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I CANNOT BE THE ONE TO SAVE YOU

CW: Mentions of blood and murder (done in self-defense).

Harry Mason sat in the car absolutely dumbfounded.

He was frozen in place, staring at the wretched little slip of paper in his hands. Harry threaded his thumb cautiously through the fold and peeled it open. His number is…

His number’s still there. Yep. It is.

Okay.

He closed and opened it again. One more time, and…

It's still there. He felt a headache creeping up his neck.

The father reached for the glasses slipping down his nose and tore them off, massaging his face with the rough padding of his gloved hand. Brushing his palm against his cheek, he sighed down at the slip he cradled in his other hand. He decided that he could do nothing more but fold it back up, slip it into his breast pocket, and get the Hell on with his day.

Harry returned his glasses to their rightful place, peered out the rear window of his Jeep, and backed out of his slot in the parking lot.

Most of the other clients had already gone, and left him plenty of room for a y-turn. Stewing in his car for as long as he did left his face burning, but it wasn’t something he could help, really.

He was shocked. Plain and simple. Accepting the phone number of a man he had quite literally met a few days prior was something Harry neither anticipated nor wanted.

However, the reaction he had when he saw James leave the building, shamble into his car, and slowly, agonizingly, make his way out of the parking lot and drive away to who-knows-where was way more ridiculous.

He even had the audacity to wonder to himself when he rose from his ducking if he’d make it home alright because he was so tired. Good lord.

He would never live that down.

When his wheels made touchdown with the pavement on the busy road and he found his pace in his desired lane, he rubbed the steering wheel while he replayed the words James spoke in his mind:

I don't know what's happened in your life and you don't need to say a word about it, but please know that I would never hurt you or your daughter.

He furrowed his brows apprehensively. He really wanted to believe James. He wanted to throw all caution to the wind and welcome this man into his life with open arms, give him a friend he seemed to sorely need.

But in light of that wish, he knew deep within him that it was just a ruse. It was a front; he was sure of it. He knew what was going to happen. He—James—is going to lure Harry into a false sense of security, wait for the perfect moment when he’s laid himself bare and upend his life just like that damn cultist did, and his poor Heather is undoubtedly going to pay the price.

Harry had to ask himself: that last attempt was only just a hiccup for the Order, wasn’t it? What would ever stop them from trying again?

The upcoming light was red, and Harry gently eased the Jeep to a halt. The father found himself gripping the steering wheel much tighter than he would’ve liked, and he allowed himself the luxury of a short breath, in and out.

“Stay focused, Harry,” he muttered to himself as he drummed a haphazard beat, alternating between his forefingers. “Anything less and it’s gonna get Heather hurt. No distractions.”

No goddamn distractions.

The light turned green. Harry pumped the gas and took a left. The daycare Heather was currently residing in wasn't too far away from the psychs' offices, and that was on purpose. If anything happened to Heather and he wasn’t there to reach her in time…?

His eyes grew glossy.

Harry swallowed the lump in his throat and turned the radio on with a press of a button, and what he was met with made him jump in his seat. The disco that was usually so gentle and easy on this station was blaring from the speakers of his car and he hastily turned the knob to the left.

Jesus, that’s better.

The longer he listened and let it thrum through the Jeep, the more he felt the fear that loved to wring out his shoulders release its grip, making way for music's soothing hands to glide over them instead. No doubt nurturing his wounded soul. He found himself humming along as he pulled into the lot of the daycare.

Once Harry found a spot, he shifted the Jeep's gear, pulled up the emergency brake, and plucked his keys out the ignition. After he felt the car's engine rumble to a complete stop, Harry then tossed his keys up in the air and went in for the catch, gripping them protectively as he exited the vehicle. He closed the door and pressed the lock button twice, hearing the horn beep to let him know that it was as sealed as it was gonna get.

Winter’s bite was particularly vicious this evening, and he decided it’d be best to get in and out of the daycare with his daughter as quickly as possible. Well, quicker than usual. Harry never got used to the winters in spite of growing up here on the east coast. It was hilarious… and infuriating. He muttered nonsense to himself as he readjusted his scarf.

The smell of floor cleaner and bleach barraged Harry’s nose as the automatic doors slid open in front of him, and his face scrunched up. He never liked the smell of the daycare. He hoped that Heather didn't take issue with it. It was warm, though. Harry dragged the scarf off his neck as quickly as he had fastened it, and pulled off his hat. He shook his ponytail out and smoothed the fringe as much as his gloved hands would allow.

