She was lying on the carpet, a stack of paper in front of her, a pile of crayons beside her and an intense look of concentration on her face. He couldn't help the smile that crossed his face as he watched her there, drawing, having fun and enjoying herself like any eight-year-old should be.

He tried to push the thoughts out of his mind, ignore the twisting anxiety in his stomach. But he couldn't help it. He was her father after all. It was his job to worry about her. Especially when school was starting again tomorrow. Something that she hated.

But he hoped this new school, the one she was starting tomorrow, would be different. Would be better than what had come before. The teasing. The bullying.

This was her fifth school in the past four years. He hated that. Hated that she couldn't find somewhere, couldn't settle anywhere.

The other kids, they saw her as different, saw her as weird, and the teachers couldn't cope with her either. They called her disruptive in lessons, and inattentive, saying she refused to do her work. He had tried to talk to her about it, after the first time he had been called into school, and she had complained that the work was too easy, and it was boring, wasn't challenging enough.

He had always known she was smarter than others her age, and that wasn't just him saying it because he was her father. He was saying it because it was the truth.

She had spoken months before even doctors said it tended to happen, and was walking before he even thought it was possible. And countless nights were spent with Jemma sitting beside him, helping him fill in the New York Times crossword, answering questions he didn't even know.

After that first talk with her principal, he had taken her out for ice cream, and had asked her if she wanted some workbooks aimed at those older than her, to challenge her. She had nodded, dripping chocolate ice cream everywhere.

And she had flown through them, and the ones after that. And the ones after that. At this point, he thought, she would be able to do University level work within the next two years.

But all of that, it didn't matter. Not if she was unhappy in school, something she still had to attend as he couldn't home-school her, not yet anyway. But at school, she had no friends and suffered socially and he hated that. He wanted the best for his daughter and feared that he wasn't doing that for her.

The chiming off the clock announcing eight distracted him from his thoughts.

And it also seemed to distract Jemma from what she was doing, from what she was drawing. She let out a sigh and sat up, looking at her father. "Do I have to?"

He nodded. "Sorry," he replied, bending down and lifting her. "Bed time. Big day tomorrow."

She dropped her gaze. "'Suppose."

"Hey." He lifted her chin, meeting her eyes. "Tomorrow is going to be okay. This school, they know about you. They're letting you do some of the harder work, it's not going to be like last time, and afterwards, ice cream? Yeah?"

She nodded her agreement. He could always win her over with ice cream. "Can I still have a bed time story?"

"Of course you can."

It was half an hour later, and she had brushed her teeth, and was curled up in bed. Her father had read her a chapter from her book before bed and was just about to leave when she called to him. "We'll be okay, won't we?"

He smiled at her but there was something there, something that she didn't quite understand. Was he worried about her? He never said he was but she could tell that he was. Could tell that he always worried.

And she hated that. Hated that she made him feel that way.

But still, he was smiling at her. "Yeah, we'll be okay."

As he made his way across the room, she couldn't help but think he was right. They had always been fine, just the two of them, ever since her mum walked out on them, when she was six months old.

She hadn't ever heard from her mum, and she hadn't tried to contact her dad either but it didn't matter.

They had each other.

They would always have each other.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, he reached up and removed something from around his neck. All she could do was stare in shock. His necklace. The one he always wore. The one that had been passed down his family for generations and was supposed to protect the wearer.

It was an old wooden charm of intricate knots that hung on thread. He smiled at her, still staring in shock as he placed it over her head.

"I can't," she whispered shaking her head. "What about you?"

He shrugged. "I'll be fine and anyway, you need it more than me. Good luck for tomorrow, yeah?"

She nodded slowly, still scared to take the necklace, to take the protection it provided from her father.

"I love you," he told her again, placing a kiss on her forehead.

She nodded in agreement. "I love you too."

He stood up, adjusting her blankets once again and made his way across the room, and smiled at her before closing the door.

Jemma Anne Simmons couldn't sleep that night. It never came easy when she had school the next day, especially if she were starting a new one.

Even the soft murmur of the TV in the other room never helped.

She tossed and turned and was just about to get out of bed to talk to her dad when she heard it. The shouting.

She froze in place, and covered her ears with her hands. She never liked it when her dad shouted. But… who was he shouting at. She couldn't hear the words, just the angry tones of their voices and then…

A bang.

Then nothing.

She called out to him.

He didn't come.

Maybe he hadn't heard her.

She called again and again and again.

Tears began to stream down her face and her voice was heavy with fear, and shaking slightly.

She curled up on the bed, knees drawn up to her chest.

She wanted this to go away.

Whatever it was.

Eventually, footsteps echoed down the hall and she felt a wave of relief begin to wash over her…

But when the door opened, it wasn't her dad, instead it was a policewoman.

She frowned, wondering what they were doing at the house. Was everything okay?

"Jemma?" she asked.

Jemma nodded, knowing that it was okay to answer, that the police only wanted to help. And that her dad would be there in a moment anyway.

"I'm going to need you to come with me, that okay?"

Jemma shook her head. "I want my daddy."

A look flashed across the woman's face and she walked into the room, sitting on the bed. Jemma sat up, and reached for her necklace, fidgeting with it. "Is he okay?"

The policewomen took on of Jemma's hands in her own. "You're going to be okay. I promise you, you're going to be okay."

Sorry for that ending! I aim to update this at least once a week. It may be close to 30 chapters. Title from Jillian (I'd Give My Heart) by Within Temptation. Thanks for reading!