Chapter Four

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"Remember, remember, this is now, and now, and now. Live it, feel it, cling to it. I want to be acutely aware of all I've taken for granted."
Sylvia Plath

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The rest of the day is filled with mindless paperwork that he can barely contend with on a normal day, nevermind when his thoughts are consumed with the daughter he's just met. He's focusing on the positives; thinks maybe the fact he has a girl, not a boy, gives him less chance of parenting like his own father. He realizes he's grasping at straws, but it's all he has right now.

Peter suggests taking the rest of the afternoon off, but he thinks he'd probably go just as insane pacing the length of his room; at least in the office, he can be semi-productive in helping to achieve the Greater Good and all that. He calls June to tell her he's invited Elizabeth and Peter to dinner, and that Alex will be coming too, with a guest. Naturally, she's extremely accommodating; she comes bustling out of the adjoining room to greet him as he comes in from work, Alex and Camille hot on his heels having met him outside.

"Oh, I hope you don't mind, Neal, but Samantha's just over visiting," June tells him. "I said she could join us for dinner."

"Of course not, June. In fact there's someone I'd like you to meet," he responds, and then stands aside for the girl of the moment to take up her appropriate place.

"Good evening maam, I'm Camille Hunter," his daughter says as she strikes out her hand, her face brimming with delight at all the attention she's being showered with. "Thank you for inviting me and Mommy to dinner."

"You can call me June, my sweet," the elder says with a smile of her own, taking the young girl's proffered hand. "And you are most welcome."

June greets Alex and ushers her into other room to sit with her as the two youngsters become acquainted, while Neal goes upstairs to change.

When Peter and Elizabeth arrive later, Camille instantly runs to the outer threshold, rocking on her heels with her hands behind her back, until they notice her presence and send a smile her way.

"Evenin', Mr. Peter," she calls out with a grin and then she takes a big step forward and holds out her hand to the woman by his side. "You must be Elizabeth, I'm Camille Hunter. My Mommy's friends with Mr. Neal."

"Well, I'm very glad to meet your acquaintance, Camille," Elizabeth replies in kind, and then lifts her eyebrows to Neal and remarks, "Polite young thing, isn't she?"

"She went from a few words to complete sentences," Alex divulges as she steps into view; a fond smile directed towards her daughter as the girl looks up at her and she runs a hand affectionately over the light brown locks that cascade over Camille's shoulders. "I had to do something to try and keep her in line."

It's moments like this that Neal finds he enjoys the most; when he gains little tidbits here and there about Camille. When he can piece together what he's missed of his daughter's life like a mosaic memory.

"You're really pretty," the six-year-old pipes up then.

"Oh, well, thank you," Elizabeth replies, her smile accented by the slight blush in her cheeks. "You are a beautiful little girl. How old are you?"

"Six," she proclaims proudly. "But people never get it right 'cos I'm small, but Momma buys me clothes that don't make me look like a baby. I like your dress, and umm… you look good too, Mr. Peter, but – "

"But I look better?" his partner's wife fills in for his daughter, along with a wink. She lays a hand on Peter's chest and pats the spot above his heart as she teasingly reassures the youngster, "Don't worry, I think he'll just about cope with hearing that I'm the looks in the relationship."

"Mommy says it's good to give people compliments," Camille says, divulging her mother's tactics, which Neal can't help but chuckle at. "But I bet you're used to them, being so pretty an' all – 'bet Mr. Peter gives you them as well, all the time."

"Charming too," Elizabeth adds with a laugh and inclines her head towards Alex.

When Neal looks up from Camille, he finds Alex's eyes on him as she replies, "That one's definitely hereditary."

She sends him a warm smile before joining in with Elizabeth's laughter as they make their way to the dining room.

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"Hat off at the table, Cami," Alex instructs like it's instinctual, as they all take their seats and get settled.

"It's actually a headpiece." Camille seems to take great delight in correcting, eyes moving from Neal to Samantha to Neal again, though she does as she's told.

"Well, why don't you tell Samantha all about your growing collection – they take up most of her luggage space, you know," her mother teases in return.

