Death is not the opposite of life, but part of it.

She arranges for his death certificates.

Contacts his attorney.

Contacts her attorney.

She comforts Hanabi. Holds her while her little sister cries, because as much as he was not a father for Hinata, he had always been available for Hanabi. Maybe not father-of-the year...but a father, at least.

It hurts to see Hanabi hurting.

And it makes Hinata wonder...shouldn't she feel something? Something...besides empty?

Sad would be expected, she supposes. She just lost her father, after all. But that's not true. The truth was that she lost him years ago...if she ever even had him to begin with. She doesn't remember a time that the sound of his voice or his presence didn't cause her to tense up; in anticipation of a hit or reprimand.

So, then, wouldn't it make sense to feel relief? Relief that the man that tried to grind her to dust beneath his heel and expectations-who tried to mold her into someone that she clearly wasn't-was gone.

But no.

She just feels...hollow.

And maybe...a little disappointed?

She frowns at that errant thought. Disappointed in herself for not grieving? Sounds about right for her usual self-loathing...but it wasn't that either.

She can't put her finger on it.

It's faint...like a distant echo.

So, maybe she feels something.

Maybe.

Disappointment that he never acknowledged her?

That he never told her he was sorry.

That he never recognized her as anything other than a failure.

That he made her feel like she was his life's biggest mistake.

A mistake best left forgotten.

That he never, ever, admitted that he was wrong about anything.

Or that she might be good at anything.

Or that everything he hated about her he put there himself!

Or that he hated her at all!

Anything.

Instead of indifference.

Instead of never, not once, not ever, reaching out.

Even when she left.

The very day she turned eighteen.

"Just going to take your mother's money and run?" His bitterness bled into every syllable. "How pathetic do you have to be to not even be able to make it on your own?"

So she didn't take a cent.

Not one.

Because...because…

"Fuck him!"

The words leave her in a broken shout, tearing from somewhere deep down and locked tight.

"Fuck him." She presses the heels of her palms to her eyes and tries to take a steadying breath, denying the hot sting of tears. Denies the way her shoulders shake.

Argus whines, soft and plaintive.

So...not hollow then.

Not empty.

Angry.

She's just so angry.