A/N: All right! Thanks for being awesome, everyone! You get a double update this time around! Two chapters! Woo!
This chapter dives into Papa Leonhart's backstory a bit more, so expect some dark subject matter. I've been so drained writing such depressing stuff that I decided I wouldn't post this chapter until I finished the next one (which is light-hearted and on the brighter side!)
Warnings for this chapter: Potential triggers, PTSD, mentions of war violence.
I contemplated scratching this one entirely, but I didn't want to gloss over the horrors of war and those who have to face the harsh reality of it all every day. More importantly, I decided the narrative perfectly fits the main theme(s) of this fic; forgiveness and learning to let go.
Again, apologies in advance.
And as always, thanks for all the continued support! :) It means a lot!
Friday, February 17th
Marley Neighborhood
Annie studied her surroundings, scrutinizing every detail.
The small ranch-style home had a certain modest flare to it. The entire exterior was an off-white hue, the front door a tree-bark brown, and the porch a quaint beige. The front lawn had recently undergone much-needed renovations, small nurtured patches of green rising from the once dirt-laden yard.
The mailbox at the end of the driveway was a simple grey color, the name 'Leonhart' etched on the side of the carrier.
The interior of the home was, for the moment, empty, void of any décor or the standard amenities. Hollow corners marked by scuffs where furniture used to rest indicated the previous inhabitants had resided in the place for quite some time.
And now, the humble dwelling was under new ownership.
"That was the last of the boxes," Annie informed her father, motioning to the U-haul vehicle parked outside. "Truck's empty."
"Time to start unpacking then," Mr. Leonhart replied, surveying his belongings. His possessions were few in number, prioritizing the necessities over luxury items.
Practicality took precedence over all else, but he managed to save a few tidbits from the good old days; relics from the past.
Annie nodded at his suggestion, tearing into a smaller box consisting of fragile vases and photographs. She incidentally pulled out an old family photo, pausing to examine the picture closer.
A three-year-old Annie was smiling for the camera, arms linked between both mother and father, the setting a lovely summer day at the park.
Better days. When her family was… a normal family.
Mr. Leonhart was preparing to open a heftier cardboard box containing basic lighting fixtures when he caught a glimpse of Annie in her dreary reverie.
It saddened him to see her so disheartened, so damaged. In accordance with his commitment to heal their bruised relationship, he sought to offer her clarity.
"Let's take a break for now, Annie," he proposed, rising from his kneeling position to full-height. After dusting off the front of his pants, he walked over and placed a hand on her shoulder. "We've been at this for a couple hours. Let's relax."
Annie's gaze still hadn't left the photograph, consumed by its sentimentality.
Ah, yes. Sentimentality was an age-old weakness of hers. There were just some things she had trouble letting go. Her emotions had always been closely guarded and bottled up inside, but the peaceful setting of her father's new home allowed for calmness and ease to settle in; the closest thing to a sanctuary for her deepest darkest feelings.
She finally spoke up after her father had retrieved a bottle of water for the two of them to share.
"I didn't know you still kept some of our old pictures," she said softly, fingers tracing the edges of the frame.
Mr. Leonhart frowned. "Why wouldn't I?"
Annie shook her head on impulse, figuring it would be best to drop the subject and avoid sensitive complications. "I don't know," she shrugged, placing the photo back into the small box.
"Talk to me, honey." Her father didn't want there to be any boundaries between them. Everything needed to be laid out in the open. "Something's on your mind. What is it?"
Annie hesitated, crossing her arms over her chest. There was plenty on her mind, that much was true. School, a prospective new job, training during the off-season…
But in regards to family matters, the unshakeable feeling that everything happening as of late seemed too good to be true kept gnawing away at her.
She had her father back in her life. He was clean, sober, and healthier than he had been in years. And here she was now, helping him move into his new place on a calm Friday afternoon.
She should be happy.
But she found herself worrying instead.
What if these seemingly 'good times' had an expiration date? What if her father relapsed? What if all these attempts at mending their lives were like mere band-aids over open wounds?
