Author's note: Well, let's give this a try, shall we? I wrote this story over 5 months ago but didn't have the guts to post it sooner. Still don't. But I don't want it to just die on my laptop either, so... It's my second kid fic ever and it's MILES outside of my comfort zone, but I adore it and I hope you'll like it, too :) (If you don't, please be kind anyway)

"And I'd choose you; in a hundred lifetimes, in a hundred worlds, in any version of reality, I'd find you and I'd choose you."
- the chaos of stars

There was a moment in everyone's life destined to change them forever.

A milestone. A realization. A heartbreak.

A point of no return.

One second, and poof! They could never look at the world around them the same way as before. A collision so monumental that it shifted the axis of the Earth and made the rivers run backwards.

For Owen Grady, that moment was when a nurse put his newborn daughter in his arms, a tiny bundle, so light it was practically weightless in his palms. For a second, he was scared to breathe for fear of breaking her, or having her slip through his fingers. The most perfect little girl. And there it was, a seismic shift inside him, a hurricane of love so powerful it all but swept him off his feet, his chest tight and the words he didn't know ow to say lodged in his throat.

And while his wife slept, exhausted, he sat in a chair beside her, counting their little girl's toes and fingers, watching her tiny eyebrows knit together in her sleep, and knowing that there was nothing in the world he wouldn't do for her. Nothing he wouldn't do to make her happy.

xoox

Of course, he knew her.

Well, he knew of her. Everyone around here course, he knew her.

A small-town ice-skating prodigy discovered almost by accident, Claire Dearing had won every junior-level competition there was and moved on to the senior ones while her peers were still finessing their spins and jumps, not even dreaming about the 'big league' yet. Owen could still remember the time when no sports segment went without her flashing her awards and medals at the camera, along with that big, bright smile that made the hearts of the audience all over the world melt.

Native of Madison, Wisconsin, she was training for the Olympics, and everyone knew she was going to win. Rigorous and determined, she was meant for the great things, greater than anyone could even imagine.

Until an unfortunate fall during a practice and a knee trauma that left her on crutches for a year effectively put her dreams of a professional athletic career to rest.

Everyone said she was lucky that she didn't end up limp, that the physical therapy fixed what the surgeries couldn't. She could still walk, they would note. To Owen, it always sounded like cutting off a bird's wings and expecting it to be grateful it could still see the sky, far-away and entirely unattainable now. Didn't they understand it, he used to wonder. So what if the bird could witness the most mesmerizing sunsets if it couldn't soar above the clouds ever again?

Several years her senior, he'd left for college around the time the accident happened, the news exploding out of nowhere and stirring their sleepy community that preyed on gossip and half-truths, eager to sink their teeth into something as sensational as their home-grown hero's drama unfolding before their eyes. However, by the time he finished his first semester at the University of Michigan, Owen forgot about Claire Dearing altogether like she'd never even existed. And so did the rest of the world, it seemed. College, the NAVY, a family of his own – all this blurred his memories of the brightest star his home town had ever been known for, until only a few scraps of them were left, scattered and faded in the corners of his mind.

Watching her now from the bleachers wrapped around a small Community Center ice-rink, he couldn't believe his eyes. Couldn't believe she was even real. Spinning to the sounds of Wonderful Tonight, spilling from the speakers hanging high up under the ceiling, she wasn't even gliding along the smooth, pale-blue surface scarred with the cuts left by her ice-skates. She was flying, floating, transcending the boundaries of space and time. Graceful and lean, she pushed forward, one movement pouring into another. He had never seen anyone seem so absolutely in control of their body, so at peace with themselves.

The song changed to a classical piece, and so did her rhythm. Slightly escalated tempo, more intricate jumps and transitions.

Her eyes were half-closed most of the time, a few stray wisps of bright-red hair that escaped from the ponytail at the nape of her neck brushed against her cheeks, a small smile playing on her lips. Even from his position a good hundred feet away, he could tell that she wasn't hearing the music – she was feeling it in her blood and bones. The music was the force that kept her moving, tugging and pulling at her body, molding it into the notes that were filling up the air.

Never once did Owen wish to give the wings to a bird so bad.

He must have moved or maybe cleared his throat – he wasn't sure, too transfixed by the scene in front of him – but she noticed him, spotting him out of the corner of her eye. She finished her spin, but instead of continuing with her dance, she started toward him, adjusting the thin black gloves on her hands.

