(no subject)

[sweetsalome]

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.

Comments

[sweetsalome.livejournal.com]

What is even crazier is that despite the fact that she has lived with him for years and that he has confessed to horrible acts in front of her, she doesn’t understand that he’s not normal.  She expects him to understand where she is coming from and why she is hurt and feeling left behind and her fears for the future.  He doesn’t get it because outside a few extreme examples he doesn’t really feel that sort of fear or that feeling of being left behind.  In his view those things are impossible, that she’ll be left behind, forgotten, and since he sees them as impossible then why doesn’t she?

It’s because she is an overanxious, uncertain teenager with very little confidence in herself in this situation.  This isn’t exactly old hat to her; she is new to the world of these feelings and these types of relationships.  It’s not normal or traditional and, for better or worse what she has grown to learn is that when you enter into a physical relationship an emotional relationship is to follow.  Like some sort of boyfriend, girlfriend relationship.  It’s not always easy for her to keep in mind that it doesn’t apply in this situation.  Which is its own heartbreak.

She isn’t going to turn him in, she’ll be honest about what happened, but she’ll probably start locking her door at night.  It’s not that she is completely rejecting him it’s just that she is waiting for them to try and kill her.

Shivering in the front seat of the car she sniffles some and wipes her face off with the sleeve of her coat.  With her free hand she reaches into her pocket to find a tissue and she uses that instead of her sleeve which a proper girl does.

“I wanted to hit you in the face.  Your face has more give.  I might still.”  She could punch him in the head and make them swerve into oncoming traffic which would solve their problem once and for all, hopefully quickly.  Looking down at her hand she tries to move her fingers among the bag of ice and it hurts and they barely move, maybe that’s just the swelling.  “I don’t know if it’s broken.”  Hopefully at this time of night things will be relatively calm and they won’t have to wait forever a might be break is kind of low on the priority list.

A moment of silence.  “You made a promise to her and I can’t ask you to break that.

[soursanguine.livejournal.com]

A locked door would be like a stab right through his chest. The very idea of his little girl not trusting him after all these years, seventeen of them. All the times he's protected her, the times he stayed up and cradled her when she had bad dreams, the times she snuggled into bed with him to seek his protection, all the problems she came to him with, all the games, the toys--and then he goes and is honest with her about killing a few people, and suddenly she can't trust him to leave her door unlocked at night?

Oh, he'll be sicker over that than he is over the girl nearly breaking her hand, or the idea that he might have to kill Delilah prematurely.

"I think I'd rather you not," he says, smirking mirthlessly out the windshield, driving through the poorly-lit, snow-covered streets to one of two possible urgent care clinics in the area. Luckily there's not much oncoming traffic, though that doesn't mean there isn't a lot of black ice and a occasional trees on the sides of the snowy roads. He watches her fingers move from the corner of his eye, saying, "If it was broken, you'd probably be screaming just a little more." Free hand reaching out, he gingerly takes the wrist of her injured hand and examines her knuckles as best he can, humming and bending his head to purse his lips in a kiss against it. "I think you probably just bruised it, baby. But better safe than sorry."

Her moment of silence is met by a long one of Richard's, and he glances out the driver's side window before digging through the inner pocket of his jacket for his cigarettes. He stares down at the tip of the one he lights, saying, "I'd might as well. If that's what it takes to make you understand, I'll do it. I don't think Mommy is going to want to continue being a part of our family after I do something like that to her," he says, clearing his throat as he rolls down the window just the barest crack to let his smoke out, "but after tonight I'm sure you don't care."

[sweetsalome.livejournal.com]

What exactly did he expect?  Especially after he admits that Delilah just killed someone and that in order to make an impression on him she should go and do the same.  That’s not the same father that stayed up and cuddled her and took care of her with all of her bad dreams and all of her illnesses.  That’s a psychopath and while he might have always been one he did a damn good job covering it up in front of her.  Plus, it isn’t implied that he is the one that would do the killing, Delilah is clearly more then capable of doing it apparently and what is keeping her from doing so?  They don’t have any bond like she and her father do.

“I can’t feel anything,” her whole brain feels detached from her head running a million miles per hour above her head, turning over ramped up thoughts, calculating, figuring, ignoring the pain, for now.  The more she comes down the more it will hurt and when he leans in to kiss her fingers she flinches waiting for that stab of pain it makes her stomach roll over.  She is going to be sick.