Scraping his boots against the floor mat, he couldn’t help his eyes from cascading over the colorful flower murals that decorated the daycare walls. The closer he approached Heather’s room, the more drawings he saw pinned up and plastered about, and he let the smile growing on his face blossom in full when he recognized his daughter’s artwork hanging among the rest.

Gently rapping on the door before he entered, he creaked it open and peered into the room, seeing a sparse amount of children left inside. Some were playing with each other, some were playing alone, but there he saw Heather, huddled up on a small little table with her eyes transfixed on the book laid out in front of her.

Harry knocked his shoulder against the doorframe and chuckled quietly. His little girl was doing just fine. The flurry of shuffling paper then caught his attention and Ms. Danese, the caretaker, pushed her chair in and out and walked toward him to say her usual pleasantries.

“Hello, Mr. Silva!” The grin she wore was heard clearly in the edges of her voice. She brought Harry further into the room, glancing between him and his daughter. “You here to pick up Heather?”

Harry’s own smile turned taut, but it was still friendly enough for her not to notice. “I sure am. Thank you.”

The caretaker chuckled a bit and waved her hand reassuringly. “Ahh, no worries. Just doing my job! She’s a delight, your daughter.” Maneuvering behind the desk she sat at, she picked up a clipboard and pen, pressing the latter against the former to hand to Harry.

A ‘delight’, huh? Harry signed his ‘name’ adjacent to Heather’s slot and quickly handed the itinerary back when finished. He managed to catch Danese’s beaming with his own in time and brushed away some haggard strands of hair, sighing as gently as he could. Harry looked to his daughter instead to ease the tension in his chest.

When he closed the distance between them, Heather still hadn’t looked up from her book. Her spells of focus were utterly fascinating to the father, and it always made him wonder if he passed his own onto her in some way. He crept next to her, quietly and carefully, and crouched down to meet her at eye-level.

He was silent as his eyes panned between Heather and her book, and she turned the page with intent.

She was absolutely engrossed. His heart thrummed with pride.

Heather then paused for a moment. furrowing her brows and turning her head toward Harry. He grinned at her when she gasped.

“Papa!” She erupted and wrapped her arms around Harry’s neck in enthusiasm, who in turn laughed and patted her back. He gave her a kiss on the cheek.

“Hey, sweetheart! How was today?”

“Good! I read two whole books today!”

“Oh, did you, now?” Harry stood as he drew Heather’s hand into his and walked over to the cubbies with her, watching as she excitedly rummaged around for her hat and coat, subsequently shuffling them on. When she struggled with her scarf, he kneeled down and swaddled her neck with it. Safe and secure.

He then reached for her gloves and put them on her hands, and Heather gave him a few enthusiastic claps. Harry smirked and clapped back a few times. After exchanging a few patterns of impassioned clapping, he finally rose from the floor, pacing over to the book Heather left on the table and snapping it shut when he picked it up. He walked over to the bookshelf nestled up against the wall and slid it back in a vacant spot.

“So, do you wanna walk with me or do you want me to carry you?” Putting his own hat and scarf back on as he approached Heather once more, Harry rolled out his shoulders as he offered the latter option. He heard his bones clip against each other, and it felt as unpleasant as it sounded.

Really, he shouldn’t keep asking her that with the state he’s in, but at the same time, he couldn’t help it. Old habits die hard.

Heather considered Harry for a moment and decidedly reached for his hand.

“I wanna walk,” Heather chirped and Harry smiled, feeling a generous part of himself relieved at her decision. Maybe she saw the frown on his face as he felt his shoulders sigh.

“Alright! Walk it is, then. Here we are…” He took her hand in his once more and gave it a gentle wiggle. Leading his daughter out the door, he gave the caretaker a wave and reiterated his thanks as he said goodbye, Heather doing the same with a toothy smile.

“So, my love,” Harry began, smiling down at Heather trotting alongside him. “What did you read today?”

Heather looked up at him and pursed her lips in thought, bringing up her free hand to count them off.

“Umm… I read Where The Wild Things Are.” She released one finger. “It was scary, but not super scary. It was funny and scary and… happy, I think. Yeah, I read that one today.”

She released a second finger. “I read The Very Hungry Caterpillar, too. Hmmm, that one was just okay. The caterpillar’s eyes were kinda scary to me.”

“Oh, honey, did you only read scary books?” Harry knit his brows at his daughter. Heather then suddenly stalled, drawing the family of two to a halt in the hallway.

“Papa, I just remembered!”

“What is it, sweetie? Did you forget something back in the room?”

“I finished The Magic Treehouse today!” She held the third and final finger triumphantly in the air and Harry found himself slack jawed.