Owen stood up. "You sure do that a lot," he noted when she was close enough to hear him over the music, making his way down a few steps and toward the barrier around the ice.

"Pardon me?"

Not even winded by what he could only refer to as 'breaking the limitations of physics and human nature', Claire tilted her head slightly and pushed her hair back from of her forehead, regarding him inquisitively.

"I see you here a lot," he said. "Doing… um, that." That did not sound good. "I mean, not that I watch." Okay, that was even worse. He squeezed his eyes for a moment, hoping that the past thirty seconds would disappear like they never happened, and then pointed at the small round windows in the double doors behind his back. "I run the VA meetings upstairs," he started again, taking a breath. "And I… um, see you on my way out sometimes."

Claire's face lit up. "Oh, you must be Owen Grady! It's nice to finally meet you." She was actually smiling now, no longer bearing a layer of precaution around the stranger he'd noticed when she first approached him. "I saw the poster," she added in response to his quizzical look. "About the VA meetings. Your name is on it. And we don't have many new faces around here."

"Right," he shuffled his feel, wincing inwardly.

The poster wasn't his idea, but his manager, a stocky 'Nam veteran named Mark, thought that they needed proper advertisement, and Owen's name made it somehow more official. There was no logic behind it whatsoever, but it felt odd to mention it to someone he'd just met, so he didn't.

"Claire." She offered him her gloved hand and he shook it firmly.

"Dearing, right?" It came out almost against his will, but he couldn't help himself – it was just too much of a coincidence not to make sure he was right in his assumption. It had been a long time, after all. She nodded, not at all surprised, either used to being a celebrity of sorts, or simply assuming he'd read her name on the bulletin board in the hallway as well. Not that it mattered.

"I've always been curious about what you guys were doing up there but never had a chance to ask," she admitted.

He hummed. "Until now?"

Claire shrugged, unable to hold back a smirk. "Well, you're right here."

Owen let out a short laugh and ran his hand through his hair. "It's kind of like an AA type of thing, I guess. Except we try to help people talk through how much their civilian life sucks." Her eyebrows arched in surprise and he added, "No kidding. When you're used to falling asleep on the ground to the sound of exploding missiles, a warm, soft bed and, I don't know, hot food could be disconcerting."

"Sounds complicated," she said without a hint of irony.

He nodded. "It is, sometimes."

She nodded, too. Cleared her throat, her gaze growing pensive. "Well, since, I'm assuming, you're not here to rope me into joining your team, what can I help you with, Mr. Grady?"

Owen stuffed his hands into the pockets of his jacket. She must've been warm from her practice, wearing only a light sweater, but this auditorium was at least ten degrees colder than the rest of the building, their breaths puffing out in small white clouds, and he was grateful for an extra layer of clothing.

"Owen," he offered. "Ah, well… my daughter – she's five and she's all about ponies and being an ice princess these days. And since a pony is off the table, I thought that maybe…" He trailed off.

Claire's smile brightened, her face lighting up.

"You should bring her over," she said, hands clasped on the barrier between them for support. She glanced around the mostly dark space, the ice-rink being the main spot bathed in the soft light while the rest of the room was all shadows and vague forms of chairs and equipment, and turned back to him. "I'm fresh out of printed schedules, I'm afraid. Sorry. But there's one pinned to the information board in the hallway."

"Okay, sure."

"There's a class at 6 on Friday." She chewed thoughtfully on her lip for a few moments, considering something or another. "But why don't you guys come over at 5.30 so we could chat for a bit and get to know each other? How about that?"

Another nod. He was starting to feel like a dashboard toy. "Great. We'll do that."

The lights around them changed from blue to pale yellow when Your Song began to play, Elton John's voice filling every corner and nook of the space around them, resonating against the concrete walls. Owen glanced up, then at Claire again. She was watching him curiously, her features soft in the dim light, but unmistakable now – a face he'd seen before. Sharper, more guarded in the way that came with the age and experience, but familiar nonetheless.

It was an odd feeling, like a blast from the past. Everything around here felt like walking down a memory lane, and more often than not, he couldn't help but feel like he was sucked back into the time when he was 20 and the world, however chaotic, made much more sense. It was almost ironic how little this town had changed in the past decade and a half, although Owen could also argue and say that maybe it was he who had changed too much for this place to keep up with him. Hell, even its homegrown hero was standing right in front him, making him question his sanity, and this was perhaps the one thing he'd never expected from moving back to Madison.

