Richard chuckles, shaking his head. "No, but now that you mention it that would be a rather excellent costume. Perhaps I could get a wheelchair and go as Doctor Strangelove, as long as we're talking crazy doctors and-or scientists. 'Mein Führer! I can walk!' Anyway, do I need to be a doctor for Halloween to have a badass lampshade made with x-ray's of my daughter's hand?" He laughs gently, though it stills when her head falls against his shoulder because the touch after all this feels so nice. It's so much better to have her head against him, and he wraps his arm around her, turning to kiss and kiss and kiss the top of her head before looking forward again to listen to her whisper.
It makes his skin crawl with a shudder of sudden desire, and his lips twitch as he tries to moderate his expression. He tilts his head, mouth brushing her hair as he breathes, "Well, princess, just wait until tomorrow. You can be the patient and Daddy can play doctor and we can make up for all this unpleasantness."
His grin widens a little, hand moving into her hair to stroke and pet and tangle while he stares into space. "Tsk, now. I love you even when I'm at my peak crazy. My love for you is woven so tightly into every fiber of my being that even if you pushed me so far I snapped, all of my anger would be shadowed by just as much passion as normal." See, for instance, tonight. "But I'm glad to know you're back to loving me, baby."
He glances at the clock, the ultra-clean medicine-sick scent of the ER no longer something he notices. Then, eyes closing, Richard leans his head back against the wall and sighs.
"You can date if you want to. But absolutely no funny business, if I ever get the feeling you're fooling around with these boys you will completely regret it. And I also don't want to hear about or see or know about your boyfriends, because if I do I will not be happy, and for that matter neither will he after I'm through with him. But if one of them ever hurts you, you come straight to me, tell me everything and I will tear him apart limb by limb."
Even barely consciously aware of his words as he is, they're still like pulling teeth. It hurts, physically hurts to say any of that, and suddenly his skin feels tight and his stomach raw as a result of stress and over-exhaustion, and he just wants to go home and sleep and deny that his Salome is getting older. He looks completely, impossibly unhappy about it, but her happiness is what's important to him here, and if she really does resent being locked in as she is--perhaps just a little slack would be good for her, even if the idea makes him immediately edgy. What if she finds some little beast and starts spending more time with him? What if she starts fucking him? What if she stops fucking Daddy? Impossible, he knows, but still, it's a terrifying thought.
But he doesn't vocalize anything, instead simply leaning his cheek against the top of her head and closing his eyes. The warmth of her makes waiting in the ER so very bearable.
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It makes his skin crawl with a shudder of sudden desire, and his lips twitch as he tries to moderate his expression. He tilts his head, mouth brushing her hair as he breathes, "Well, princess, just wait until tomorrow. You can be the patient and Daddy can play doctor and we can make up for all this unpleasantness."
His grin widens a little, hand moving into her hair to stroke and pet and tangle while he stares into space. "Tsk, now. I love you even when I'm at my peak crazy. My love for you is woven so tightly into every fiber of my being that even if you pushed me so far I snapped, all of my anger would be shadowed by just as much passion as normal." See, for instance, tonight. "But I'm glad to know you're back to loving me, baby."
He glances at the clock, the ultra-clean medicine-sick scent of the ER no longer something he notices. Then, eyes closing, Richard leans his head back against the wall and sighs.
"You can date if you want to. But absolutely no funny business, if I ever get the feeling you're fooling around with these boys you will completely regret it. And I also don't want to hear about or see or know about your boyfriends, because if I do I will not be happy, and for that matter neither will he after I'm through with him. But if one of them ever hurts you, you come straight to me, tell me everything and I will tear him apart limb by limb."
Even barely consciously aware of his words as he is, they're still like pulling teeth. It hurts, physically hurts to say any of that, and suddenly his skin feels tight and his stomach raw as a result of stress and over-exhaustion, and he just wants to go home and sleep and deny that his Salome is getting older. He looks completely, impossibly unhappy about it, but her happiness is what's important to him here, and if she really does resent being locked in as she is--perhaps just a little slack would be good for her, even if the idea makes him immediately edgy. What if she finds some little beast and starts spending more time with him? What if she starts fucking him? What if she stops fucking Daddy? Impossible, he knows, but still, it's a terrifying thought.
But he doesn't vocalize anything, instead simply leaning his cheek against the top of her head and closing his eyes. The warmth of her makes waiting in the ER so very bearable.