“I don’t care about her; she isn’t the one that I want.”  Delilah never was, she made allowances because there is no other choice.  Just like there is no other choice in this situation.  She is going to punch him in the damn head because he keeps pulling shit like this.  “Fine, do whatever you want then but don’t blame it on me because I said that I am not asking you to break your promise to her.  You know you can’t have it all, right?  That you can’t marry her and expect me to be over the moon.   I’ll get over it but if you’re asking me to be nothing but smiles and fake then that’s just not going to happen.  So do what you want.”

[soursanguine.livejournal.com]

He didn't really expect anything, which is the problem; or perhaps he expected her to appreciate the truth, or admire him more. Really it's that last one. It ties into that little psychopathy problem he has. He shared a part of himself with her, told her the truth because that's what people do when they're intimate. He will forever regret it, but she deserves honesty.

This is why he needs Delilah. Without her, he has no one he can share his real face to without consequence.

Plenty of things are keeping Delilah from killing Salome--her fondness of the girl, for one, but most notably, it's that Richard would annihilate her if she ever even dreamed of it. Richard is what's keeping Delilah from killing Salome, as if the fact that the girl is a person weren't enough.

"We'll be there soon, baby," he says quietly, patting her wrist and placing her hand in her lap. He pushes the pedal of the gas down just a little bit more and decides fuck it, no point in trying the urgent cares that might not even be open. ER it is, even if it's not a break, because he hates to see her hurting and he can't get a good gauge on how bad it is if she's numb.

Do whatever he wants, she says! He doesn't know what he wants, he has no idea what he wants! He wants Salome and Delilah both, that's what he wants! But if Salome's adoration is his price? If she'll resent him quietly for years, and Delilah, too? What if she never grows out of this competitive phase and it's like this forever? What then, what then? What could he possibly want?

Oh, his beautiful Delilah, his heart, his heart, oh why? He tears onto the highway, saying, "Here I thought you were fond of her. You should just view her as an extension of Daddy, baby, a feminine reflection. I just don't see--" He exhales and glowers out the windshield, saying, "I didn't think it would be a big deal to you, Salome. I'm sorry. And I said some--nasty things in there that I shouldn't have said. I'm sorry for that, too, whatever my remorse is worth.

"I love Delilah," he says, his throat dry, "but if it means this much to you, I'll get rid of her. I didn't know, baby. I didn't think you wanted to marry me. I figured, you seemed fine with our family, so it would be fine with you, since nothing would be changing. But if it scares you that much, and if you trust me so little that you can't believe me when I tell you that nothing else will change, then I'll remove Delilah from the picture."

Just saying the words makes him look miserable, so he turns his face away to look out the driver's window. "I don't know what I can do, Salome. I want to do whatever will make you understand how deeply devoted to you I am. Whatever will make you trust me, make you see that you are never at risk of falling out of favor."

[sweetsalome.livejournal.com]

"She isn’t you and she won’t ever be you.  I don’t want a female form of you, I don’t need another form of you.  She is fine as she is but she won’t stay that way, you’ll do whatever you want to make her into you.”  Which is actually a shame because Delilah is sweet and innocent and a lovely woman who Salome was starting to like because she is kind and sort of innocent, a different view from what she has been given.  But now she isn’t sweet is she?  She is just as warped and twisted as Richard and that’s fine for Richard, that’s what he wants, what he apparently aches for and needs and what Salome won’t ever be.

It will change things.

He doesn’t see it, but it will, and maybe they’ll be subtle, or huge, but they’ll change.  Nothing ever stays the same, that’s not how things work but that doesn’t mean Salome has to like it or adjust to it right away.  She flipped out when he told her about Delilah, flipped out when he brought her over for dinner and he didn’t expect her to flip out when he told her they were getting married?

What just blows her away is that he didn’t think she wanted to marry him.  She shoves the bag of ice back on to her knuckles and everything sort of goes white around the edges and her eyes go all watery.

“So this is clearly all my decision now, yeah, I can’t take myself to the ER but sure you can ask me to ruin two peoples lives, you’re an asshole.”  She looks at him as if he just ran over her dog. 