Life was a funny thing indeed.

"You're… good at this," he jerked his chin toward the ice, not sure what else to say but desperate to fill the pause before it got awkward, physically feeling the rusty creak of his socializing skills he'd kept under a padlock for way too long now.

Claire brushed a piece of hair from her cheek. "You'd be surprised what a little bit of practice could accomplish."

The 'a little bit' part made Owen chuckle, and then wonder if she were being modest, or if she truly believed that the kind of grace he witnessed not ten minutes ago was hidden in everyone, waiting to be unleashed onto the world. Her face was open and friendly, but too unreadable for him to make a safe bet. For a moment, he even thought she was messing with him, but for all he knew, she had no idea he was actually aware of who she really was. Besides, she didn't seem like the type. At first glance, at least.

"Well, thank you, Ms. Dearing," he said at last.

"Claire," she insisted. "And I hope to see you and…?"

"Harper," Owen added quickly.

"You and Harper on Friday."

With that, she pushed away from the barrier, waving her goodbye to him, and it took Owen another hour to shake off the feeling that he suddenly fell into a parallel dimension or something, the image of Claire Dearing conquer the ice seared into his memory.

xoox

Harper Grady was the most serious five-year old Claire had ever met.

In the ten minutes that they knew each other, she'd been well-mannered and perfectly polite. She also didn't smile once. Not unfriendly, Claire decided, just un-child-like cautious. Like she didn't know what to expect from the world around her, and for a good reason too, perhaps.

Right now, Harper was studying her with her chocolate eyes as if trying to take Claire apart and put her back together in her head while her skates-clad feet dangled under the hard plastic chair. She looked like her father in a way – her nose and the curve of her lips were his for sure, and so were the barely noticeable indentations on her cheeks that undoubtedly dipped into dimples when she smiled, but her hair tied into a tight ponytail was darker than Owen's, thick and heavy, and curling at the ends.

She was certainly the kind of kid who, once told not to trust strangers, would not only run with it, but take it to a whole new level, or so it seemed. And even though it could look adorable on the surface, it also made her appear older than she was, as if she'd woken up one day and decided to skip her childhood altogether. Practical and rational were the first words that came to Claire's mind when Owen introduced his daughter to her. However, she couldn't help but wonder what she'd find beneath fifteen layers of armor if she got a chance.

"Do I have to, daddy?" Harper asked without turning to Owen who was sitting one row behind her, and he gave Claire a helpless look over his daughter's head.

Claire crouched down in front of the girl and smiled. "Of course, not, honey," she promised, her gaze flickered briefly to Owen in what she hoped was encouragement. "You don't have to do anything you don't want to do." She paused. "But how about we make a deal? We try this for just a while and if you don't like it, you can go home any time. How does that sound?"

Harper peered at Claire for a long moment, her lips puckered apprehensively. She glanced quickly over her shoulder at Owen who added wattage to his smile when she turned, and then she finally nodded slowly, still seemingly uncertain of whether or not this was a good idea.

And maybe it was only Claire's imagination, but she could have sworn Owen sighed with relief.

She offered Harper her hand and the girl accepted it, if a little gingerly, allowing Claire to help her walk to the gate leading to the arena, teetering in her skates, her eyes darting around curiously, taking note of the lights gliding along the ice and the empty seats around them.

"Have you done this before?" Owen heard Claire ask his daughter, and Harper nodded. "Did you like it?"

"Yes," the girl responded, stepping cautiously into the rink, her gloved hand reaching instinctively for the barrier for support, but Claire's firm grip kept her steady on her feet.

"I like your skates," she noted with approval.

They were purple, with white and blue snowflakes – Harper's most prized possession. "My mom picked them," she said quietly.

"Well, she has a very good taste."

Owen didn't hear anything after that, their voices swallowed by the sounds of the music, filling the large auditorium and echoing in the corners and under the high ceiling. He leaned forward, his elbows propped on his knees and his chin resting on the knot of his fingers as he watched the two of them grow smaller as they moved toward the center of the arena.

Surprisingly, getting Harper to come here turned out being a much more challenging task than he anticipated – apparently, the idea of being an ice princess worked just fine for her in theory, so long as she didn't have to leave the house. His offer that he hoped would elicit some enthusiasm was met instead with a firm no and an averted gaze. He had to use the exact same technique Claire used just now – a promise to leave the moment Harper decided she'd had enough.