She and her father had already been through enough, and Annie wasn't sure if she could handle another devastating loss.
Silence loomed over them, while Annie desperately thought of something to say.
"It's just…" A pause. A nervous clench.
I really needed you back then…
I still need you…
To stay in my life… for good.
"I guess I miss the way things used to be," she finally relented. "You and mom. The tiny house we lived in…"
Mr. Leonhart concurred. "Those were good days."
"Mostly," Annie muttered bitterly, looking away.
Mr. Leonhart tilted his head, only half-expecting an explanation.
Annie remained quiet for a few beats, rendering the ominous silence potentially catastrophic as the soft humming of distant noises filled the air like an eerie calm before the storm.
She couldn't bottle it all up inside anymore. She needed to let it out.
"Why didn't you just come home?" Annie asked, her tone dangerously bordering on the accusatory.
The question struck her father as odd, given its ambiguity. The look he was giving her suggested he was waiting for her to continue.
"After all those years… serving four tours in Iraq… even after you'd been gone for so long…"
Annie was cut off by her father, having figured out where this was going.
"Your mother told me to never come back. Hit me with divorce papers and said she was done waiting for me-"
"But I never stopped waiting for you!"
Annie's urgent revelation pierced throughout the emptiness of the small house, voice brimming with anger and resentment. It was the first time she had finally allowed herself to shout, sick and tired of tiptoeing around the issue at hand.
Mr. Leonhart had expected this to happen at some point. Maintaining a calm demeanor, he stood motionless at the center of the hollow living room, locking eyes with his daughter. He knew he owed her an explanation for his absence, though he was tentative as to whether or not she'd fully understand.
When most of the tension had subsided, Mr. Leonhart, though not much of a religious man, quoted from the 'good book.'
"When I was a child, I spoke like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I grew up, I put the ways of childhood behind me."
Annie raised a brow. "1 Corinthians 13:11." Wearing a scornful frown, she huffed. Did he get religion or something? Somehow found 'god?'
"What I'm saying is that I never expected you to understand the reasons for my actions back then because you were only a child, Annie," her father explained. "I used to be the same way, but like everyone else, we all have to grow up and move on from our immaturity."
"So you're telling me to get over it?" Annie muttered indignantly.
Mr. Leonhart shook his head. "Not at all."
"Then what do you mean by that?"
Heaving a sigh, her father took one last swig from the water bottle, preparing himself for what he was about to disclose.
Hopefully this discourse would prove to be an eye-opener.
"Your mother was pregnant with you when I first enlisted," he began. "Every man has their own reasons for joining the military. For some, it's a family trade. Others just need a job. Then you have your 'patriots,' those who are eager to serve. And that was me. Prideful, loyal to the red, white, and blue, feeling like I was invincible. I was newly married, about to start a family, things were heating up in the Middle East, and I convinced myself I should be this all-American hero and fight terrorists just like my old man.
"I was young and stupid, really, so I needed the discipline and structure that the military offered; demanded of me, rather. But even after the promotions and all the parading out and about, boasting about this and that with my comrades, I failed to realize that I was still just the same punk kid from as far back as my early days at boot camp. The only thing I managed to do was feed my own ego and brag about how good of a shot I was.
"And then the war in Iraq broke out. 9/11 really riled us all up, the entire nation was pissed, and Saddam Hussein was the devil incarnate who needed to be destroyed. For god and for country!"
Mr. Leonhart paused, giving a lazy half-assed salute to no one in particular before continuing. Stone-faced and movements rigid, he looked like a ghost, the blood draining from his face.
"First tour. Second tour. A goddamn third tour. Your mother begged me not to go on the fourth. And… I should have listened to her but… I needed to leave. I couldn't come back home after all I had seen.
