Daddy's Girls

Disclaimer: I don't own Dark Angel. Fox does. Although they don't seem to know what to do with it, so maybe they should just give it to me?

Author: Big Sister

Rating:  PG

Description: When the charity Mrs Berrisford works for asks her to look into the tragic case of yet another family torn apart by a drunkard father, she discovers a nine-year-old foster daughter who doesn't appear on any records. Little does she know how that child will end up affecting the lives her family and the life of a certain young male still stuck in Manticore

Timeline: Varies. Half of it takes place a few months after the 09 escape. The rest is around the same time as the flashbacks in The Berrisford Agenda, Season Two, which puts us one or two years before Season 1

Pairing: It's a surprise! ;)

Chapter 1

Mrs Berrisford surveyed the house in front of her. The lawn needed mowing, or had done before it grew to a length were you couldn't say 'the grass needed mowing' anymore. It was now a case of the hay being in need of harvesting.

The windows too, could probably do with having that black layer of grime removed – and someone really ought to dig the path to the front door back out from under all these weeds. Even one of the hinges on the battered wooden front door itself was damaged.

Sighing Mrs Berriford smoothed her dark grey shirt and raised one slender white hand to a level just above the rusting doorknob, her newly manicured nailed curled inwards towards her soft palm. Her knuckles rapped the slightly battered-looking front door sharply. Three times.

Silence.

She tried again.

Still silence. She frowned and brushed a stray lock of still brown hair, which had fallen out of the neat bun on the back of her neck, away from her face. She raised her hand to continue knocking, when suddenly she became aware of a noise on the other side.

The door opened, just a crack, and the thin tired face of a woman in her late forties stared out at her. 'Well at least I can't see any black eyes or bruises like on the one last week,' Mrs Berrisford thought relived.

"Mrs Barrett?" she asked, trying to sound kindly.

"What do you want?" a rather horse voice snapped in return.

"I'm Mrs Rebecca Berrisford, from the American Family Welfare Society …" Instantly the other woman began to close the door. "No please!" Mrs Berrisford cried, "I was wondering if I could talk to you about your daughter …"

"My daughters are fine!" Mrs Barrett snapped, her dull hazel eyes narrowing behind lined and baggy lids.

"Please," the lady begged, "Just hear me out. If you don't like what I've got to say, I'll leave, I promise."

Mrs Barrett paused. One hand still firmly placed on the side of the door.

"Just five minutes of your time, that's all I'm asking for…"

The door closed. Mrs Berrisford heart sank – damn, she had failed – but then she heard the sound of a chain being pulled back. Slowly it opened once again this time revealing the whole of the small pre-maturely aged woman.

She was dressed in an old fashioned flowery apron, which had dark grease stains smudged across it, probably from some sort of menial chore, like scrubbing out an oven. Her grey hair was streaked with white lines and had all been pulled back out of the way under an old tattered looking brown scarf.

There was a moment's pause as Mrs Berret regarded her uninvited visitor. "Five minutes – then you go," she said, slowly unblocking the route into the house.

"Thank you," Mrs Berrisford replied, picking up her briefcase. The hardest part was over now. She had gotten inside the house. Now if she was just careful and didn't make any slips she might be able convince Mrs Barrett to trust her enough to let her help her and her family. Not that is was going to be easy. These types of cases never were.

'Daughters,' Mrs Berrisford suddenly thought to herself, nervously reviewing her notes in her head as Mrs Barrett lead her into the kitchen, 'She said 'daughters'. Plural. The file said she only had one...'

"Coffee?" Mrs Barrett asked, taking two cracked mugs from the draining board.

Mrs Berrisford eyed the stained things suspiciously, but knew better than to compromise the woman's trust in her by slighting her hospitality. "Yes please," she smiled, selecting a seat at the cluttered and stained kitchen table, "Thank you."

She watched as Mrs Berrisford boiled the water and ladled two meagre spoonfuls of instant coffee into the mugs. "Milk and sugar?" she asked, turning to the fridge, which looked like it had been installed sometime in the sixties.

"Just milk, thank you," Mrs Berrisford said, keeping a pleasant tone in her voice.