However, it wasn't until Claire commented on his daughter's skates that it dawned on him that it most definitely was about Jenny, not Harper's sudden change of heart, and now he felt like a complete moron, and a jerk on top of that, his chest tight and hollow.

Everything in their lives was about Jenny and her habits and small rituals neither of them dared to break for fear of having the world fall apart around them. They were buying his late wife's preferred brand of milk, and watching her TV shows that their TV kept recording every Tuesday and Friday, and doing laundry on Wednesdays and Saturdays the way Jenny used to. He was still picking up the Jaffa Cakes at the grocery store even though neither he, not Harper ate them, all because they were his wife's favourite snack, often not realizing he was doing it until it was time to unpack the grocery bags. The Jaffa Cakes would jump out of them, taunting him with the memories of chocolate-stained kisses and crumbs in bed that Owen used to complain about but that he'd give his right arm to have back in his life again.

Harper wasn't taking it much better, transforming before his eyes from a girl who would never stop laughing into a ghost of herself, distant and withdrawn. And even though she never told him that – he wondered sometimes if she'd know how to do it – but he knew that she was holding onto the memories of Jenny as fiercely as Owen, scared to let go.

All things considered, there was a chance that by trying to fix something very fragile now, he just wrecked it completely.

"So, what's the verdict?" Owen asked, approaching the arena a little over an hour later when the class was over and the group dispersed – some kids hurrying over to their parents while a few others chose to hang back, too engrossed in the process, with Harper among them.

"She's a delight," Claire assured him, sliding effortlessly toward him. She pulled the hair-tie off the bun her hair was gathered into and ruffled it absently with her fingers, allowing it to fall in cascading waves over her shoulders.

"No, I mean…" He faltered, struggling to find the right words, his gaze flickered over the woman's shoulder toward his kid who was awkwardly trying to practice a one-leg spin with another couple of tiny students. "Is she a right fit, or whatever it's called?"

"Well, all this is mostly for fun. I'm not training the world champions here," Claire responded with a soft smile. "If she likes it, she's a right fit." He squirmed a bit, his eyes still on his daughter. "What?"

Owen let out a long sigh, his eyebrows pulled together. "Nothing. It's just… Jenny, my wife, started teaching Harper the basics of this stuff a couple of years ago," he explained. "She's never done it professionally or anything, but you know how the winters can be in this area."

"Long," Claire suggested.

"Yeah." He muttered and rolled his shoulders, not quite sure why they were even having this conversation. Claire Dearing was a stranger, someone he didn't know. A faint memory from the times when he was annoyed at his mother for watching those figure-skating competitions because they got in his way of enjoying the reruns of Twin Peaks. He scrubbed a hand down his face. "It used to be their thing. I should've thought about it before bringing Harper here."

"Used to be?" Claire echoed.

"My wife passed away seven months ago. Lymphoma."

Claire's face fell. "I'm sorry to hear that."

"It's okay," Owen started, but then cut off and shook his head, offering her a crooked, humorless smile. "Don't you just hate this part? You know, when someone says they're sorry about something terrible and you feel compelled to say it's okay even though it's anything but and your life is actually a disaster?" He grimaced, surprised by where this came from. "Sorry, that was a very unnecessary oversharing."

She studied him for a long moment. "Look, Mr. Grady… Owen, it's like I said – Harper is wonderful and I'd be happy to have her here, but given the delicate nature of this situation, I think she should be the one to choose whether or not she wants—Ow!"

At that moment, Harper barreled into Claire from behind, choosing her as a cushion to shop her fall, her arms wrapping automatically around the woman's legs.

"Hey there," Claire peered down at the girl, her eyebrows arched, her hand reaching for Harper's shoulder, and Harper grinned back.

"Hey, champ." Owen peeked around Claire and down at his daughter. "How about we don't injure anyone today?" With that, he picked her up and swung her easily over the barrier before depositing her in the nearest chair to help her change into her boots. "Did you have fun?" He asked, kneeling before her to unlace her skates.

"Claire's hair looks like Ariel's," Harper told him in a loud whisper, and they both turned to Claire who was still lingering a few feet away from them, amused by the comment.