That was a chapter book, wasn’t it? The name sounded new, nothing that Harry himself had ever read, but he had heard of it in passing. It made him so impossibly happy that his little girl was reading chapter books! At six!

Perhaps it wasn’t all that surprising, given that their apartment was littered with novels as thick as your head, but he wanted to pick Heather up, twirl her in the air and tell her a million times over how proud he was of her.

Not in the middle of a hallway scorned by bleach, though. Ick.

He ushered Heather forward through the sliding doors and into the winter air as he settled for “Really? Which one was it?”

“Dinosaurs After… no, Dinosaurs Before Dark. Ms. Danese kept the book for me when I left yesterday. I was almost done with it, though.” Harry saw the proud smile on Heather’s face and grinned, ruffling her hat.

“Right on! How’d you like it?” The father’s keys swirled around as he plucked them from his breast pocket, approaching the driver’s side of the Jeep and unlocking the car. Heather promptly tailed Harry to the back seat, bouncing on her heels and becoming contemplative as she gathered her thoughts.

“I liked it a lot!” Heather climbed inside and situated herself on the booster seat while Harry fastened her in and nodded along. “The dinosaurs were cool but some were scary, like the Tyrannosaurus that was chasing Jack and Annie. There was also a, uh… a puh-ter…” She juggled the syllables around in her mouth and scrunched her face up in annoyance. Heather stretched her arms out wide and flapped them. “A flying dinosaur. She helped Jack and Annie too.”

Harry glanced up from the litany of buckles and straps holding Heather in and arched an eyebrow. “Do you mean a pterodactyl?”

Heather made a dissatisfied noise and shook her head. “No, no, no, it’s different. Put-ter-nah… Tern-uh… mmgh.”

All the father could do was chuckle helplessly at Heather’s sour expression. “Well, I’m not too well-versed in dinosaur terminology, sweetie. I’m sorry. I could…” His eyes fell back to the final strap as he tugged on it to make sure it was comfortable for her. “I could look it up when we get home?”

Heather vigorously shook her head. “I’ll remember it, Papa!”

“Alright. Sounds good to me.”

Harry finally closed the backseat door and gingerly made his way around to the driver’s side, quickly buckling up and starting the Jeep.

Shifting the car into reverse, he looked out the rear window as he backed out of the last parking lot for the day, and wasted no time getting back on the road toward home. He glanced in the rearview mirror to find Heather muttering the beginnings to a dinosaur name she insisted she would remember and a small, warm smile swathed his lips.

Harry switched the radio back on when stopped at another light, and when looking back in the mirror, he saw Heather knock her head against the window. It seems that she’d given up, and the car would be enveloped in the familiar quiet Harry had become used to on the drive home.

The quiet was always forlorn, and Heather always looked tired in the moments she shared that quiet. When he, in turn, shared her exhaustion, he’d count his lucky stars that she wasn’t typically rambunctious. She should’ve been, though. Nobody her age should look that tired. Or be that tired.

He only ever saw his daughter in the mornings and evenings, too. School was a must and daycare was a shot in the dark. The thought of the latter absolutely terrified him at first, but he reasoned that it’d be good for her. In some ways, it could be good for him, too. It could give them room to breathe.

But he always wondered if Heather missed him like he missed her. He cleared his throat.

“Are you okay, Papa? Are you sick?” Heather’s eyes were wide with worry. Harry shook his head and gave her a smile that she could see.

“I’m alright, love. Just got something stuck in my throat is all.”

“Oh. Okay.” Heather replied, and looked back out the window.

A worrywart. Just like me. Harry held in his sigh as best he could and crinkled his brows instead. It made sense that she’d pick up some of his neuroses. Her past, her present, and her future… thinking about it made a sickness in him churn so violently that it immobilized not only Harry, but Heather as well.

It made her miss all sorts of opportunities she wished to seek out, and he was all too happy to usher her away from anybody that made his stomach twist just a little bit too much.

Hell, he was just about ready to pull her out of the daycare program, but he knew that he shouldn’t. He couldn’t, rather.

Nobody ever got as close as that cult member did, though.

He remembered all the blood, his body crumpling onto the floor, and Heather screaming, shielding her eyes from the terrible sight. The mountain of paperwork he had to leaf through, the frigid smell of the courtroom, his public defender placing her hand on his and saying that it’s alright, Harry. It’s alright.

He could never stand to remember the jury’s eyes, though. They were nothing short of purging.

The father thought it a goddamn miracle that he wasn’t loitering behind bars right now. Having Heather stripped away from him like that? It’d break him, and he was already splintering enough as it was. He just hoped that the shards sticking out of him didn’t prick his little girl more than they already had.