“You refuse to let me be an adult; I can’t date, oh hell no, but expect me to make adult decision on if you should get married or not so you get away scott free.  You realize that’s what you’re doing right?”  Another shake of her head and she just stares at him before continuing on. 

“You know, I could have resented this marriage thing and gotten over it, but now you’re putting me in this position and I don’t appreciate it and that’s what really kills me.  So get married and know full well that action wasn’t want made me resent the ever living shit out of you but you asking me to make a decision on your life, passing the buck because you can’t live to take responsibility over upsetting one of us.  Grow a pair.”

[soursanguine.livejournal.com]

Now, now, Delilah is just as sweet as she was before. She just pushes all that to the back of her head. Christ knows she hasn't exactly been innocent up until this point, watching him do what he does, encouraging him even though she's afraid to, being his audience, his supporter, his partner, oh, his muse. He doesn't want to let her go but it's too late now, much too late after all this.

She flipped out before, and then again, so he figured she had gotten most of it out of her system. But now it's back, and worse than ever, and beyond that, she's got a point and he knows it. His ribs twist and he shoots her a nasty look at her comment, saying, "Watch your mouth, young lady. When we're both calmer we'll be having a talk about how you've spoken to me tonight."

Richard passes another car on the highway and takes the exit ramp, barreling through a block or two of city streets to get to the ER. "You're right," he says, clearing his throat, "I didn't think before I spoke, princess. But I'm not asking you to make a decision, Salome, I'm only asking you what I can do to fix this. Obviously--getting Delilah out of the house is the decision I'm already in the process of coming to myself, but beyond that. Some reparation for you."

The parking lot doesn't seem impossibly crowded or anything, so he parks near as he can to the automatic glass doors, runs a hand through his hair and gets out of the car with a deep breath.

A trust exercise if ever there was one.

[sweetsalome.livejournal.com]

"I’m not sorry for saying what I said,” maybe when they were in the living room or on the stairs she regrets what she said but she actually can’t remember what she said so that’s kind of a moot point at this place and time.  She should work on trying to remember that but later when she isn’t furious and hurting, inside and out.

“I don’t want reparations; I don’t need forty acres and a mule.  There is nothing that you can do in order to make this like it never happened.”  Once it’s out, it’s out, there’s no taking it back.  “I just consider this a learning lesson for myself.”  Ugh, she wants to kick Delilah in the head now, and she wants to kick him in the head as well.

“I never told you to get rid of Delilah, I like Delilah, so if you do that then that’s on you because you made that decision.  I never said I wanted her to go, and I said you should fulfill your promise to her.  Don’t even attempt to guilt me with that crap.  You do you want you want to do and I’ll deal with what I feel, there’s nothing you can do about that either.”

He can’t please everyone so he needs to make a decision and deal with the fall out, just like Salome does and Delilah does.  That’s how life works; unfortunately, if it was easy then everyone would probably be a lot happier.  Her head hurts, and she sort of feels sick all over again as she awkwardly climbs out of the car and staggers a bit before shutting the door with her hip.  Fixing her coat she begins to move toward the emergency room doors.

“If I throw up will they take me quicker?"

[soursanguine.livejournal.com]

"I'm not trying to guilt you," he snaps. "I thought it was a solution. Apparently there is none; apparently I'm backed into a corner and nothing can be done. You were just saying you didn't care about Delilah, that she was a bitch, and now you tell me you like her!" He runs his hand over his hair and shakes his head.

"If there's nothing I can do," he says, a hint of resentment in his voice, now, "then fine, I'll marry her. You don't have to come, you don't even have to acknowledge it. To quote you, do what you want."

Two can play the teenager game.

It drops, though when he sees her stagger, and his arm drapes around her waist to support her as they make their way in. He chuckles dryly, saying, "No, princess, I don't think so. But we'll try to get you in as quickly as possible, even if I have to knock over some cripples to get to the desk first."

Luckily, there's not a line at the desk, and just a handful of patients in the waiting room: some sick looking kid, a tired-looking woman checking her phone while she waits, and a pair of old people, the husband holding a wadded tissue to staunch his bleeding nose. Richard glances them over, then to Salome, saying, "It shouldn't take too long, come here," he nods to the nurse as they make it to the desk, saying, "let's get you checked in."

