the air conditioning. Swipes his knuckles over his eyes to dissolve the remnants of the drying, agitating hours "What's the matter?"

"I had a bad dream." Strangles the elephant to her chest. Her rapid breathes thumps the stuffed toy and clatter his watch. Hides her face behind the felt and elaborate stitches of an ear flap. Peeps gunked together lashes thick with pre-shed tears and deep sleep out at him. "We were there and there were snakes. And then you left. You and Mommy left. You left me there to get eaten."

"Tally." Stretches his arms again, but she's hesitant. When scorned she adopts Jules' attitude. Holds a grudge for hours, days, weeks, or almost six years. "Sweetie, that was just a bad dream. Daddy would never leave you anywhere."

"But." Face draws into the same expression of hurt, of thought as her hand muzzles the elephant's head. "I went to the couch and you weren't there. You said and you weren't." Points at him and the bed, then wipes underneath a puffy eye irritated by tears with an elephant ear. "You both left."

"No Sweetie, Daddy—" Didn't really think up an alibi with Jules. About what to tell their daughter about their sleeping arrangements. Why they were huddled so close in such a large bed. Why she could suddenly stand to be around him. Why she's wearing his boxers. "Daddy had a bad dream. He got scared, so Mommy let him sleep with her."

Examines him with a slant to her head. Lips pouting as she tries to validate his story. But her arms loosen, feet shuffle closer. "Yeah?"

"Yes."

She sniffles, wiping at her face again. Voice tremorous, "What about?"

"Snakes." Doesn't wait in his answer or his action. Groans a little as he leans out of the bed expertly balancing his body. Hands hook underneath her arms and he creates an arc with her in the air, her bare toes wiggling.

"Really?" Plops her into his lap on top of the covers. Tussles her bangs as his hand consumes her forehead. Once she came into his room because she had a bad dream. Had a fever of almost a hundred and three. That was a scary night. A dangerous night. She needs to drink more milk.

"Yeah. They're creepy right?" Her skin is near frozen. Must've been standing in the dawn haze for at least fifteen minutes afraid to wake him or Jules up. Doesn't know why. He's never yelled at her. Never would. Knows Jules never would. Can only do the sensible thing and blame Steve.

"They don't have hands." Bundles her up to his chest. Pads of her feet stamping like icy cookie cutters into his warm flesh.

One must en pointe to Jules' praying arms because she jolts right out of her synthetic slumber. From a pill induced sleep to a half roused stance, without even fluttering a lid between transition. Left arm crooks underneath her. Sits like a doorstop to keep her body from tumbling. Hand drives for the damaged side of her face and he catches it by the wrist, floats it in stasis.

Hair musses around her face, bangs divide oil in water. Observes from behind a single slit. "What's wrong?"

"I had a bad dream." Cold cheek compressing against his bare shoulder. Arms compact and folded against her body copying Jules' position only moments ago.

"Aww, Baby." Frees her hand from his slight restraint and brings it to the bottom of their daughter's foot. Fingers enfolding over her icy toes to warm them up. "About what?"

"Snakes."

"Because they don't have hands?" Their daughter nods as Jules caresses her hair. He stares as much as he can through the semidarkness to impart his disbelief. Without her limited gaze moving from Talia's pouting face, she clarifies, "It's a reoccurring one."

Her hips shift back under the covers. Blankets drift lower, lap just below her breasts still stressing against pulled cotton. There's a current of cold air from her absence and a groove radiating body heat from her lapse. She pats the mattress, piles wrinkles on wrinkles. "Do you want to sleep here?"

Talia looks at the vacant spot, then at Jules, then at him like it's some sort of trap. Like as soon as her frozen little foot hits the fitted sheet a spring will click and snap her in half. "It's okay?"

"It's always been okay." A smile glows on her face through the darkness. Knows she doesn't mind. There's times where he's picked up Talia, or Jules dropped her off and explained about the nightmares, how she spent all night with their daughter. Now he gets Steve exiled Talia from their bed. Steve should've been exiled from the bed.

Half sliding off his chest and already into the spot, she stops. Tilts her head up, with big worried filled eyes begins to get his permission. "Is it—"

He smacks kisses loudly to one of her appling cheeks, then the other, then to her forehead. Was abandoned in a dream. Didn't feel safe and came to them to request safety. No child, especially his daughter should ever have to ask to feel safe. She giggles and grasps his cheeks, and their noses touch in a ritual as old as her.

Helps her topple into the spot and while Jules covers her with the blankets, he rescues the elephant, forgotten on the ground along with heart patterned pajama bottoms. It stands a sentinel, protects them all with a glowing watch face from periphery where the pillows meet the backboard.

Jules curls up next to her, kisses her forehead once and sighs in the embrace before settling back onto a pillow. He lies on the opposite side, closest to the door making sure that no snakes and no druggies get into the room. Holds her tiny hands in his and feels the random ticks become less frequent, more sluggish.

After a few moments of silence, of lack of movement, Jules brings two fingers to her lips. She kisses the tips, and reaches over to lay them to his cheek. Closes his eyes at her touch, her hand melting over his face. Everyone he loves, safe and protected. Cups it to his cheek to imprint the experience before pressing his own lips to the back of her hand.

"Did Daddy tell you what I wanted for my birthday?"

"Not now Talia."

"You're not at work."

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