“We’re here, Papa!” Heather pressed her hands against the window as the sign for Bergen Street came into view, and Harry promptly turned onto the road.

“We sure are, sweetheart.” Harry smiled at her once more in the rearview mirror and pulled into the Daisy Villa Apartments’ lot, picking a spot not too far away from the entrance. After parking the car and turning it off, he sharply turned his head to give Heather a proper grin. It earned him a surprised giggle.

He popped out of the Jeep and jogged over to the backseat, quickly unfastening her seatbelts and pulling her out of the booster seat gingerly with his hands under her armpits, setting her down on the ground with an over-exaggerated grunt of release. Heather giggled some more after he stretched out his back like the aging man he was.

“Goodness, Heather, I swear, you just keep getting bigger and bigger every day!” He gave the tip of her nose a gentle wiggle with his forefinger and thumb, and she bounced on her heels excitedly at the comment.

“I’ll be as big as you someday!” She stretched her arms up in the sky, and Harry couldn’t help but laugh. He was on the taller side, all things considered, so she’d be pretty tall for a lady if that were the case.

“Riiiight, so long as you eat your fruits and veggies.” Harry folded his arms and gave Heather that knowing, critical eye. She wilted quickly, sticking out her lower lip in a pout.

The girl crossed her arms as well and huffed. “Veggies are gross,” she said simply, closing her eyes and sticking her nose in the air with considerable haughtiness.

“Well,” Harry scratched his chin in thought. “You say that now, but maybe that’ll change in the future.” Heather responded with a vigorous shaking of her head.

Harry wasn’t much of a cook, but he knew a couple of saving throw meals that Heather seemed to like well enough, picky kid that she was. He always kicked himself for getting takeout and pre-baked food, but as it stood, he only had so much money to work with. Ever blessed he was to have in-laws as generous and caring as Jodie's even after she'd gone, but the checks in the mail were as consistent as their amounts... being that they weren't.

He couldn’t afford to get the best of the best ingredients every single time he went grocery shopping, and even then, he wouldn't exactly know what to do with them. It’d been so long since he’d truly made anything for anybody. He always made them with somebody, and he missed it so much.

Harry felt a gust of wind whip past the duo, leaving them shivering and huddling against one another for warmth.

“Come on, love. Let’s get inside before we turn into popsicles,” Harry managed through chattering teeth as he pointed a thumb towards the front door, and Heather nodded with great enthusiasm, lighting up at the mention of popsicles.

She took his hand after he locked his car and listed off her favorite flavors, with Harry mentioning that it would be far too cold to have any at the moment. He did concur with her on her favorite flavor being banana, though.

Making their way through the front door and squarely standing in the in-between, Harry leafed around for his keycard in his wallet. He swiped it a few times and was met with a beeping red light from the door handle. He grimaced at it, trying another time and failing all the same. He swore under his breath.

These new locks were gonna be the death of him. Such a pain in the ass.

Heather shifted her weight onto one leg and leaned on it, splaying her arms out and cocking her head while examining the keycard that Harry held with a curious look in her eye.

“Papa? I think it’s upside-down.” She pointed at the card and Harry looked at her with raised eyebrows. He flipped it around in his hand for a moment before trying out Heather’s suggestion. The light blipped green, followed by a loud click. Harry pocketed the keycard and held the door open for Heather while beaming at her.

“Smart girl! Thank you so much!” He said to her as she trotted into the hallway, waiting for Harry to follow her to their apartment. Counting down the numbers, they finally reached room 102. Harry pulled out his keys to unlock the door, but before he did, he stilled to look down at Heather, who was staring at the dangling metal with great interest.

“...Do you wanna unlock the door, love?”

Fireworks lit up in Heather’s eyes and she nodded, reaching out both of her hands to grab Harry’s keys. She studied them, furrowing her brows in concentration as she threaded her fingers through each one, quiet and decisive jingling being the only talk between father and daughter.

When she couldn’t find what she was looking for and grumbled, Harry gave her a wordless hint by pulling up the apartment key with his finger and thumb. Realization washed over Heather’s face, and held it firmly in her hand, analyzing every groove of it.

She gave Harry a quiet ‘thank you, Papa’ before firmly grasping the key at the base and sticking it in the lock.

Upside-down first, of course.

Chirping out an ‘oops’, she fumbled to swivel it the right way around and successfully slid it in, turning the key with great effort and smiling when she heard the door unlock. When she couldn’t pull the keys out, she huffed and scowled at them, with Harry chuckling lightly and pulling them out himself.