As he talks to the nurse, everything feels so completely unreal. He's been drained from himself, his lungs crushed up behind his ribs. Yes, once it's out, there's no taking it back, but how could he have possibly known that he would face this upon letting it out? His paranoia kicks into overdrive and suddenly he fancies he's on the verge of losing her, and the thought makes him look ill as he fills out the portions of the forms he needs to.

But if a man has to be sick, it had might as well be in an ER.

[sweetsalome.livejournal.com]

There is something miserable an ER waiting room.  Everyone is miserable, the room is miserable, soaking up all the sick and the helpless from all the years it has been in use.  A room can’t go through that many people in all those states of unease and sick without picking up on all of it and taking it into it’s walls and floor.  The smell and the noises, the low voices and the attempt at order and care, it makes her feel sort of closed in and it mirrors the slow decline of her mental state, leaving her feeling miserable and the pain in her hand.

All the ice in the bag is melting and is a sad, wet shell of it’s former self.  They really should get some of those gel packs, those are great, she used to have some for dance, maybe, maybe that was something in her head.  They don’t leak so much when they loose their cold.  They have these packs actually sort or like hand warmers except with cold and all you need to do is crack them and they are nice and chill.  She thinks about the stupidest stuff while they sit in those waiting room chairs, it’s better then thinking about how miserable and lost she is.

Even when she sniffles to herself and starts with the tears again she doesn’t feel better, usually a good cry and she can bounce back.  Now everything just seems so hopeless.  Cradling her arm against her stomach she turns and presses against her father.  No lie, she would have been a train wreck if she came here by herself.  A complete mess.  It was easy when she was fired up and ready to tear his face off with her teeth now she doesn’t have that protection.

“I’m sorry,” she wants to crawl up against his chest and hide.  “I’m sorry.  I’m glad you’re here with me.  Thank you.”

[soursanguine.livejournal.com]

They're there still, those gel packs, in the back of the freezer, but he could hardly be blamed for not thinking straight at the time. All he knew was she needed ice, and it was quickest to grab a handful and drop it in a bag rather than dig into the back of the icebox.

The tears he loves under other circumstances make him feel twice as miserable now. All he wants to do is erase them completely, drain them out of her pretty eyes to let them clear up. But it's nice, nice to have her against him, in his arm, warm, like normal, how he loves her.

"Sh, baby, it's okay." One arm around her shoulders, the other hand moves to stroke her hair back from the temple of her forehead, gently, subtly rocking her. The hand on her shoulder pats, the one in her hair tenderly plays between familiar golden strands he loves so deeply. "Of course I'm here with you, did you really think I wouldn't come? I would never let you go to the ER by yourself, especially not after a thing like that. I want to make sure you're safe. Whenever you need me, I'm here."

He kisses her forehead, murmuring, "Don't apologize. We'll talk more another time, when we've both calmed down. For now, princess, just relax. Daddy's got you, we'll get you looked at soon. Everything will be okay. I'll bet your hand isn't even broken, some ice and some Vicodin and they'll have you all fixed up."

Because a little thing like a knock-down, drag-out verbal dispute isn't going to prevent him from being her Daddy.

[sweetsalome.livejournal.com]

No one was thinking straight, hell she didn’t think of it at the time either and she was there and it was her hand that was hurting like hell.  Well no one had a very clear head back there, it was a pretty brutal fight which really shouldn’t be a surprise for as intense as they can get with one another.  Still, when you have wild fantasies of burning everyone and everything to the ground one can safely say that they weren’t in a good and clear frame of mind.
 
“I’m sorry,” she is, about some things, about the mean things she said but some of it she still sticks by it’s just that in the cold light of the ER life is a little different.  It also feels different, being in his arms, comforted by him, life is a lot easier to take when she is with him and he’s got his arm around her because he loves her and cares for her.
 
She is mumbling and bumbling, “I’ll go, if you still want me to go to the wedding, I’ll go.  I’m sorry I was behaving so badly, I don’t know, I just freaked out, I’m sorry.”  There is just nothing more that she can say it just comes out over and over because that’s what she needs to say and she needs to be sure that he loves her and that he isn’t going to kick her down a flight of stairs.  Though if he was going to he totally missed his chance.
 
Oddly enough his promise that he’ll always be there for her just makes her cry all the harder because if he feels miserable at her tears she feels even worse because he’s still being nice to her even though she is a horrible daughter.
 
And a terrible bear.