"I've heard worse." She winked at the girl, and then someone called out her name, and after a quick apology, she moved over to the older boy of about 7 and his parents, pulling her hair back into a messy bun as she did so.

"Yeah, it does," Owen agreed absently.

He helped Harper collect her things and put on her coat before slinging her shiny backpack and a tote bag with her skates over his shoulder. Then he scooped his daughter up and hoisted her on his hip, not oblivious to the fact that his kid seemed happy for the first time in weeks.

"So, what'd you say?" He asked, not without hesitation. "Wanna come back?"

Harper clutched his jacket with her hands. "Tomorrow."

Owen adjusted his grip on her, chuckling. "No can do, buddy. Tomorrow's Saturday, they're closed. How about next week?"

She nodded eagerly and waved her goodbye to Claire who waved back before resuming her conversation with someone's mom, her hands moving animatedly as she spoke, and Owen paused briefly in the doorway, unsure of what he was looking for.

He had never seen anyone look so alive and vibrant before, her life force boiling over the edge with every breath she took. This was the person who made his daughter smile for the first time in what felt like forever, and he was torn – both happy beyond himself, and also not quite trusting any of this to be permanent. After all, in his experience, nothing good ever lasted for long.

xoox

Claire dropped her gym bag in the hallway and kicked off her heavy boots, marveling in the warmth of her house. January was being particularly ferocious this year, and even a brief walk from her car to the front door threatened to leave her cheeks and fingers frostbitten.

She pulled her scrunchie off her hair again, her scalp aching from the tight hairdos, and padded into the kitchen, turning on the kettle and reaching for her phone tucked in the back pocket of her jeans at the same time.

There were three new voicemail messages: from her older sister, Karen, who reminded Claire about a family dinner this Sunday, telling her to please not be late; from her daytime job manager asking her to go through the client files first thing on Monday so they could be approved before lunch; and from Jason.

Claire listened to the first two and deleted the third one without checking it. Lately, it was starting to feel like they'd talked more after the breakup than in the months leading to it, and it was beginning to get on her nerves. They'd never been good for one another, and try as she might, she couldn't understand why Jason was trying so hard to hold on to the pieces of their relationship now if he didn't bother making an effort while they were still together.

Her knee throbbed dully, probably warning her about another storm coming their way. Claire made a mental note to give it some extra care tonight – maybe a long, hot bath. That seldom was a bad idea. It was a relief, she had to admit, not to be constantly aware of it anymore, not to have to calculate her every move the way she used to. But it had been so long since she didn't have to think about it at all that she sometimes couldn't even remember what it was like. A crushed kneecap that signified her crushed dreams – there was an almost poetical irony to it.

The kettle turned off and she pulled a bag of loose-leaf tea from the cupboard, her mind drifting off to the next week's To Do list, and then, surprisingly, to what Owen Grady had told her about his family. The story sounded vaguely familiar. In the city like Madison it probably made the news – everything always made the news here, the local events so sparse and random just about anyone's sneeze was deemed sensational.

Seven months ago, he said. There was something about an ex-marine losing his wife to a cancer a while back, which briefly sparked the need-for-a-better-cancer-research talk in the local media, but Claire wasn't certain it was the same case. She didn't know if he was an ex-marine, for starters. Knew he came from the military, what with his involvement with the VA, but it didn't mean anything. They might have just moved here a few weeks ago, as far as she was aware.

The one thing she did know was that she was glad she didn't ask about Mrs. Grady, despite being mildly curious. God, the lazy life in this town was getting the best of her.

Harper was an interesting little thing, smart beyond her age and very dedicated, from what Claire saw today. Careful with who she was willing to open up to as well, which hardy seemed like a bad thing, but still a rather uncommon one in a child. She was tempted to google them, but it felt unethical and wrong, like sneaking into their house when no one was home and going through their personal things. Besides, it was none of her business.

Her phone started to ring when she almost convinced herself that having one peek wasn't a crime, effectively distracting her from the thoughts about her students and their parents.

"Hey, Karen…. Yes, I got your message." She picked up her tea and headed for the living room. "Yes, I'll be on time… And yes, I'll bring the dessert."

xoox

Owen's hair was still damp from the post-gym shower when he hopped down the stairs to the first floor of the Community Center, oddly upbeat, still riding on the workout endorphins, the last song that played on his phone stuck in his head. He patted his pockets, looking for the car keys, humming that R'n'B something under his breath, his muscles aching after two hours of cardio that managed to put his mind off the impending gloom that his life had become so long ago he could barely remember it being anything else – a much needed break.

