PII. STOCKHOLM SYNDROME.
"Other people can become frail and break, but not parents."
Shiloh has seen most of the photos before, and it's only a few minutes later that she flips the album shut and slides off the edge of her bed. She places the binder carefully back in the dusty box, moves to the door. She hadn't heard him lock it, so she tests the handle. The door silently swings open.
She practically leaps to the stairs. The hallway's always given her the creeps. The holograms remind her of dolls' eyes. They follow you when you aren't looking. So Shiloh slips by the hallways as quickly as she can, and pads down the stairs.
He's in the kitchen. Why shouldn't he be? She ignores her own question, and quietly stands outside. Nathan's leaning on the counter, staring intently into a cup. It looks empty, but she can't be sure.
"Dad?" He glances up immediately, and he looks a little lost. Like he had upstairs. She tries to ignore it. He can't be lost, he has to be strong and secure like he's always been. No cracks in the shining white armour.
"Can I have some water?"
"Of course," he says. The question gives him purpose, so he sets about filling a cup. It's a simple task. It's what he needs right now. She smiles as the lost look fades from his features. He always looks worried, and it's nice to see him, well—it's not quite a smile. Not yet.
He hands her the glass. "It's getting late."
"I know," she says before he can add anything. "I'm done with the photos." He nods a little, and turns away, walking back into the kitchen and putting the cup away. So it had been empty.
"Dad?"
"Yes, Shi?" He sounds annoyed, even if he doesn't mean it. After a moment, he turns back to look at her, apology written in his eyes. He almost looks like he's asking her forgiveness. Or maybe she's just imagining it.
"Tuck me in?"
He smiles now, or at least smiles as much as he ever does, and walks over to her. A fleeting, butterfly kiss on her forehead.
"I'll be up in a minute," he promises.