[soursanguine.livejournal.com]

"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."

[sweetsalome.livejournal.com]

The whole thing just kind of makes her cry harder. He is being so sweet and it breaks her heart that she was so crazy to him, and it breaks her heart that she doesn't have all of him to herself. She of course doesn't realize that she doesn't actually want him all to herself, but love is blind and she is absolutely crazy about her old man. She wants him, or she wants someone like him for her own, and at the moment the quest to find this person seems absolutely epic and impossible. Who else would duke it out with her and then take her to the ER when she goes bat shit crazy, and then, on top of that lets her cry and snot all over his shirt?

So she is only seventeen and hasn't seen a large chunk of the world.

Spoiler alert: It's filled with self serving douche bags and emotionally stunted assholes. Not to ruin anything for anyone.

Not that Salome realizes this, hell, she is still hopeful and excited about going out and finding herself, or something like that, but as a seventeen year old long range planning isn't exactly one of the finely working portions of the brain. Everything for Salome is NOW NOW NOW and NOW NOW NOW the love of her life is getting married to another woman who she sometimes wants to gas to death. It's not Delilah's fault, she is actually probably getting the short end of the stick here. Salome will have to get them a wedding present. Roofies?

She must look like a shit storm when they walk into that little room and slap a wrist band on her wrist full of identification. Facts like her name, age, birthdate, and all the other good shit. She'll get generally checked out too just in case something else is wrong. Not a full on exam but blood pressure, heart rate, stuff like that. Which is great because she is all sniffling and doesn't want to ask for an aspirin because it will cost fort-five dollars.

"I bet you'd call me stumpy," she sniffles and throws the tissue away that she has absolutely destroyed by now. "Or some awful other puns. Then I would have to smother you in your sleep." She doesn't want to joke about burning down the house, that's her ace in the hole.

"I should get her flowers." None for you, fucker. For Delilah.

[soursanguine.livejournal.com]

Richard laughs and pats her back gently, saying, "Stumpsies. Stumpsiekins. Stumplestiltskin." He cracks himself up, and a few seconds of genuine laughter are welcome after how stressful the past blinding hour has been. With a sigh, he glances in the nearest reflective surface to fix his hair. "Yeah, I'd probably be dead and in the ground within a week, dead with a hook in my eye."

Oh, he laughs again, so tired, and slumps down into a chair, watching while the nurse does what she needs to do. It sort of reminds him of the time Susan dropped him off near the ER. It was generous of her to do that much, really, and he knew he could take care of himself just fine--but even though she was the one who put a bullet in his leg because he'd tried to kill her, when she dropped by to pick him up once he was discharged, it was a relief to see her. She left him for a while, after that, and when she returned after a period of no contact, it was with the wee baby Salome.

How strange, the turns life takes. Such bizarre circumstances, reality folding in on itself until it no longer seems real.

When the nurse finally leaves them in peace, he removes his face from his hand and glances up at Salome with a tired smile. "I'm sure that would really mean a lot to her. See, maybe this is a blessing in disguise." He waves between the two of them, saying, "It'll give Delilah a whole day to plan things out."

Poor Delilah. Most women get the big wedding when they want it. But she's not going to complain--it's enough that he would do her the honor of marrying her. She doesn't need a big ceremony, although oh, it would be nice. But no doubt, she's throwing one in her peaceful dreams tonight, completely oblivious to all the world's troubles, a multitude of weights lifted from her delicate shoulders.

She feels so happy, and so loved, so excited and accepted. Home alone in the dark, she's smiling in her sleep.

[sweetsalome.livejournal.com]

She is trying not to laugh, really she is trying very hard not to laugh but Stumplestiltskin is too much, it just is, there is no way she can hold back and so she doesn't she laughs with him. Maybe the word stump is just funny in and of itself and add that to some already pretty funny words and it is just too much. She probably wouldn't kill him if he called her that, at least as long as he didn't do it in front of her friends. Oh laughing hurts, it shakes her hand too much and so she has to stop.

"Yes, a blessing," if it means that she doesn't actually have to do any extracurricular actives for awhile, that will be sort of nice. Too bad she couldn't have done it when she was on winter break, then she could have had some real time off. Fuck, school is going to be hard with this hand. "I am such a fucking idiot," why didn't she punch him again? He doesn't have to go to school, she probably wouldn't have broken anything on his face, her hand included. She is regretting the decision to go for the wall. She just couldn't have him pissed at her for striking him in anger.

