A/N: Thank you all for being so patient with me! I really don't know why this chapter has been such a bear to write! I really love it, but filling in the blanks has been like pulling teeth! As a reward for your patience, I'm giving you two updates at once. The next one is also mostly written, so hopefully there will be another update soon. A big thank-you to Kassandra27, without whom the second update would be much less adorable, and without whom I may never have finished any of this! Thank all of you so much for your continued appreciation, reviews, and nagging to actually get this posted. All of it REALLY helps!
Also, in response to continuing inquiries as to whether this will turn into a Lit-Fic at any point…yes and no ("or to put it another way, no and yes"). Rory is obviously a BIG part of Jess' consciousness throughout all of this - the infamous Truncheon scene happened VERY recently, and so she will continue to be mentioned…probably frequently. She will not actually appear in this story, BUT that does not mean she won't find out about/meet Jessica or that Jess will never see her again. I'm just saving that for sequel material. In fact, all of that will probably take place in "Don't Go," which is posted through chapter 5, so if you haven't read it yet, go check it out when you're finished here. As I have described it to many of you who've asked privately, it's the sequel/prequel/in-between-quel to "Pay the Piper." Right now, it's just passed the prequel phase, and the stories are running slightly parallel, which makes for an interesting juggling match on my part.
Okay, I'll stop babbling now, and let you read. Enjoy! Let me know what you think.
Chapter 10 - Band-Aids, Hugs and Jam Hands - Part I
Sheesh! Why does she have to be like me? Why? At three years old you're not supposed to be able to do this!
Jess was wheeling Jessica in a cart through the store, trying not to let his frustration show on his face. He was trying so hard to make things up to her. She didn't know that was why they were here. She didn't know that every item in the cart was part of a plan to try to fix everything that he'd clumsily broken the day before. He chided himself about trying to buy her love, but that wasn't what this was about. There had to be some way that she would accept that he was a safe, good person to be around, instead of someone she had to fear.
In one sense, it was a good thing that she acted so much like he did. If it wasn't so much like looking into a mirror, he might not have realized that she didn't trust him again, and that she was nowhere near having forgiven him. She hid it well. She made pleasant, frequent eye contact. It looked open. It looked trusting. It just about killed him that morning when he saw her fake a smile. This tiny, little girl knew what he wanted to see. It was insane. He could swear she was watching every minute movement, his entire body language, and every fleeting expression. She kept the everything's okay mask on, while secretly watching his reaction to every little thing she did, and she didn't risk doing much. He could almost hear her little voice asking, You're not going to yell at me for this, are you? Are you angry now? How about now? It was wreaking havoc with his mind.
She kept her mask on, so he kept his. He was being Mr. Chipper, lots of eyebrow raises and flashed grins, quips and even the occasional out-of-character pun. He knew he was trying too hard, but he couldn't let her sense his internal agitation. That would be the worst possible thing he could do. But, he couldn't help but wonder whether his act was just as transparent as her own.
Back at the apartment, Jess began to put his plan into action. Once they'd eaten lunch, he began rearranging his bookshelves. All of his most precious volumes - the ones he'd never be able to replace - he relocated to the top shelves. It completely confounded his ordinary system of bookshelf organization, but it would prevent a repeat of yesterday's performance. Then, he began conspicuously laying the morning's purchases out on the card table, watching his little girl watch him out of the corner of his eye. First, were several packages of band-aids in various colors and patterns. Next, came several magnets in the shape of butterflies. After that, there was a box of crayons, followed by pencils, erasers, a sketch pad and several coloring books. Each item was carefully placed on the table, as if on display. Without turning to meet Jessica's gaze, Jess swung around to the little girl's bookshelf, retrieving all of the books thereupon, and brought them to rest in yet another neat pile on the table.
Jess sat down, glanced at Jessica once, and then turned to the task before him. One at a time, he took Jessica's books in hand, scanned the boxes of band-aids and retrieved the one which most closely matched the color of the book. With each book, he placed the volume between his knees, took out one of the band-aids, grasped the two white tabs and carefully pressed the band-aid onto the book, as if they all had identical wounds on their spines which needed tending-to. As Jessica watched this performance, she quirked one eyebrow at her father's oddity. The reaction pleased Jess, but he didn't show it. When he'd repeated the delicate operation on all of the books in the stack, he set the last one down with a thump, and turned to his little girl, putting his hands on his knees in a decided fashion. He looked into her eyes with a twinkle in his own, and stood up, taking one stride to retrieve one of his own books from the shelf, then resumed his seat.
He looked at her with a suppressed smile in comfortable silence. She looked at him with inquiry, but her eyes faltered against the steady smile, and scanned the ceiling instead, checking every couple of moments to see whether her strange father was still looking at her with his strange expression. Finally, he looked down, opening the book in his hand, the book that was his. He ran his index finger over the margin notes, as if reading them, lips bitten between his teeth, eyes darting from the page to her face and back again.
