A slight smile at that. Yes, mother never lets her forget that. She isn't sure how she is supposed to atone for that, or what more the woman wants. It wasn't like she was very conscious of that fact at the time, how mad it made her, how she should have wanted the parent that was there. Not that Susan ever wanted to be there. Sometimes, she gets this very faint impression that she isn't or wasn't wanted. Kids are amazingly perceptive about that, and she has always had a sort of nagging feeling deep within her that she probably wasn't at all planned.

Still, people make do with what they have, what they are given. He hasn't been the most perfect father but then again what father has? It's hard for her to say what is wore or what is better then what she has been given, things seem to move smoothly enough as it is, and she can't recall a time where he flat out told her he never wanted her so he has done at least some things right in raising her.

"You're so protective of me," and she smiles into his chest, hugging him tight before loosening her grip just a little bit. "I know I probably wasn't something you wanted, but I am glad that you're my dad. I can't imagine anyone else but you," her voice is soft and earnest, and she keeps her eyes shut for most of that before she can open them and gaze up at him. She feels very lucky to have him, and outside of their play together as well. Probably not the most emotionally open guy on the planet, he has never denied her (out of necessities) or ever hurt her, and she knows that.

"Can we sleep together tonight?"