He opened the door to their home and turned on the lights; Heather dragged her feet inside. Harry could sense the shame in her failure to remove the keys in a timely manner, so he rectified what embarrassment he could with a pat on the head after closing and locking the door.

“You did a good job, Heather. It’s just something you have to practice.” Harry smiled down at his daughter, who looked up at him bashfully. She smiled nonetheless, and wiped her boots on the mat.

Heather strode over to the coat rack, peeling off the various different articles of clothing from her person. Harry’s hands hung in the air, grabbing the items Heather pulled off and putting them in their usual places for the night.

He finished with her gloves, sitting neatly next to her hat in the topmost shelf of a plastic bin, which stood on the floor underneath the coat rack. Her shelf was labeled ‘HEATHER’, being written in big and wobbly orange marker letters. Just underneath sat Harry’s shelf, succinctly labeled ‘Chris’ in elegant cursive Sharpie.

Heather was quick to touch down on the couch in the living room after taking her boots off. She bounced on it a little bit before sprawling out, arms and legs whichever way. After hanging up his coat and placing his boots next to his daughter’s, Harry paced over to the bookshelf and thumbed out a random novel. He’d keep it light tonight. He then made his way toward the couch and used his book to playfully shoo Heather to the other end.

“Hey, make some room for your old man, yeah?” Heather giggled throughout and rolled over to the other side with little protest, grabbing a couch pillow to hold onto while Harry sat down, crossing his legs and flipping to the first page. He caught Heather in his periphery tilting her head to get a better look at the back cover, and he slid his glasses back up his nose as he regarded her in full.

“You hungry at all, sweetheart? Did you have anything to eat before I picked you up?” Heather straightened out to meet her father’s expectant gaze and thought to herself for a minute, giving the pillow she held in her arms a few squeezes.

“Mmm, I had some apple slices with peanut butter before you came. Not many, though.” She rested her chin on the hem and Harry nodded. He closed one eye, furrowing the brow above it as he prepared his next question.

“Think you could eat a pizza tonight?” His expression became playful when he plucked his eyes from the ceiling and pressed them back on her. Heather was immediately engulfed with excitement. She bolted up on the couch and released the pillow from her grip, falling onto the carpet.

“Pizza! Pizza! Pizza!” She jumped up and down while she cheered. Harry laughed and shook his head, leaving his book splayed out on the armrest.

“Alright, alright, calm down, Heather, love. Don’t jump on the couch, please.”

Heather tucked in her lips and stopped as soon as Harry finished his sentence. She sat back down on the couch with her legs crossed and hands folded in the crease of her lap. He ruffled her hair, thanked her, and subsequently stood up and paraded into the kitchen, with Heather tailing not too far behind.

Feeling his spine crinkle as he craned down to open the freezer, he grunted, placing a palm near the tender small of his back. Heather cocked her head in concern once more at her father, and Harry felt her gaze, apprehensive as ever.

“It’s nothing to worry about. I’m just getting old. Never get old, Heather. You’ll be all creaky and grumpy like me.” He laughed as he pulled out a frozen oven pizza. Heather bounded on her heels, face then twisting into dissent.

“I won’t be tall if I don’t grow up, though.”

Harry hummed. “You’d be right about that. However, my love,” Harry gave Heather’s nose another gentle pinch, eliciting a giggle.“There’s nothing wrong with being on the shorter side.”

He dug his fingers into the crease of the glued cardboard of the box, and ripped it open rather unceremoniously. Before sliding the pizza out, he grabbed a large plate from the cupboard and set it on the counter.

While Harry rummaged around in the silverware drawer for a knife to cut the sheer plastic encasing the pizza, Heather stood on her tiptoes aside from him, grasping the edge of the counter with her hands.

“Careful, sweetheart, I don’t wanna nick you,” Harry said quietly, and Heather obliged, settling back down on the soles of her feet and letting her arms fall to her sides. Harry cut open the vinyl covering and tore it away in big, flowy chunks. Heather simply stood in place, staring at the pizza now freed from its plastic confines.

Harry turned to the oven, pressing the ‘Bake’ button and watched as the degrees climbed higher and higher to settle on 450 when he held down the top arrow. He leaned against the counter afterwards, crossing his arms and looking at Heather with a smile. He found her transfixed by the number displayed on the oven clock.

“How big can the number get, Papa?”

“Huh?” Harry found himself a bit taken aback by the question.

“Like… can it go reeeeally high?” Heather reached her finger up toward the ceiling.

“Mmm. I dunno, love. The limit is… oh, maybe 500 or 600 degrees for ovens like this? But I’m not sure.” He shrugged and Heather hummed, looking at the clock again.