"I like to write in books," he spoke at last. "I read the book, and I write down whatever I think about it here," he told her, pointing to the lines of neat text. The small girl looked at him with raised eyebrows, but the rest of her expression cautiously guarded. "So…" he continued smiling at her, "anytime you want to write in your books," he shrugged, "that's fine!" His tone had lightened, playfully. "In fact, I encourage it!" Her befuddled eyebrows, questioning eyes, the extended, pondering line of her mouth, and the withdrawn and slightly turned set of her head, clearly said…something. And it driving her dad nuts that he couldn't figure out just what it was. But, not to be confounded by this silent miss, he continued with his half-planned speech. "The question is: How do you know which books are yours?" He picked up the book on top of the stack and pointed to the band-aid adorned spine. "This means, 'this book belongs to Jessica,' so when you see that, you know, it's yours - you can do with it whatever you like - read it, write in it, build forts…" Okay, this was clearly beyond the grasp of a girl-type, only child, three-year-old Jessica. He'd have to introduce her to the fine art of fort building. Her eyebrows made that plain. But, back to the point. "It's yours."
"Now, today," he continued, brightly, "I bought you some new books - very special books. Since you love to draw, I bought you special books just for drawing in. And, some pencils and crayons to draw with." As he spoke, he set these books before her, laid out the colorful pencils, and opened the box of crayons. He then sat back and folded his hands, waiting for her to enjoy them. She stared at them, and the smile he'd been expecting didn't come. Her eyes flitted toward him, but timidly stopped shy of his face. She mimicked his posture, sitting back in the chair and folding her hands on the table without touching the prettiness laid before them. He bent his head to look into her face with a puzzled expression. She shrank from it almost imperceptibly. He rubbed the back of his hand across his chin as if scratching an itch as gazed at the little puzzlement before him. Clearly she needed further encouragement to partake in these new joys. She liked to draw, right? He flipped open the sketchbook, and one of the coloring books in turn, showing her the creamy whiteness ready for her creative mind, and the pretty pictures aching for her colors, telling her how they were there just waiting for her. Her face grew worried, and her arms crossed in front of her little chest, hands burrowing into her armpits.
In this moment, Jess wished he didn't understand. He wished her posture didn't recall vividly to mind the times as a child when he'd been forced to do something only to be perversely cursed or beaten for doing it.
"It's okay," he assured her in a tone so soft it nearly purred. "It's okay. This is yours. I want you to have it." He extracted a crayon from the box and held it out to her. Her expression faltered, and the folded arms loosened. Slowly, her little hand came out. She still didn't reach for the crayon, but neither did she fight it when he pressed it into her hand. When that same hand just rested on the table, and her eyes still showed nothing but trepidation, Jess reached out slowly, taking her hand in his and guiding it to the paper. He held it reassuringly in his, and together they drew an awkward circle on the page. She was breathing shallowly and rapidly, and her eyes, large and round, shot to his face to read her fate. He broke into a large smile, nodding at her to let her know that everything was all right.
"That's really good," he told her, warmth beaming from his eyes. "Can you do another one?" She heaved a tiny sigh and looked back at the paper, concentrating as she drew a tiny circle next to the larger one. "Beautiful! . . . Don't stop now," he urged, holding out a different colored crayon to her. She took it without hesitance this time, and they continued until the whole page was full.
"Now, this is your book," he reiterated, "and you can keep this in here if you like, but if you want to, we can hang it up on the refrigerator with some butterflies." He held up the magnets with a twinkle in his eye. She pondered for a moment before nodding. He was happy to display this small breakthrough, and again, if he ignored the reason, he could be pleased that it was a collaborative work. Once it was on the fridge, he stood back surveying it for a moment, then turned and saw with pleasure that Jessica had already begun her next drawing.
"Good job," he told her, rubbing his hand up and down on her back - but his smile faded as he felt her stiffen and shrink from his touch. The now familiar ache returned. The ice still hadn't melted. The wall remained. He released a slow, rueful sigh and sank back into his seat, gazing in helplessness at the little girl as she sat absorbed in her artwork, pretending she didn't feel his eyes upon her.
What more could he do?
"Are you ever gonna forgive me?" Jess implored with a troubled look, and a slight warble to his voice. Jessica looked up in obvious surprise, her little eyes wide. "I said I was sorry," he reminded her gently, his voice getting husky in spite of himself, "sorry I yelled at you…sorry I got angry…sorry I scared you." Her face seemed frozen in that surprised look, even as his words seemed to flit behind her eyes, considering. "Can you forgive me? Please?" She looked down at the table, eyes scanning back and forth, and one corner of her mouth twisted to the side, clearly debating the acceptance of this apology.
Finally, she lifted her head a little, her eyebrows raised into two perfect parentheses on her forehead, and she heaved a shallow, determined sigh. Her tiny hand crept over and laid itself on his forearm, reassuringly. It was soft…warm. She nodded with a sweet look, brown on brown, gazing steadily into his eyes. The mask was finally gone. This was his Jessica. At last, he could breathe. His eyes and mouth broke into a warm smile of relief and love.
Jess circled around behind her, wrapping his arms around her small shoulders, hugging her softly to his chest. He bent his head down over hers, and kissed her forehead.
"Thank you," he murmured with his heart in his voice. Jessica craned her neck to look into her dad's face, and her own lit up with a sunshine smile and sparkling eyes. She was loved.
When did life become so simple? "I'm sorry." " Forgive me." "Please." "Thank you." Hug. Kiss. And, all the world is right again. Love. Jess tried to catch his breath. Life just didn't happen this way. It just didn't.