Her shoulders sag and she moves her hand over her face, her good hand, over her good face, for now anyway.

She doesn't have very long to wallow in self deprecation, the doctor pushes the curtain aside. Tall, tan, young(ish) and handsome. "I'm doctor Mcgraw, I'll be looking after you this evening." He gives a slight smile to the two of them and then helps Salome off with the drape of her coat. "What exactly did you do to yourself tonight?" He is carefully lifting her arm and examining the swelling and her reaction to the pain.

"I got upset and broke a wall, I mean, I hit the wall, I didn't break it." It's hard to concentrate, no ice, no furry, it hurts like a mugglefucker.

"Mmmmm," he looks at the red and tear stained face of Salome and then over at Richard. "I'll order some x-rays, I want to make sure you didn't break anything."

[soursanguine.livejournal.com]

Oh, her laughter is so good to hear, accompanying his own. The perfect back-up, it makes him feel alive to listen to the sound.

For the record, he would totally call her that in front of her friends.

Leaning over to pat her good arm, Richard shakes his head. "You're not stupid, baby, we all make bad decisions in the heat of the moment. Just look at your old man if you need more proof of that." He smiles gently and kisses her teary cheek, then returns to his seat as the good doctor makes his appearance. It reminds him that he should probably get Salome an appointment with Julius, soon. She's to the age where she needs a good primary care, and even if he is a spineless simp, Julius is a good doctor.

Richard gives the doctor his most honest expression of bone-deep exhaustion as the jackass glances his way, the accusation unspoken and insulting. "Sadly, seventeen is not too old for a tantrum," he says, his words followed up by a tired smile.

Luckily, Salome has good insurance through her mother, and Richard has plenty of cash, so even with the x-rays the visit shouldn't be too bad. Leaning forward with his elbows balanced upon his knees, he arches a brow. "Do you think it's possible? My Christ." He glances over at Salome. "Maybe I should have gotten you boxing lessons for Christmas. With a right hook like that you'd be a champ in no time."

Doc Golden Boy can think whatever he wants. He's the fucking help, there to fix his daughter and step off. It's not about to stop him from teasing his daughter.

[sweetsalome.livejournal.com]

"Even grown adults aren't immune to the tantrum," he could write a book on the shit he has seen in the ER. Seriously, people don't grow smarter as they grow older it seems, sometimes they just turn into bigger children.

Doctor Mcgraw is just wondering why Richard let his daughter punch a wall to begin with. He was probably also looking for back up conformation on Salome's story. Richard speaks volumes when he leans forward into the conversation rather then away. Not that the doctor is a specialist on lying or anything but if Richard was trying to avoid something or avoid the girl out of guilt or what have you, he probably would have kept back, to himself.

"Good thing I didn't hit you, then you would have been the one in here with a broken face." She has to use her other hand to sort of make a fist and wave it at her father with mock aggression. Yeah, it takes a lot of effort even to do that, God she is just exhausted and she has to think that he is exhausted as well.

"We have a portable x-ray machine, so you'll just need to go right down the hall." The doctor steps over to the computer in the room and logs on, entering in the order and then looks over at Salome. "On a scale from one to ten how bad is your pain. Ten being the absolute worst thing you've ever experienced and one being mild discomfort." The scale always made Salome wonder, is pain subjective? Is her ten worse then someone else's ten? Also: not that she has a lot of practice with this but she has watched enough TV to know that doctors probably thing people are scamming them for drugs. She doesn't want the doctor thinking she is doing that. Yeah, it makes a whole lot of sense.

"Uh," she looks at her hand and tries to make it tell her how much pain she is in. "A seven, or, uh, a six?" With the headache it's totally about a seven. The doctor nods and adds something to the order as well, something to make her not hurt any more.

[soursanguine.livejournal.com]

'Let' her punch a wall? Really? Oh, yes, Doctor, so sorry that he wasn't expecting her to ball up her fist and send it hooking straight into the wall! How dare he not be psychic!

Richard has a serious hatred of doctors, for fairly discernible reasons.

He chuckles at the fist she waves, saying, "That would have been fine, then. We wouldn't even have needed to make a trip to the ER! I'm sure I could sleep off a few simple bone fragments lodged in my eye."