“Do you think other ovens have really high numbers?”

Harry nodded and pushed himself off the counter ledge. “Definitely. It depends on where you are and what it’s for, though.”

“Like what?”

Harry scratched at his forehead and clicked his tongue in thought. “Let’s see, um… you wanna bake something quickly; somebody orders a pizza at the place you’re working at and you gotta get it to ‘em fast. Now, ideally,” pushing his glasses back up his nose, he held his hands out as he spun this half-baked antidote into tangibility, “you’d want a nice, big oven that’s well-kept and ready for you to put anything in-”

“Like a pizza!” Heather interjected excitedly.

“Yes, like a pizza, exactly,” Harry chuckled. “Now, of all the places I’ve worked, it’s never been a pizza place, so I’m only guessing here, but those ovens—at least the froofy ones—are sometimes made out of stone.”

Heather gave him a look of disbelief. “Stone?”

“Mhm. Stone. S’how baking pizza started out. Make a fire in the middle of the oven, push it back when you’re ready to cook, slide the pizza in the opening…”

“But what about the numbers?”

“You’d play it by ear. Or, er, nose and eyes, rather. No numbers to tell you how hot it is.” Harry pressed the tip of his nose and winked at Heather.

She looked totally and utterly lost, and he didn’t blame her one bit. He could never stand to work in food service for longer than a week. At best.

Heather decidedly dipped out of the conversation altogether by peeking out from behind the kitchen wall, presumably looking at the television in the open living room. Harry crossed his arms again as he waited for the question.

“May I watch a movie, Papa?”

“Go pick out something good.” He gave her an encouraging smirk and she returned a radiant grin, dashing out the kitchen and out of sight. It wasn’t long before Harry heard her rummaging through the little box of tapes kept under the TV set.

He lingered in the kitchen for a moment, alone. He passed his eyes over the 450 and back to the floor. It was quiet, save for Heather out in the living room, and it settled on his heart in a way he truly disliked. There wasn’t any point in staying here by himself, so out he went, whistling an indiscernible tune to fill that godawful quiet as best he could.

"What’d you pick?" Harry asked with a small smile as he sat back down on the couch, and Heather’s grin returned. She stood up from the floor and handed the case to him from off the floor. It seemed like she already put the tape and rewound it. The screen was swathed in static.

He raised an eyebrow. “Beauty and the Beast, huh?”

Heather nodded with enthusiasm.

“I feel like we got… at least halfway through this one.” He readjusted his glasses, scrutinizing the boxart.

Heather cocked her head. “You fell asleep last time.”

“Ah.” Harry Mason pressed the case to his chin, looking off to the side and blinking a few times. Well, that's embarrassing.

"Another shake won't hurt, I suppose. Go ahead and play it, love." Heather skipped over to the VCR and pressed play, making her way back to the couch and picking up the pillow she tossed onto the floor.

The father was only half-paying attention to the film as he continually looked back over to the book on the armrest. He hastily promised himself that he'd muscle through at least a good 20 minutes, give or take. Couldn’t be that bad.

When the oven started to beep—Harry found it a saving grace; the songs were starting to grate on him—he took that as his cue to rise from the couch and return to the kitchen counter. He rolled up his sleeves and grabbed the plate of pizza, gingerly sliding it onto the pizza stone sitting on the center rack.

After closing the oven door, he set the timer for 15. Harry briskly made his way back to the couch and relented, indulging in the book left on the armrest. He picked it up, folded the halves back and forth, and began to absentmindedly flip through the pages.

Heather, sitting adjacently and hugging the pillow once more, leaned on his arm, intent on beholding his rather half-hearted attempt at reading the book.

“Studying for work,” Harry said over his shoulder, eyes darting to and from Heather as he played with the corner of the page he was skimming. Licking his forefinger, he slid to the next one. “Read more than you write. Author’s ethos.”

“What’s ethos?”

“Fancy way of saying that there’s a set of rules for things.” He regarded her in full. “If you don’t read good books, you can’t write good books. That sort of thing.”

“Oh.” Heather merely said, and turned her eyes back toward the television screen. Harry couldn’t help a smile. One would think the job of an author was romantic, as many artistic pursuits are seen, but it was still work. It takes time, effort, thick enough skin to take even the slightest criticism…

And, well, a Hell of a lot of reading and writing.

Even so, for all the sleepless nights and gray hairs it gave him, Harry made it his. To say he enjoyed it at this juncture in time was charitable, but the truth of the matter was that it would never leave him.