The white wooly hat that drops just over her eyes, with the flaps falling well past her ears, and the large white and pink bunny ears on top obviously completes the ensemble that replaced the dirty, but colorful attire from earlier in the day.

She excitedly starts to chat to June's granddaughter, her hands lifting animatedly as she describes the different hats and headpieces and hair accessories that she has. She's so engrossed in it that at one point she kicks out, catching him beneath the table, so when he releases a quick gasp and looks down all he sees is the quick retreat of a little stone-colored Chino-clad leg printed with mini anchors and rolled up at the ankle.

He lifts his head up and sees Camille open her mouth to apologize, when her eyes suddenly widen and she drops her head to her chest to look at the stain that now covers her previously pristine white ruffled top.

"Oops," is all she has to say about that, though she has the decency to look vaguely repentant as her mother looks over at the damage.

Alex merely releases a small sigh and shakes her head.

"Missed my cardi though!" Camille exclaims proudly, flashing her mother a toothy grin as she gestures to the top that remains untouched by the spillage, still a perfect match to the shade of pink on her bunny ears.

While June goes to call on the maid and Elizabeth starts to explain various tricks to banishing stains, Alex just smiles and thanks them, but basically waves off their help. She doesn't seem too phased; apparently this is a daily occurrence. He tucks away that tidbit of information, and adds it to the pieces he's already collected, steadily putting together the character background that determines everything his daughter does.

He takes the moment to observe Camille's current attire. It's simple, but stylish, and of course she looks gorgeous; how could he not approve? Oh, and her wrists are covered in lots and lots of bangles and bracelets, which he assumes, she copies from her mother. It makes him smile to know she has such a childlike affinity for colors and costumes; he's still getting over his mild surprise that her mother allows her out the house like that though. Alex tends to dress in dark tones: helps me blend into the night – shadow-walker, remember? her voice fills his mind, and the memory of that time has him shifting his concentration across to her.

She looks good, as she always does, but seeing her like this; her gaze flickering over to their daughter every minute or so, the way her eyes swirl the emotions and her lips curve up on her cheeks, as she reacts in sync with the six-year-old, it's… fascinating. Motherhood really does suit her. Who'd have thought?

While Camille is undoubtedly capable of speaking solely to adults, it is quite obvious that she'd rather Samantha entertain her for the evening. As much as Neal wants to engage her in what he just knows would be thrilling chatter, he doesn't want to push it. The link is tentative, and he knows all too well the suspicion that can arise from coming on too strong.

He hates to think that he's conning his daughter; but certain rules and behavior still apply. So, when the adults all move to the other room, he opts to stay where he is and Samantha instantly jumps on the idea, informing Camille that Neal is a magician and that he's so much fun.

Alex leaves him with a lingering look, but she does leave, which he counts as something akin to a blessing on her part.

"Pineapple pie?" Samantha offers, because she too has been raised correctly; if nothing else, to act accordingly in her grandmother's home when guests are over.

Camille immediately shakes her head, and her new friend's face falls a little. Then; in a move Neal recognizes as having been ingrained in her to override instinctual moves such as that, she explains, "Sorry, I'm p'ticularly picky with pies – Mindy's are a hard act to follow."

The polite manner and the smile and the fact she is completely adorable clue him into the fact that she could use this line anywhere and barely cause offense; even though she's effectively telling the person their creation is sub-par in comparison to what she's used to. He smiles, despite himself, lifts his hand to cover his mouth a touch, because this is Alex; really and truly – but it's also him. He can see them both completely in Camille. And damn, did they do good.

"Who's Mindy?" Samantha asks.

"Gruncle's lady-friend," Camille replies, with an impish grin that tells of knowledge of a secret she enjoys being part of.

"Who's Gruncle?" the other girl says to that, this time with her face screwed up in confusion as she eyes his daughter.

"He's sort of like my Grampa," the younger answers. "'cos I got to grow up with him, and so did Mommy."

Neal smiles to himself, shaking his head at the simplicity of it: Gruncle – Great-Uncle.

And there's that little smile again, the one that comes accompanied with eyes that sparkle mischief, as she enlightens them to the fact: "'cept he's got a diff'rent name from me, so we got to play tricks on people when we were out. It was so much fun."