Mrs Barrett poured some of the required beverage into both mugs and then ladled several large spoonfuls of sugar into her own. She stirred then both, depositing one in front of Mrs Berrisford, as she perched upon a worn wooden chair on the opposite side of the table, clutching her own mug in her bony fingers.

"You wanted to talk?" she growled.

Mrs Berriford smiled. She had decided to start on a general friendly tone to try and gain Mrs Barrett's trust before she got on to the heart of the matter. She had to put the woman at ease, since she couldn't help at all if Mrs Barrett was simply going to be purely defensive the whole time.

"You have a nice house here," she said, nodding appreciatively at the dirt marks on the wall, "Have you lived here a long time?"

"A while," the other woman muttered.

"It must be nice for the children to have such a big house and garden to play in."

"Yeah, they like it here,"

"So they should. Seems like a friendly community … I noticed a lot of parks and playgrounds around here as I was driving along the roads up to your place. I guess  they must play outside a lot?"

"Not so much during the week, but they're usually outside pretty quick as soon as Jack comes home." Mrs Barrett blushed suddenly and fidgeted with her coffee mug.

"Your husband?" Mrs Berrisford asked softly.

"Yes," the other woman muttered quietly. 'Best not to push it for now,' Mrs Berrisford decided, 'Don't want to put her on guard, now that I've started to get her confidence. I'll come back to this when she's ready.'

The lady gave a sudden high-pitched chuckle. "They must be a handful! Your girls. I don't know how you cope! I just have the one and she causes more than enough trouble for me," Mrs Berrisford smiled broadly and rolled her eyes at the bare lamp on the ceiling.

"What's her name?" Mrs Barrett asked, "Your daughter?"

"Rachel," Mrs Berrisford replied with a disarming smile, "She's nearly nine now."

"About the same age as my Maxie," Mrs Barrett almost smiled herself at the name.

It was the opening Mrs Berrisford had been waiting for. "Maxie," she repeated thoughtfully, "That's a pretty name."

"Thanks, but I didn't pick it. She came with it." Mrs Barrett paused, "She … she was my late cousin's Beth's girl."

"Oh, I see," the other woman nodded sympathetically, "Must be tough starting out with a brand new family. Does she get on well with your daughter?"

"Yes, they're almost like sisters. So close to each other," Mrs Barrett suddenly really did smile, "You know I've been looking for a sister for Lucy ever since I found out I couldn't have any more kids. I was so pleased when I found Maxie. She's such a good little girl. Ever so polite and helpful. A real sweet kid."

"Sounds like you're very lucky to have her," Mrs Berrisford acclaimed.

"Yeah," Mrs Barrett laughed, "Yeah we are. Do you want some cookies with that coffee, Mrs … em …"

"Berrisford - but please, call me Rebecca," Mrs Berrisford chuckled, "And yes, cookies would be great. Thank you."

"I'm Joann then," Mrs Barrett grinned, pushing a rather battered tin towards 'Rebecca'.

Suddenly the sound of loud cheering burst in from the living room, following by a loud grunt. The colour visibly drained from Joann's face. "Jack," she whispered. Then she shook herself slightly. "Sounds like the Dodgers are scoring. That's good," she murmured absently.

"Good?" Involuntarily Rebecca raised an eyebrow.

Joann paused, choosing her words carefully, "He's usually in a better mood when they do well…"

"Oh really…" Now it was Rebecca's turn to ponder over which words to pick. The wrong ones could jeopardise the limited headway she had already made. She decided that it would be best to play ignorant of any family troubles and avoid all suspicion, "Men and their sport, huh? I don't think I'll ever understand that …"

"Yeah …" Joann shrugged unenthusiastically. Rebecca hadn't been expecting very much better. She realised that for Joann, her husband's obsession with the Dodgers signified a whole lot more than just – 'men and their sport'.

Out of the blue, the lights flickered off around them. The little red LEDs of the dirty microcwave's clock faded into a dull auburn. The house shook with a  loud roar of anger from the living room, which chilled all it's occupants to the bone.

"Oh no," Joann whispered, suddenly petrified, "A power cut…"

The sound of loud thuds echoed in through the hallway. Doors slammed, rocking the house every time. Rebecca stiffened, not allowing herself to feel the fear that was beginning to well up inside of her. She glanced to her side and felt a sharp stab of pity at the sight of Joann cowering in terror against the table.