It was rewarding—holding the piece of art one molded into something with their own two hands was nothing short of exhilarating. It was unlike anything else. Flipping through it, tracing the raised text on the cover, on the spine, reading and re-reading his author’s bio…

When his first—and admittedly most successful—novel made its way into his mailbox, he just about damn cried at the sight of it. He could never, ever let that go.

The beeping kitchen oven announced that the family's meal was finished, and they both rose from the couch, with Heather finding time to both pause the movie and beat Harry to the kitchen. Bouncing heels and flapping arms signified her excitement as the father slipped on worn oven mitts. He then grabbed a spatula from inside the silverware drawer and the plate sitting on the counter.

He stood in front of the oven and cracked its door open, peering inside. Harry was met with hot air and fiery orange innards. Heather, now curious, crept closer to the oven too, but Harry was quick to gently shoo her away.

"It's gonna be hot, Heather, love. Please stand back, alright?"

Heather obliged, but not without a pout on her face. She clasped her hands behind her back and stood on her tiptoes as she observed Harry giving his neck a few stretches as he psyched himself up for one of his least favorite parts of the pizza-making process.

He opened the door in full, and the oven was more than happy to welcome him in with its sweltering heat. Squinting, he prodded the well-cooked pizza with the edge of the spatula before shoving it between the crust and the stone. Harry successfully nudged it onto the plate he held, and he was quick to set it back onto the counter, close the door, and turn the oven off.

"God, that stone's a life-saver. Thank you, Jodie," Harry sighed, pulling off his mitts as he grinned down at Heather.

"Thank you, Mama Jodie!" Heather echoed as she cupped her hands around the edge of the counter, peering at the pizza with obvious hungry intent.

“Hmm." The father looked between the pizza and his daughter. "I think we oughta let this cool for a bit. It'll make it easier to cut and eat." Harry gave Heather an apologetic look. Her face fell. She gave the pizza a longing look before looking back at Harry. “You don’t want lava for a pizza, do you?”

“Mm-mm. I don’t like lava.” Heather shook her head decisively. Harry’s heart melted, and he flattened out the darkening roots sprouting from her head with a few loving strokes.

“You’re being very patient, sweetheart. Hopefully, with the movie, the time'll fly right on by. I’ll set another timer so we don’t forget, how about?” Harry turned back to the oven and set its timer for 5 minutes, and was just about to take his leave when Heather tugged on the hem of his sweater. When he turned around to look, she raised her arms in the air towards him. She wanted to be picked up.

Harry couldn’t say no. For as heavy as she was, he managed to carry her to the couch. She sat in his lap, watching the TV with somewhat sleepy eyes. Harry took off his glasses and gingerly slid a temple into his collar. He cradled Heather in his arms, gently rubbing her back. Sharing yawns between each other, he gathered that he wouldn’t be able to last even halfway through Beauty and the Beast this time around if he wasn't careful.

Gaston was in the midst of his musical number when oven timer jolted them both out of their stupor. Back to the kitchen they went, taking with them their newfound exhaustion and ire, but not before Heather paused the movie again.

Harry shook himself awake enough to cut the pizza without nicking any of his fingers, and was quick to hand off a plate of two triangle slices to Heather, with Harry only having one. They took their respective seats over at the wooden dinner table when they approached it, and began to quietly eat their meal.

“So,” Harry said mid-bite. “What else did you do at daycare today? Anything interesting?” Heather furrowed her brow in serious thought as she took a bite, chewing thoroughly while mulling over today’s events. She swallowed before she answered:

“Nothing new happened today. We went outside to play and I swung on the swings.” She took another bite, but not before picking off a piece of sliced pepper.

“Mmm. The swings are good.” Harry nodded throughout, and playfully cocked a brow at Heather’s not-so-discreet elimination of the vegetables on her slices of pizza. “Heather, love, what did I tell you about eating your veggies?”

“But I don’t like them, Papa! They’re super gross and- and soggy.” Heather exclaimed, pouting as she tossed herself back in her chair. Harry sighed, reaching over to give the tip of her nose another loving and gentle pinch.

“If you don’t eat ‘em, you’re not gonna grow big and strong! That’s what you want, right?” Harry cocked his head to try and meet Heather’s sour gaze. She pursed her lips further, avoiding her father’s eyes.

Harry thought for a moment. “How about this? If the next slice gets eaten, veggies and all, you’ll get an extra big bowl of ice cream. How’s that sound?” Heather’s face shifted somewhat, and Harry smiled back at her, raising his eyebrows while he waited for an answer.

Heather pressed her lips together to suppress her smile, finally nodding with enthusiasm and finished the slice she was picking at. Leaving a barren crust behind, Heather braved the second slice with a grimace on her face, but was fairing pretty well when she continued to eat.

