sweetsalome | (no subject)

Just because school is off for Christmas break doesn't mean all of her other activities are. There is still swim practice and ballet, everything in between. Yeah, they have some days off, especially ballet, since their performance there is some down time before the next big thing comes along and they need to start working on that. Salome still leaves the house early in the morning, this time for her run with the dog, or attempted run, the puppy doesn't have that whole 'lets run in a straight line with the mistress, yay! isn't this fun?' thing down yet. So when she starts off on the run, she does only half of what she plans and then ends up carrying the ball of fur back.

It's alright, he's getting better.

After the run, there is swimming and time out of the house doing random errands and seeing random friends. By the time that she gets back Salome is exhausted and falls asleep sprawled out on the rug with the puppy, cell phone in hand, pretty much a standard practice with any teenager born.

Usually she is more on point, but she is exhausted and didn't even think about where her father and Delilah might be. Sometimes, it's like ships passing in the night with them.

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Poor Richard is just barely hanging on to the tatters of consciousness, himself. After everything that's happened in the past five to six hours, he feels like he's been riding a roller coaster nonstop for the entire time and now it's left him completely drained. And yet, there's still so much more to do. A mother works from sun to sun, but a father's (and serial killer's) work is never done.

He much prefers his spin on the old poem.

"No! No, you trecherous little-- uugh." His eyes close and his mouth falls open while she plays with his hair, the feeling indescribable. He groans quietly, leaning into the touch of her hand, trying to hang on despite the fact that his eyes are closed. There is important shit to do, goddammit, he has to finish cleaning up, has to wake Delilah up or leave her a note to let her know what's happening, that they're going to have to wait another day or two because of Salome's fingers.

Barely, barely, he hangs on by the tips of his nails, though he does still momentarily, fading in and out, his muscles unwinding. He lingers, waits, listens to her breathing, for that familiar pattern that indicates her slow descent into that miraculous teenage death-sleep. When he hears it, he'll drag himself out of bed and pull on jeans, away from her only as long as it takes to move what's in the attic down to the freezer in the basement, to check on the dog and make sure it's in bed, to shower, and then to rouse Delilah, who comes out of her dream when he strokes her shoulder and kisses her pale ear.

"Pussycat, wake up."

"Mmnhm-mm?" Delilah stretches out and turns, her eyes sealed shut even if she's sort of awake. "What's wrong?"

"Salome broke her fingers earlier," he says softly, stroking Delilah's hair. "We went to the ER, she'll be in a cast for awhile."

"Oh no!" Her reaction is maybe a little muted because she's so tired and it's such an odd hour and her eyes are still closed so she's not really completely conscious. "Poor thing."

"I know, tell me about it. But it means we'll have to push the wedding back a few days, maybe, since tomorrow she and I will both be useless."

Smiling in her half-awake state, Delilah turns and nuzzles her face against the pillow as much as she does Richard's arm. "I've already waited a while. I can wait a few more days, I don't care. I'm just so happy to marry you, I'd wait forever for it."

With a chuckle, Richard bends down and kisses the nape of her neck. "Well, you won't have to wait very long. And this way you'll have time to plan whatever you like. Anyway, kitten, go back to sleep. I'm going to sleep with my poor little patient tonight in case she needs anything."

"Okay, sweetie, sleep tight, you should bring me the dog."

He smooches her shoulder as he stands, saying, "Not on your life is that dog drooling and shedding in my bed. Good night, darling."

As he leaves her in peace, he chuckles his way back to Salome's room, and then, finally, at three in the morning, he strips off his clothes, slides into Salome's bed, pulls the sleeping girl into his arms, closes his eyes and is unconscious so fast it's like he's been hit over the back of the head by the sandman.

Oh, yeah, he is going to have some crazy-ass dreams tonight. That is for goddamn sure.