Oh yes, he is so exhausted. You have no fucking idea what the word exhausted means until you've murdered a child, dismembered two corpses, fucked your girlfriend, turned her into your fiancee, then gotten into a fight with your teenage daughter which landed you both in the ER in the middle of the fucking night. He is going to sleep a good, long time.

Damn right pain is subjective. Especially when you have chronic pain; the ache of his leg has faded into constant background noise, meaning the pain that was once a pretty strong consistant 'five' has become so status quo it's basically a three. (Of course, when he's scamming drugs from doctors, it tends to be in the six or seven range. Just high enough to be unpleasant, not high enough to make them think he's hamming it up for drugs.)

"Poor thing," he tells her consolingly. "But just think of how well you'll sleep once we get you home." Home and warm and safe. He'll stay awake as long as it takes to see her safely asleep.

Then he'll go black out for twelve to thirteen hours, himself. Ah, just thinking about it makes him feel good. By this point his eyes have probably glazed over, because the room is looking fuzzy and he's not really seeing any of it. He feels completely nonexistent, zoning out in the little uncomfortable emergency room chair, but he manages to stay semi-conscious out of concern for Salome.

"On the bright side, if it's broken, at least you know I'll illustrate your cast."

[sweetsalome.livejournal.com]

"You'd be fine," Salome insists, "just rub some dirt on it." That is how you properly treat bone fragments in the eye, true story. If anyone can sleep off bone fragments in the eye it's her father, that's for goddamn sure.

"I want to sleep," and she will sleep so well on what the doctor gives her, the shot will make her feel good and loose and take her mind off the pain of the arm and then he'll give her a nice prescription because she'll need to manage her pain. And Delilah or her father might have to wash her hair for her, at least for awhile. Yeah, they'll be sleeping good and long for a couple of nights, at least Salome will.

As much as she loves her father's artwork she isn't sure if breaking her hand is worth it. At least not when she has shit to do and not when she broke it in such an embarrassing way. The doctor takes his leave and not long after she gets a visit from the nurse who will give her all that magic medicine and will take her to the x-ray room right down the hallway. The nurse looks tired (maybe not as tired as Richard, but close) but pretty and soft spoken.

"We'll get you fixed up right away," she is making some big promises to Salome. "You won't even have to go far," she helps her with the rest of her coat.

"Why don't you stay here, sir? We'll only be a few minutes, just a couple of pictures and I'll bring your daughter back all safe and sound."

[soursanguine.livejournal.com]

"Then when it fell out I could have an eyepatch. Badass." He chuckles, arms crossing over his chest. The poor girl, luckily Daddy will be more than happy to help take care of her. He'll jump at the opportunity, really--just the way he secretly loves when she's sick and needs him to take care of her, he'll love tending to her every need, now.

He keeps a watchful eye on the scene before him, watching approvingly as the nurse tends to his daughter and gives her a shot to help her pain. Poor baby. If he doesn't bring her into his bed with Delilah, he'll at the very least end up falling asleep in hers. Probably with all of his clothes still on, shoes possibly included.

Christ, he hates staying behind when she has to be taken elsewhere during doctor's visits, and that flickers through his face. But he's drained, and his body hurts, so he nods tiredly. "Go ahead, I don't think I'll get very far."

The circles under his eyes have circles, which in turn have shadows that contrast against his pale face. He stretches and leans back in his chair, too tired to even bother snooping around in hopes of stumbling upon drugs while left to his own devices in the ER.

Now that's fucking tired.

[sweetsalome.livejournal.com]

That is really fucking tired.

"You should lay down on the bed, daddy," it's an ER room, so it's walls are curtains and there is a bed in the center of the room. One of those things on wheels that can move up and down with a touch of a button. It's not really very comfortable but he must be exhausted and it will give him a chance to lay down and stretch his legs out. He needs to get a little sleep, it would be silly to get all patched up just to have him fall asleep at the wheel and send them into a tree. Though it would solve this whole marriage thing pretty nicely.

She is being led out of the room anyway by the nurse and taken down the hallway to the room where they take the x-rays. All decked out in a fancy lead vest the nurse positions her arm and hand carefully and then adjusts the camera with the help of the x-ray technician. They tell her to stand still, not to move a muscle and then go behind a plexiglass wall in order to take the picture. A few more, just at different angles and Salome is pretty sure that she might not be able to move when they are done. Her muscles feel like jelly and her head is slowly starting to take on that swimming quality that drives away all unpleasant thoughts.

