A/N: So, this chapter and the next few will focus mostly on Amy, and what we can probably call her "Daddy issues". But do not worry, such things will be resolved eventually! And after that, I will get back to the fanservice :)
Disclaimer: I do not own anything.
It was only after Amy had successfully acquired the summer job position at the park's swimming pool that she made arrangements to visit her father over Spring Break. She made the point of taking care of the majority of communications with her father herself rather than leaving it to her mother, and by the end of the week, she had her flight booked and most of the necessary preparations taken care of.
It was about a week after her father had called that she informed Zach of the upcoming trip.
"New York City? Really?" He set down the biology notes and looked at her with just a tiny bit of consternation. "For the whole week?"
"Yes... well, sort of. You know school lets out after a half-day on Thursday before the Easter weekend. My plane leaves Friday morning at half-past nine, and I'll come back the following Thursday afternoon around two." She closed her Calculus book and watched bemusedly as he ran his fingers through his hair. "I'll be home for a few days before school starts up again, you know. And New York's not the end of the world."
"I know, I know." The hair-raking continued, but he managed a smile. "I'm happy for you, really. I know it's important to you... I know you've not seen your dad in a while. It's a good thing that you'll get to see him soon."
"Do you really think so?" Some part of her must have picked up on his inner unease at the situation, and she got up from his desk chair and walked towards his bed. He automatically made room for her and she sat down at the edge of it, reaching over and gently tugging his hand away from his head. "You're going to look like a crazy person if you keep messing your hair up."
"I am a crazy person," he mumbled, grasping her wrist and tugging her down next to him on the bed. She landed against his chest with an oof and a slightly affronted look, which made him smile somewhat. "I kind of sort of like you a lot. And stuff. So I'm supposed to worry that you're going to meet some really slick fast-talking New Yorker and come back and tell me in your oh-so-polite way that you think of me as a brother. You know."
She gave him a slight shove and glared, and he laughed and pulled her close. He didn't really mention that he was truly more worried about the visit with her father, how it would inevitably sadden her after it was over, and he'd rather just not see her grieving for anyone who didn't deem it worth their time to care about her. Either the visit would go well and she'd miss her father even more when she got back, or the visit would go poorly and she'd be full of resentment at what shouldn't be that way... and he didn't want her to be sad at all.
Gradually, she relaxed, and reached up to smooth back his hair. "I'll buy you a souvenir from New York."
"I could get behind having a green plastic Lady Liberty crown," he joked. "Hide the crazy hair and all." Sobering, he pulled back far enough to meet her eyes. "Will you call now and again? Particularly if you get bored or if there are any slick fast-talking New Yorkers hitting on you and stuff?"
Her mouth dropped open at that and she cocked her head to the side. "What would you do if there were any slick fast-talking New Yorkers hitting on me, dare I ask? Not that such a thing would ever happen, of course."
"Get my dad to pull strings and take the first flight out and tell the slick fast-talking New Yorker to lay off my girl," he told her, leaning in and pressing a kiss to the tip of her nose. "And they so will hit on you, too. Bet you twenty dollars."
"Why...! No. I'm not participating in any crazy bets." With excessive dignity, she straightened and raised her chin. "That is absurd."
"Okay. No money. I'll still win, just so you know," he told her seriously. "You don't see yourself how I see you."
The way he said it softened her enough that she lay back down on his bed and cuddled with him for a good ten minutes before going back to work, but perhaps it was inevitable that he'd sport crazy koosh-ball-looking hair for a few days afterwards. Mina, whom he undoubtedly confided in, gave Amy a few sympathetic glances and wished her a good trip.
She did look forward to it, and despite any nerves or misgivings, to seeing her father again for the first time in so many years. Nonetheless, perhaps to comfort and reassure herself as much as him, she found herself exchanging text messages with Zach in the airport terminal and later, on the airplane, up until the in-flight personnel directed all electronic devices to be turned off as the plane readied for take-off.
"Amy!"
The man who greeted her at the airport was not quite as she remembered. Where her father had worn chinos and button-downs with the sleeves rolled up over paint-speckled arms, this man was something of a stranger. Claude Anderson had grown his hair long, and it was tied back in a loose black ponytail. His jeans were faded and ripped at the knee, and he wore expensive wire-frame glasses. He smiled and stepped forward as Amy approached him.
"Dad." She let him envelope her in a hug, wondering why it didn't feel as fulfilling as she thought it would, and held on for a few moments to let go of the disappointment. "It's good to see you."
"It's good to see you too, princess," He murmured as he stepped back to take a good look at her. "You're beautiful. I always knew you would be."
He hadn't been around for the awkward years, when she hadn't yet grown into her limbs and was the painfully shy nerd in the back of the classroom trying not to stand out any more than she already did by dint of taking advanced classes. He didn't know that she had spent about an hour earlier during the day texting a boy whom she was kind-of-sort-of dating back and forth before the plane had taken off. He certainly hadn't been around to do the stereotypical shotgun and rocking chair thing that fathers were rumoured to do when their daughters started noticing the opposite sex. Amy shut her thoughts off with a click and smiled up at him. "You look different."
"I probably should have worn a beret to go with the artist image," he joked as he picked up her carry-on. "Let's go get your things, and then we can take a cab back to my place. We can catch up on the way."
They did that, and Amy filled him in on the bare bones of her life these days. He was flatteringly attentive in the way of a patient barkeep listening to a stranger's life story, and she kept most of the conversation about her classes and such. He didn't think to ask about her friends or about boys, so she didn't mention anything to that regard.
They arrived at his loft, which was spacious and airy and bright with skylights and floor-to-ceiling windows. He had foregone carpet in favour of glossy, black marble tiles that set a striking contrast to the stark white of the walls and chilled her bare feet when she stepped inside. The furniture was minimalist, chrome and glass and white leather, the sharp sleekness of it balancing the riot of colours that came from the paintings and sculptures on display in every room. Amy's detail-oriented eye recognized some of the work as her father's, but a good portion of it certainly wasn't. She also noticed an exotic, artful bouquet of tropical flowers: white calla lilies and vivid birds of paradise set against sprays of greenery and insolent purple orchids arranged in a blue blown-glass vase, and a pair of yellow bird-shaped earrings on an end table.
So he had a girlfriend. It didn't come as a shock to her, and what surprised her more, didn't hurt her either. Amy remained silent as her father gave her a tour of his loft before leading her to the guest bedroom that would be hers for the duration of her stay. It had carpet, to her relief, and glossy black lacquered furniture decorated in an almost Oriental style with gold tracery and mother-of-pearl inlay.
"Do you like the room?" Her father's voice broke through her musings. "A friend helped me pick out the furniture for this place."
"She's got good taste," Amy reassured him gravely. He did not outwardly react to her assumption that it was a woman who'd helped him out, but she let it slide. "I'll just go ahead and unpack."
"All right," Her father gave her a smile and a pat on the shoulder. "I'll leave you to it. And you can rest a bit, I know how taxing plane rides can be. Later on we'll go out for dinner and a night on the town. How's that sound to you?"
"That's great," she smiled faintly and placed her carry-on bag on the bed. He nodded, and she watched him walk out the door and shut it gently behind his back.