“Anything else today? Make any friends?”

“Umm… no. I didn’t.”

Harry frowned a bit, putting down his slice. He didn’t know why he was so disappointed to hear that answer; she said it every single time he asked. He pulled his lips to the side.

“Do you… wanna make new friends?”

Heather gave him a confused look mid-bite. “You said I shouldn’t talk to strangers.”

Shame was quick to run throughout the father’s cheeks. Shit. She was right. He did say that, didn’t he? He cleared his throat and ran a hand through his ponytail.

“That- that doesn’t apply to kids your age, love. I should’ve been more clear. I’m sorry.”

“It applied to Krystal.” Heather gave him a resigned shrug as she chewed, and Harry winced as if she touched a nerve, exposed. He sighed, despondently caught in his convoluted web of hypocrisies. He stared at his half-eaten slice; he wasn’t hungry anymore, but he took one last bite. Just for the sake of it.

“I’m sorry, Heather, I… “ He pressed a loose fist against his mouth as he rested his elbow against the table. “It wasn’t Krystal, it was her parents. I… I just couldn’t take any chances.”

Heather remained silent as she continued to eat, finishing the last few bites before putting the remaining crust on the plate. She reached for the napkin set adjacent to the plate and wiped her hands as best she could.

Harry looked over and saw that she had stains around her lips. His face softened.

“Here, sweetheart.” Harry rose from his seat at the table, grabbed his own napkin and made his way over to his daughter, taking her chin into his hand and wiping around the edges of her mouth attentively. “Just got a little bit of sauce there. All clean now.”

Heather looked at her father with wide eyes.

“Papa?” She began, a bizarrely serious expression engulfing her face. “When will you stop being so scared?”

Harry stilled completely before he sat back down, feeling the blood in his veins run ice cold. He tried to look into Heather’s eyes, but saw completely through her. He looked down at the floor instead.

“I’m not scared, love.”

“You look scared.”

“I’ll be alright, Heather.”

“You said that yesterday.”

Harry pressed his lips into a firm, thin line. He shut his eyes tight and rubbed his forefinger into his brow bone. Heather frowned deeply and pushed away from the table, shuffling off her chair and climbing into Harry’s lap when she reached him, albeit a bit clumsily. He leaned back to give her room and she pressed her back against his chest. She scrutinized the nearly finished piece of pizza on his plate as she spoke.

“I don’t like it when Papa’s scared.”

Harry wrapped his arms around Heather’s waist and pressed his lips against the back of her head, catching a whiff of her no-tear shampoo.

“I don’t like it, either. I’m trying to get better, sweetheart. I really am.”

There they sat; a moment of quiet. That same somber quiet Harry hated so much. But when Heather leaned her head against his clavicle, he could only close his eyes and beg the newfound strain in his heart to please, please just go away. Only for this moment. Let this quiet be sacred, please.

Leave us alone for just one second.

Heather then suddenly slid off of Harry’s lap and onto the floor. She trotted over to the television and kneeled on the carpet, turning the VCR off along with the set. She then returned to Harry with a positively exhausted request written on her face.

“Do you wanna go to bed? No ice cream?” Harry gently asked, standing up from the chair and stretching out his back. Heather nodded at bedtime and shook her head at the suggestion of ice cream, rubbing her eye with the heel of her hand.

“I’m tired,” she simply said, and Harry nodded at her affirmatively.

“Okay, love. Let’s brush your teeth, first.”

Heather’s head lolled as Harry took her hand and led her into the bathroom in her bedroom, watching her step up on the stool below the sink so she could reach everything that she needed.

After slowly, sleepily brushing her teeth, she slid down and reached for Harry’s hand again. He took it and quietly led her back into her bedroom.

He pulled her pajamas out from her dresser and placed them on the bed for her to change into. After that, Heather settled in and pulled her plush bunny close to her chest after Harry pulled the covers to her chin.

“Do you want me to read you a story tonight, love?” Harry asked, brushing Heather’s bangs out of her eyes. She shook her head again and punctuated it with a yawn. Harry chuckled and gave her forehead a kiss.

“Alright, Heather. Get some good rest. Tomorrow’s the weekend, so we can go to the park. Sound good?”

“I’d love that.” Heather beamed at her father, and with that, Harry turned off the bedside lamp and took his leave.

“Papa?”

“Yes, sweetheart?”

“I love you.”

Harry held the bedroom door ajar, looking at his daughter with a tender smile. “I love you too. More than you know.”

Heather nestled further under the covers and shut her eyes.

“Goodnight, Papa.”

“Goodnight, Heather.

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