A/N: This what happens when I listen to Glee. Yes, I get random story ideas for the weirdest things. Also, angst warning. MAJOR ANGST AHEAD!

Discliamer: Don't own nothing. Sucks to be me.

Kiss Me Goodnight

She was sixteen when it happened.

Hardly a lifetime of memories, but it was enough so as not to forget.

He came into her life when she was four – no, he came and went in her life, up until she was four, appearing and disappearing until he was a vague description of a man she was supposed to call 'Daddy'. Four was when he stayed. Four was when he smiled at her and she stared back at him. Four was when he tried to hold her hand and she pulled away and ran to her mommy. Four was a lot of things, but mostly four was when he was a stranger.

By the time five came around, she was already a running into his arms, with a shriek of 'Daddy!' and begging him to scare away the monsters under her bed. Six was when he taught her to ride her bike and when she fell off it and skinned her knee. Six was also when he kissed it better and told her she was brave. Seven, eight, nine and ten passed in the blink of an eye and 'Daddy.' had gradually shortened to 'Dad!' most often with a huff and a roll of her eyes. Eleven to twelve, she laughed at his dorky jokes and rolled her eyes right along with her mother.

Thirteen to fifteen, her teenage years, were filled with drama and boys and boys who caused drama and drama due to boys. She still loved her father and he kissed her goodnight, before she went to sleep, without fail, but most of the conversations she remembers in those years were short. 'Hi, Dad! Later, Dad!' followed by a wave and a slammed door.

She's eighteen now, two whole years have gone by and she thinks of him every day. She looks at her mother, sees the way her eyes are, how they're still bright, but that they've lost their shine and knows her mother does too. She wonders if her mother's eyes are still bright because of the tears she'd cried for him, tears she'd cried along with, tears she'd listened to late into the night, desperate to comfort but too scared to step foot out of bed, to cross the hall and see the empty bed where her father should be.

There's a book on the table in the den, and there's a layer of dust – or twelve – covering it. He'd read it to her when she'd come home exhausted from cheerleading practice and was too tired to find the energy to go out with her friends. They were two chapters away from the end, and now she'll never know how it finishes, because she can't bear to lift the book and read the words and not hear his voice lull her to sleep as she rested her head in his lap.

She wants to ask him for forgiveness, she wants to fall to her knees and beg him to tell her it's all okay. She wants to go back and answer one of those twelve missed calls and get there in time to say goodbye. She wants to change the past, but the fact will always remain, that she was at a high school party while her father was dying in a hospital. She wants a lot of things, but mostly she just wants her father back. It's a pity that what she wants most of all, she'll never get.

She used to look up into the sky and see the stars and wonder, if one of them was him and if he was looking down on her. She wonders if he's proud at what he sees, at the daughter he left behind.

She's not bitter, she's just sad. He was meant to walk her down the aisle when she found the man she was meant to marry, her wedding day shouldn't remind her of the lose she experienced when she was barely an adult. She's does hope though, that she can feel the ghost of his touch hold her hand tight until it's time to give her away, then maybe she'll imagine him walk over to her mother and smile as he rest his arm across her shoulders.

It was hard, the weeks after, the days after, heck, the hours after.

'I'm sorry, there's nothing more we could do.'

'The impact...it caused too much internal damage...'

'Ms. Irvine...I don't know if this helps...but he managed to say your name, and that he loved you.'

She only remembers fragments of the conversation as she looked up at her mother, nothing made sense to her then, she was numb and she couldn't stop shaking – all she remembers is, 'Daddy's gone, get here quick.' Daddy's gone? Gone where? Gone, like when she was four? Gone, but coming back? Gone to get milk?

They'd had a full carton in the fridge that morning...

She didn't cry, not a first, because it was all a joke, her father was a prankster and this, this was his most elaborate prank yet. They got to her mother's car and the whole drive home, while her mother cried silent tears – dedication to a role if there ever was one – she was going over her speech to him and she remembers the words 'obtusely despicable' clearly, because this was what that prank was, as well as downright heartless. When her mother put the car into park, she leapt from the car and sprinted towards her house. The silence that greeted her when she burst through the door was deafening and she remembers weakly calling for him. It took her two unsteady steps before her legs gave out and she was a heap on the floor, gasping for air that wouldn't come. She remembers her mother's arms snake around her, as they held her tight and the first sob tore through her.

Her Daddy was gone, who was going to protect her now?

The days after, her mom had tried to talk to her, and she'd look back at her with broken eyes, that showed the world a little girl lost, and then her mother would turn away and she'd sit and stare out the window, waiting. She'd sleep with his t-shirt, that she'd sneaked out of her parent's room – her mom's room – and breathe in the smell that made him safe. She'd wake up and it'd still be wet from her tears and the scent that lingered when his heart was beating beneath it was fading and it felt like she was losing him all over again.

It was a week to the day that they'd lost him – she wished, even now that they'd simply misplaced him, and he found his way home – when she had to dress in her best Sunday clothes to go say goodbye to him. Watching as they lowered him into the ground hurt and the only way she managed to survive was because of the death grip she and her mother had on each other's hands. Grandpa Ted was there too, but he was to lost in his grief to console anyone.

She's pretty sure it's as hard to lose a son as it is a father and a husband.

She shakes a lot of hands that day and hears a lot of people say that they're sorry for her lose, but they have no idea, what it feels like inside. Her heart is broken. It feels like someone has taken a sledgehammer and repeatedly hit it until there were only shards left, and it's ironic that the only person, who could fix her broken heart, was her father. These people are going to go home to their family and kiss them goodnight and tell each other that they love them, and she and her mother are going to go home to an empty house, and wonder where all the laughter went. She wants to stay at her father's grave and beg him to come home and whisper all the secrets she meant to tell him, but was too busy to take the time too.

It was strange at first, the days after they laid him to rest, she kept on waking up and she'd stumble into the kitchen expecting him to smile and ask her 'How'd you sleep, sleepyhead?' but the kitchen was empty and she'd walk slowly to the den and find her mom sitting with her coffee staring out at nothingness and she'd sit down next to her, rest her head on her shoulder and whisper, 'I miss him.' and her mom would nod and they'd sit and wait, for what they'd had no idea.

The first time she laughed afterwards, she felt guilty and cried for an hour, before her mom finally got her to open her bedroom door.

'He wouldn't want you to be sad 'Rora.'

'How am I meant to be happy without him?'

'By remembering him. Sweetie, it's okay to cry, but it's not a crime to laugh either.'

Two years later, and it still ached a little to laugh.

She doubted there would be a day that would go by that she didn't miss him and she didn't expect to have him for only twelve years, but it was better than not having him for any. She still missed him and there were moments when something happened, that she had her phone out to call him and tell him, when she remembered and had to close it with a sigh. The moments though, where it was too much to take, she'd hit call so she could hear his voice.

'Hi, this is Chris, obviously I'm not here right now, chances are I'm with my girls. Leave me a message and I'll get back to you when I can.'

She doesn't question why her mother hasn't disconnected his number, she never will, she's too grateful to question it.

Most of her messages end the same though, but she's getting stronger, and the phone calls are becoming less frequent and maybe one day, she'll think of her father and smile and laugh and not have the urge to pick up the phone and tell him how much she misses him, maybe she'll just think it and know in her heart that he heard her and misses her too.

But for now, with the phone pressed against her ear, her eyes heavy with sleep, she whispers one last thing too him:

'Daddy, I miss you kissing me goodnight.'

And maybe it's the light from the moon and the sleep she's succumbing too, but she can almost see him checking her room for monsters before he kisses her goodnight.

And she feels safe.

The End.