"It's okay, sweetheart. We both kind of exploded." He chuckles grimly, his hand moving up and down the curve of her soft shoulder. "I think we both said a lot of things we regret, and we'll talk about it later, when we can both speak calmly and think rationally, and when you're not in pain."
When she says she'll go to the wedding, he smiles tiredly. "Of course I want you to come. You don't have to if you don't want to, but it would mean a lot to us. We might push it back a day after this, though," he says, laughing. "I'm going to sleep through most of tomorrow afternoon, I already feel it."
His lips purse against the top of her head as she weeps, and he murmurs, "I know you did, sweetheart, and I'm sorry. I didn't realize--your father is an intelligent man," he says, his voice low as he speaks to her, "but his brain functions in ways that make him dense, sometimes. So I didn't know--and if I had known how you felt, how it had upset you, I wouldn't have asked her. I didn't mean to hurt you, Salome, I simply wasn't thinking at the time, wasn't thinking when I told you about it."
Aw, now, she's not a horrible daughter. She's just a teenager. She's still his little girl, and all he wants is to take care of her. To make her feel safe and loved and happy. Even when they've had a nasty fight, if she's hurt, he'll stop at no end to make sure she recovers.
She's an excellent little bear. He could hold her all day long and never get tired of it, even if it's just in the ER waiting room and she's sobbing all over him.
By the time they're called, the nosebleed couple has long-since been taken back, but the others are still lingering. He supports his poor little mess of a girl all the way back to the room, the nurse who takes them giving Salome some very sympathetic looks.
Richard, with a bleak, tired version of his usual trollface, grins down at Salome and playfully tells her, "Well, they got us in quick enough. We might not have to amputate after all."
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When she says she'll go to the wedding, he smiles tiredly. "Of course I want you to come. You don't have to if you don't want to, but it would mean a lot to us. We might push it back a day after this, though," he says, laughing. "I'm going to sleep through most of tomorrow afternoon, I already feel it."
His lips purse against the top of her head as she weeps, and he murmurs, "I know you did, sweetheart, and I'm sorry. I didn't realize--your father is an intelligent man," he says, his voice low as he speaks to her, "but his brain functions in ways that make him dense, sometimes. So I didn't know--and if I had known how you felt, how it had upset you, I wouldn't have asked her. I didn't mean to hurt you, Salome, I simply wasn't thinking at the time, wasn't thinking when I told you about it."
Aw, now, she's not a horrible daughter. She's just a teenager. She's still his little girl, and all he wants is to take care of her. To make her feel safe and loved and happy. Even when they've had a nasty fight, if she's hurt, he'll stop at no end to make sure she recovers.
She's an excellent little bear. He could hold her all day long and never get tired of it, even if it's just in the ER waiting room and she's sobbing all over him.
By the time they're called, the nosebleed couple has long-since been taken back, but the others are still lingering. He supports his poor little mess of a girl all the way back to the room, the nurse who takes them giving Salome some very sympathetic looks.
Richard, with a bleak, tired version of his usual trollface, grins down at Salome and playfully tells her, "Well, they got us in quick enough. We might not have to amputate after all."