He didn't miss the NAVY, per se. Not the war part of it, at least. Not being away from his family for months at a time and grainy images of their faces on his laptop during their infrequent calls, or knowing that his daughter had to basically reacquaint herself with him every time he returned from another tour. Certainly not never knowing if he was going to see the light of a new day again. What he did miss was having some sort of an order to his life, a routine, something that was there without his having to make an effort.

Right now, it was the opposite of that, and somehow, it seemed more terrifying than running through a rain of bullets. At least then, he knew the possible outcome.

The building was half-empty, his footsteps echoing loudly in the wide corridor. Someone was playing racquetball in one of the gymnasiums, making the walls of the whole structure vibrate with every strike. His gaze slipped habitually past the skating rink doors and he paused almost against himself.

She was there.

Again.

Of course, she was there. He doubted the woman ever left this place at all.

Owen stepped closer, his legs moving on the will of their own as if they were not in sync with his brain anymore. Dressed in tight black leggings and a loose sweater, Claire Dearing was soaring over the ice like she was a feather chased around by the wind. From his spot, he could now also hear Billy Joel spill his soul out of the loudspeakers, slightly muffled by the doors between them.

Claire did a Lutz and set into a spin, so fast it made Owen dizzy. The words, seemingly long forgotten, started to pop up in his mind, the names of the moves and techniques. Jenny and her love for this stuff… She used to comment on the routines of the athletes if he happened to be in the room when she watched live streams of the championships on the TV, and Owen didn't even know he was really listening.

He wondered what Jenny would say about Claire Dearing.

He'd never seen anyone be in their element like that before. It was like she was more comfortable on the ice than anyone he knew had ever been walking on solid ground. Her bright red hair was nothing but a blur as she finished her twirl and then pushed back as though the air around her was a solid, tangible wall, sailing toward the far end of the arena, slipping in and out of the beams of light like she was flickering – on and off and on again - practically incorporeal. If he didn't know for a fact that at some point in her life she was this close to never doing any of this ever again, he would never have guessed.

This time, when Owen opened the door, she noticed him right away.

"Are you making a habit out of this, Mr. Grady?" Claire asked jokingly as she made her way to him, slightly out of breath, curling wisps of hair framing her flushed cheeks.

He dropped his bag into one of the chairs. "They've got a good gym here," he said, inexplicably feeling that it was important that he had a reason to be here.

"They do," she agreed, watching him expectantly.

"Look," he started after a moment of odd silence, towering over her even with the benefit of her footwear. "I wanted to apologize. I shouldn't have dumped that personal stuff on you yesterday. It was… uncalled for. And, let's face it, plain inappropriate."

"Don't," Claire shook her head and looped her hair around her ear, and it instantly fell on her cheek again. "It's okay, really," she promised. Her gaze darted over her shoulder and then returned to Owen, an eyebrow quirked. "You want to give this a try?"

"Oh, hell no!" He raised his hands, and even stepped back for good measure. "This morning at the supermarket, I called an elderly lady 'sir'. Not sure I can afford to land of my ass in front of anyone anytime soon."

"Suit yourself."

Claire turned around, clutched the edge of the barrier and pulled herself up and onto it, her feet dangling in the air, the heels of her skates bumping against the wood planks now and then. When she moved, Owen caught a whiff of vanilla and something citrus coming off of her, like a grapefruit, perhaps. His throat closed up for a second in a long-forgotten, scary way, and he stepped away from her surreptitiously, hoping she wouldn't notice.

If she did, she didn't show it.

"Did Harper like it here?" Claire asked after a moment or two, absently humming along with the tune he couldn't quite place.

Owen snorted. "Let me see – I've heard your name about three thousand times since the last night. So I guess it's safe to say the answer is yes."

It was rather phenomenal, to put it mildly. He'd spent the past several months dragging her around to the zoos and tap dance classes, play dates and arts and crafts sessions, but neither of them sparked her interest the way this place did. And after he honestly thought he'd messed it up, too.

Go figure.

Claire laughed. "Well, that's good news, I think?" She glanced down at him. "She's a good kid."