When the x-rays are done, she gets wheeled back into the room she was in before. They better figure out what is wrong with her hand soon, all she wants to do is go home and go to sleep.

[soursanguine.livejournal.com]

"My chair is fine, sweetheart. I'll be all right, I'm not going to black out or anything." There's still a little bit of chemical upper hanging around in his bloodstream, and it helps, though most of the drugs' powers went to use in the attic and he finds himself with very little leftover. What is there, though, keeps him just barely functioning.

Though he, too, would like them to hurry their asses up, because the sooner they're home and in bed, the sooner he's got his arms wrapped around her and she falls asleep in his arms and they've got this entire ridiculous night behind them, the better. He keeps thinking about how nice it will be to just hold her to his heart while they fall asleep.

That's love, he thinks. Just wanting desperately to hold her, breathe her in. Fucking, talking, existing are all secondary things; he's hyperfocused on how good it will feel to have all that soft, warm flesh in his arms, the mattress beneath them, the blankets around them.

When she returns to the room, he sits up and scoots his chair nearer to her seat, placing his hand upon her good one and leaning over to kiss the temple of her forehead. "We should swipe those x-rays and make a lampshade or stained glass window sort of thing out of them. Excellent Halloween decorations."

[sweetsalome.livejournal.com]

She makes something of a face at that, it is sort of hard to do because she is stoned and it's hard to do all that muscle control when you're high. "It's like an exhibit in poor judgment. Are you going to be a mad doctor or something for Halloween next year?" Her head falls forward on to his shoulder and her eyelids flutter closed as she sighs out long and slow.

"This isn't as much fun as when we play doctor at home," it's a quiet little whisper and she is close to his ear so no one can hear them. That's the other problem she sees when it comes to things like this - being stoned in semi-public, she can't just say whatever she wants. Which is sad because she likes talking and when she is high words just sometimes drop out of her mouth and she can't help it.

Oh man, all she wants to do is curl up against his chest and sleep this one off. She keeps telling herself to be calm, that there is hardly anyone out there and the doctor will be with her shortly. She isn't wrong, it just takes some time getting things developed and then correctly read.

"I love you, I do, even when I'm crazy. Well probably not then but afterwards I still do."

[soursanguine.livejournal.com]

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.

[sweetsalome.livejournal.com]

"Well it shouldn't surprise me that you picked him to be," she teases him softly. They have so much fun talking about such a silly holiday. "You should make Delilah your helper and I could be the mad experiment you made." It would work, not that Doctor Strange-Love was about creating a monster. Maybe a Frankenstein twist to it or something. They don't often do theme costumes but when they do you better believe it that they are fucking epic.

Her good hand moves around him, rubbing his back as she scoots forward in her wheel chair to get closer to him. "Is that what we are going too play tomorrow?" Maybe a little hanky-panky to chase away the demons. Not like she is going to say no, but she'll have to do it one handed. Sighing quietly she nuzzles at him lightly as she listens to him.

"I always worry that you'll hate me, that you'll get fed up with me, or be disappointed in me. It scares me, I don't even know what I would do if that happened." A shaky breath as she tries not to think such horrible thoughts, if she keeps crying they are going to have to start fluids. Which might make her feel a little better, being dehydrated sucks. Whatever she can guzzle a couple glasses of water when they get home, whenever that is.

He gives her that permission and she actually manages to look surprised despite whatever they gave her for the pain. It's a bittersweet allowance to be sure and she doesn't know what to do with it. "Thank you," she tells him quietly. "I know that it can't be easy for you to say that. I won't leave you, you know that right? I'll always be yours and love you." Her kiss to his cheek is a little sloppy. Of course now that he said this she won't be able to buy herself a date.

When the doctor steps in again she reluctantly moves back to blink at him. He hangs up the x-rays behind the light screen to illuminate the images. "Salome managed to break two fingers in her wall assault. Not bad breaks but you can see them in the index and middle finger here," he motions to them on the x-ray.

"We'll give her a soft cast to secure the fingers and four weeks she should come back to see how she is healing, at that time we might put on a hard cast."