There's something a little scary about this blend of him and Alex; maybe Camille just mirrors them both a little too closely at times for him to process that this is actually real. Yet, at least.

Samantha moves on quickly, offering a fruit salad that June's maid prepared earlier and Camille nods, and then she pauses, that smile on her face still present and as influential as ever as she asks the other girl what's in it.

"You're picky with everything, aren't you?" Samantha responds with a sigh, to which the younger just shrugs.

She rattles off a list of the ingredients and when Camille nods her approval, she leaves to retrieve the alternate dessert.

The six-year-old throws him a small apologetic smile and ducks her head as she says, "Sorry."

"Ah," Neal waves her off good-naturedly, knocking her elbow with his to get her to look up as he winks at her. "I like a girl who knows what she likes."

Her tongue peeks out between her teeth as she smiles at him, her eyes practically twinkling in the light; he could spend forever like this, just in her presence.

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Samantha tells them a joke that she heard at school and it's only now, with Camille's laughter brightening the room and her smile aligning with his vision that Neal feels the slight ache in his cheekbones. He doesn't think he's ever smiled this much. Not that he's really complaining.

He watches her, enraptured, still.

She dips her head, smiles around her spoon as she scoops it into the bowl of fruit in front of her, her attention remaining on her friend. The little crease in her brow hardly mars her features, but it triggers something in him as she lifts a hand and trails her index finger along the inside of her lower lip.

Her frown doesn't deepen; it doesn't have a chance, because all of a sudden everything's changing and she's reacting too fast.

What he's seeing – this metamorphosis – it terrifies him, because he's putting the pieces together too late. This is his child, his little girl, and he should've noticed; he could've stopped it.

Now it's too late.

Camille turns to him, strangled surprise on her features; eyes as wide as saucers, her fear shining like a beacon, her mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. One hand clutches at her throat and she reaches out to him with the other, fingers scraping like cats' claws against the solid wood. The spoon clatters to the floor and there's a harsh after-ring that seems endless.

"What's wrong with her?" Samantha questions, the legs of her chair scraping against the floor as she stands, like a painful reminder that his daughter's voice has been stolen and this is what is left to fill the void in her absence. These loud, unbearable noises; they bear the punishment of his failure.

"Go and get Alex!" he instructs hastily.

His voice is shaking, like the legs of his daughter, her knees knocking uncontrollably against his shins as he pulls himself closer towards her. Her body scrambles to defend itself against the execution order implemented by the foreign substance, to fight against something that is literally squeezing the life out of her before his very eyes.

It can't end like this; not when he's only just meeting her, not when she's still so young.

It can't end.

He loves her.

It's hardly a revelation, but the words spur something within him. He throws a glance over his shoulder as Samantha scuttles away, shouting, "And call 911!"

He reaches over and pulls Camille's hand from her throat, tears his gaze from the red welts on her skin to look up into those stunning blue eyes of hers that are frozen in panic.

He interlocks their fingers and promises, "It's going to be ok. You're going to be alright."

He wills her to believe it, because he does; he has to. There is no other option.

The metal of her bracelet is cool against his skin, swinging back and forth with the momentum of her struggle. He doesn't look at it; he can't.

He's supposed to be observant, he's supposed to be brilliant; the signs were all there, and this is his daughter – he should have been able to put the pieces together.

"Camille," he says. "Look at me."

I'm sorry.

The words are repeated over-and-over in his mind, the true reminder of his sins, his crimes: she is suffering because of him.

"You're going to be alright," he repeats aloud instead.

Alex was right to keep her away from him.

And when she enters the room Neal can finally breathe again, because so can their daughter.

She thrusts the EpiPen into their daughter's thigh and everything seems to slow, a fact he is so so grateful for; because he can see his little girl's chest moving up and down in a steadier rhythm now, can see the calm that passes over her as her mother takes her in her arms.

"Momma," Camille breathes out; like it's the answer she was searching for all along, the only thing she's ever needed to exist.

He wonders if that will always be his penance.

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TBC…

Thanks for reading, please let me know what you think – it really does mean a lot :)
Steph
xxx