He rubbed his face and leaned against the barrier next to her, watching the blue and golden lights slide over the smooth surface, stretching in front of them. "I have two jobs and she's got a babysitter," he said quietly. "I hoped that maybe a familiar hobby would bring some structure to our lives."

Hands clasped together, he stifled a sigh. It was a strange feeling to be saying this out loud, especially to someone who wasn't a family, and knowing his mother's fretfulness, he'd long stopped mentioning his inner struggles to her, well aware that there was nothing she could do but get upset anyway. Maybe there was, after all, something to that theory about how random strangers made the best listeners because they didn't really care.

Maybe he needed a shrink.

"Yesterday you said you're not training the world champions here, but you could, couldn't you?" He asked on impulse, unable to bite it back. "I mean, if those kids could do half of the stuff you can, they'd be collecting medals by a bunch."

Claire's hands clasped the barrier on either side of her hips as she continued to stare straight ahead. "Not everything is about winning."

Owen glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. "Okay, so what was it about for you, then?"

Her teeth dug into her bottom lip. "You know," she breathed out.

It was a statement, not a question.

He shifted from foot to foot. "Not at first. And it's not why I brought my kid here. But I kinda grew up in the area," he confessed with a guilty grimace. "Went to college out of state 'round the same time you stopped… performing."

"That's one way to put it," she murmured.

"You were quite a legend."

"The truth about legends, Mr. Grady?" Claire looked down at him. "Usually, people see only what they want to see in them."

She'd become old news a long time ago, her trophies and awards collecting dust in the attic for over a decade now. The surgery that ended with a couple of complications, the physical therapy, having to learn to walk again, then to skate like she'd never stood on the ice before – by the time Claire emerged on the other side of this nightmare, it felt like she herself might have as well been covered in cobwebs. Half the time, she found it hard to believe that that other shiny life happened at all – sometimes, not even a few boxfuls of stuff could do the trick.

Few people understood that it had never been about winning for her so much as about being happy. So happy her heart was soaring into the sky with every stroke of the blades against the hard, cold surface. If Claire could do it again, even knowing beforehand how it would eventually end, she'd do it in a heartbeat.

The last time anyone recognized her from those days long gone had been a few years ago, and by accident, too. A woman her mother's age at the farmer's market told Claire that she looked just like 'that girl, so tragic'.

She didn't mind; that other life wasn't her anymore, hadn't been for quite a while now, but talking to Owen Grady stirred something inside her. A longing never fulfilled. She didn't even know him, but his presence unearthed everything she had long taught herself not to think about, catching her unawares and throwing her right back into the whirlpool it took her ages to find her way out of.

Truth be told, Claire wasn't sure how she felt about it.

He straightened up and squinted at her. "This Mr. Grady business is freaking me out. I can't tell if you're serious or not."

"Maybe a little bit of both," she admitted, sliding back onto the ice again and blowing a strand of hair from her forehead with a huff.

"Right," Owen nodded and cleared his throat. "Well, I'm… I gotta run. It's a pasta night. A hundredth one in a row, it seems."

Despite a wave of inner turmoil that washed over her during their brief conversation, Claire felt her lips tug up at the corners. "Looks like you guys already have all the structure you need," she noted.

He snorted, making a funny face. "Yeah, um… baby steps. See ya around?"

"Have a good weekend… Owen."

xoox

Red light switched to green, and Owen turned onto Main Street, his hand resting lightly on the steering wheel. His body hummed in that way that made him want to crawl into bed and sleep for a hundred years – ha! – and his mind was oddly empty.

When he entered the house 10 minutes later, it smelled of cinnamon and sugar. Sure enough, Mrs. Carmichael, his sixty-something next door neighbour who watched Harper when she wasn't at school or he needed to run an errand without a child in tow, had made cookies. It wasn't the worst thing to come home to, he decided in the end.

They were drawing at the dining room table, his daughter's face basically pressed to the white sheet of paper, her eyebrows knitted together in concentration.

At the times like this, she looked so much like Jenny it hurt.

Mrs. Carmichael noticed him and rose to leave, assuring him that everything was perfectly fine here. He thanked her profusely, as he did every time he was seeing her out, never quite able to find the words to express how much she was saving his life by not saying no when he needed her help.

"So, whatcha working on?" Owen asked Harper when he returned to the dining room and plopped into the chair next to hers, taking a cookie from a plate in front of the girl.

"Claire," she muttered without looking at him.