"I'd still be fighting… even in my dreams. I'd be stuck in the same heavy uniform, dodging blasts and gunfire from Iraqi insurgents. I couldn't look people in the eye anymore…
"All the sudden I'd think I was seeing blood. I'd think I was hearing explosions… The war came home with me, and it was eating me alive. The bloodshed… the 'sir, yes, sirs'… all the exhausting 'mission accomplished'… the men in my squad who died right in front of me…"
His voice cracked, reliving the horrors of past experiences.
"March 12th, 2007." He shook his head, taken back to that finite moment. "That's the day everything changed."
Annie shuddered at the cryptic statement, dreading what was coming but accepting this was necessary.
"My squad and I were ambushed by a group of insurgents armed with Russian made weapons. There were hundreds of civilians around us, making it harder to determine who was an enemy. The hostiles just kept coming and coming… I thought it might be the end for us. All I remember was constantly reloading and shooting. I couldn't hear much else other than the shouting and the gunfire. We managed to hold them off until help arrived, but even so, I kept shooting. The place became a bloodbath and smoke had filled the air…
"A young boy emerged from the smoke. We were ordered to cease fire. He was walking towards us, and he had this… sort of blank look on his face. He was probably around the same age you were at the time. Eight or nine years old."
Mr. Leonhart stopped for a moment, quelling the urge to breakdown. He tightened both fists, his heart violently drumming against his chest.
"I had to make a choice, Annie."
It was coming back to him, the hellish nightmares.
"He was holding a grenade, walking straight towards me and my squad. And then he raised his arm, preparing to throw it…"
Annie rushed over to her father, noting his pale face and darkened expression. "Dad, you don't have to tell me-"
But he interjected anyway, definitively ending the horrid anecdote.
"I aimed for his head… and then I..."
The room fell eerily silent again, no words exchanged between father and daughter with the presumption that nothing more needed to be contributed to his horrifying narrative.
The rest was history. When Mr. Leonhart's fourth and final tour had ended, he was given an honorable discharge after the military rendered him psychologically incapable of performing assigned duties. He returned to the Marley Neighborhood, hailed as a hero by some, ostracized as a shell-shocked freak by others.
It was just about impossible for him to adjust to civilian life. The horrors of war had tainted even the most beautiful things the world had to offer.
There had been times when he would look at little Annie, and all he could see was the boy he had shot and killed.
It took a heavy toll on his marriage- and consequentially on his family. When he wouldn't seek professional help, his wife left him, taking Annie with her.
Losing everything and hitting rock-bottom made him spiral out of control.
Drugs, alcohol, and random fist-fights with strangers were the only ways to cope with the harsh reality of it all. For years, that was his life; seeking new ways to numb the pain, drowning in his sorrows.
But thankfully, there's always hope. Always a way out. He had a promise to keep; obligations to fulfill for his daughter's sake.
His sole purpose for getting his life back together was to be the father he vowed to be the day Annie was born. The father she deserved.
The father she loved.
Annie wrapped her arms around the broken man, encircling him in a tender embrace.
"I'm sorry, Annie." Fighting back tears, Mr. Leonhart barely managed to sputter out, "This isn't the future that I wanted for myself, or for our family. It's too late for me to try and take back all the things I've done. But you… you got your whole life ahead of you."
Then he concluded with the intention of making an oath with her, his tone deathly serious.
"Promise me… you won't mess it all up like I did. Promise me that no matter what life throws at you, or when things get rough, you'll stand your ground."
Annie responded by gripping him tighter, clinging to him in earnest.
Although there was no way for her to relate to his days in the military, death lurking at every corner, and having been exposed to innumerable atrocities, she thought that maybe, just maybe… she understood.
Still locked in his embrace, Annie closed her eyes, a single tear falling.
In that moment, she had come to realize that it was necessary to let go. Dwelling in the past served no purpose other than to fuel any resentment towards her parents. As her father quoted, there was to come a time when she'd have to put the ways of her childhood behind her.
She'd been holding onto the past, deceiving herself into believing they could all just return to the good old days like nothing.
But she finally accepted that she needed to move on.
To look forward, and not back.
"I promise."