He could see that now – the skating rink was unmistakable, and so was Claire's wild red mane that sort of looked more like a cape in his daughter's picture. He chose not to mention it. Otherwise, it was surprisingly accurate.

"You hungry? Want me to whip something up?" Owen asked instead, changing the subject and hoping he sounded enthusiastic enough to get her excited about something as mundane as dinner.

Yes, Jenny would never have asked – she'd go to the kitchen, make a proper meal consisting of all the right food groups and proper nutrients, and have Harper eat it. But he couldn't do that. Situations like this still made him feel like an outsider, like he needed a permission to take care of his daughter, let alone boss her around, and a part of him feared he was doing more damage with this gentle approach than he would have with a firm one.

It had been seven months, and Harper was still alive – he must have been doing something right. It was a small consolation, though, and on most days, he knew that she knew it, too.

Harper nodded. "Mac 'n' cheese."

"Harper…"

"Mac 'n' cheese," she repeated, reaching for the blue pencil.

One day, he hoped, she would get sick of all things pasta. There was nothing Owen looked forward to more than that. A couple of times he was tempted to tell her the world had run out of it, but he doubted she was that stupid while a part of him also feared she'd refuse to eat at all. So Mac 'n' cheese it was, every goddamn night.

A few hours later, Owen poked his head into his her room to find her in bed with Dr. Seuss's The Lorax spread open in her lap. His heart constricted momentarily.

This was the first book she and Jenny read together when Harper was learning her letters. She'd probably read it over a hundred times in the past few months. The pages were starting to wear thin at the edges, the cover getting cracked and loose from being constantly carried in her backpack. Like a safety blanket, the therapist explained to Owen when he'd first brought her in for a consult after she hadn't spoken a single word in the week following the funeral. She needed something familiar to help her cope with the loss, and the book was as a good an option as anything else.

A part of Owen wished she'd move on to something else already, something less painful for her. God only knew what she was feeling as her finger traced the familiar words on the page, her lips moving without a sound. And another part of him envied her just a little – he had memories, of course, and he was still wearing his wedding ring, but he never had anything of that kind he shared with Jenny. Nothing, except his daughter, that he could hold on to in order to feel her presence.

"Lights out, kiddo," Owen said, stepping inside.

Harper looked up at him and put the book onto the crowded beside table, nearly knocking a few items to the floor. She wiggled down in her bed until her head was resting on the pillow and pulled her blanket up to her chin.

"Want me to leave the night light on?" He asked.

She nodded, and then called out for him when he reached for the switch. "Daddy?" Owen turned to her. "Is it Monday tomorrow yet?"

He hesitated for a moment, his hand hovering near the wall, and then walked over and sat down onto the edge of her bed, watching her closely. "No. Monday is when the school is, honey. Since when are you looking forward to that?"

For a moment, her eyes darted toward her ice-skates, hanging by the shoelaces on the doorknob, and then she looked away and started tracing the stitches on her blanket with her finger, following the lines of an embroidered royal lily. "No reason," she said softly.

Owen glanced over his shoulder. "You liked it there, didn't you?"

Harper offered him a half shrug, still not raising her eyes. "You think she's mad at me?" She asked under her breath just as he'd decided this conversation was over.

"Who?"

"Mommy. Is she mad that I do the stuff she liked to do without her?"

She might have as well sucker-punched him.

Even after she finally started talking again, Harper barely ever spoke about Jenny, ignoring Owen's attempts to bring her up most of the time, and he never pressed for more, choosing to believe she was processing what happened in her own way, which only made these random mentions so much more bizarre and painful.

"No," he croaked after a few seconds, struggling to find his voice again. "Of course, no, baby. Your mom… she loved you more than anything in this world. The only thing she'd ever wanted was for you is be happy, no matter what. She could never, ever be mad at you for anything, especially for enjoying something you love." His gaze dropped to her small hand resting on the covers. "You know she's not coming back, right?" Harper nodded. "Well, you know… I'm sure it would mean a lot to her if you liked something she was fond of."

"Really?" She lifted her face, her expression still somewhat conflicted.

"Really," Owen smiled.

"Cross your heart?"

"Cross my heart."

With that, he kissed her on the forehead and turned the overhead light off, wishing her good night. He decided to leave the door a crack open on his way out. Just in case.

To be continued...

A/N: Well, I hope you're having fun so far! Please let me know what you think, guys :)