Abruptly the thuds became slightly quieter. "He must have gone into the basement," Joann breathed slowly. She smiled weakly and shifted her shoulders back upwards into a nearly normal sitting position.

Then the sound of a child crying out in pain filled the house. Joann winced, and looked down at the few stray shopping bags, which had fluttered into the corner of floor, as further cries filled the house.

Rebecca sat awkwardly in her chair, unsure of exactly what to do. Her fingers tensed and untensed around her mug. Her teeth worked furiously over the corner of her lip. Then suddenly she had had enough. A closed look fell over her face, as she rose swiftly to her feet.

Joann stared at her. "What are you doing?" she hissed. Rebecca ignored the startled woman and marched past her towards the door. Joann eyes widened in horror, "No please! Don't!"

Not paying her the slightest bit of heed, Rebecca ripped the kitchen door open. The cries of the child lead her towards the basement. A terrified Joann followed her, begging her to stop all the way.

Rebecca strode through the open doorway into the basement. The sight that greeted her appalled her, even though she'd been expecting it. A bald man in his late fifties stood by the side of the stairs, his fist repeatedly slamming into the cavity beneath it … in prefect time with the child's cries.

The lady flew down the steps, flinging herself just beside the aggressor. She caught a glimpse of the two little girls crouched beneath the stairs. As she stared the man's hand slammed against the cheekbone of the eldest, a girl of around twelve, sending her poor head crashing against the wall.

Mrs Berrisford cleared her throat loudly.

Instantly the man froze. Slowly he turned, his pig-like eyes fixed on the intruder.

"Who are you?" he growled warily. Rebecca smiled. She had guessed correctly. Like most bullies, this man was a coward. He wouldn't dare strike the children if other people were in the room.

"I came to visit your wife," Rebecca explained, "We were worried by the noise down here, weren't we, Joann?" She glanced up at the other woman, who was cowering on the stairs above them. The colour drained from Joann's face like it would from one receiving a death sentence as she heard her name mentioned.

"Well, there's nothing down here!" her husband muttered defensively, "You ladies oughta go back upstairs." Rebecca said nothing, merely fixing him with a cold stare. Slowly Jack Bennett backed away from her, retreating up the stairs to safety, but not without giving his wife a hard glare that said as much as 'I'll deal with you later.'

Joann looked as though she wished to melt into the concrete steps she was squatting on.

Rebecca saw her face. She knew it was time to make her move – or risk losing all hope of getting the woman and her children away from this hellhole.

"Joann," she said firmly, "I can get you out of here. You and you're daughters. To a refuge. You'll be safe – and I'll make sure he won't ever find you. I promise!"

Just at that moment, the two girls slowly crawled out from underneath the stairs into their mother's sight. Joann could see the new bruises forming on her eldest daughter's face. It made her think of all the indignities and the abuse they suffered every day - and she knew that was no way for kids to grow up.

"You promise we'll be safe from him?" she asked anxiously, her fingers tugging distracted at the collar of her dress, "He won't never find us? Never?"

Rebecca nodded.

Joann bit her lip, "Then ... alright …"

Relief spread over Mrs Berrisford's features, as she gave a contented little sigh. Collecting herself, smiled reassuringly at the woman on the stairs, but when she spoke it was in an urgent whisper, "You won't regret this Joann! Go and pack everything you desperately need. Clothes, toothbrush, soap, etc and then get to my car. We'll go now!"

Joann nodded quickly. She rose to a half standing position and extended her hand. The eldest daughter rushed up to seize it, pressing her small body against the worn skinny one of her mother's. Protectively Joann placed her spare hand over the girl's shoulder and ushered her upstairs to grab the things the most urgently needed for their flight to freedom.

The youngest, however, just stood there, staring at Rebecca.

"Hurry, honey," the grown lady told her gently, "We've got to be quick."

Still the little girl just stood there. She was such a dark child. Rebecca noticed. From her beautiful tan skin, to her big staring brown eyes, to her short dark brown hair that stuck out in all directions – everything was dark. Yet it was her attitude, which struck Rebecca most. She so calm, so serious - not like a child at all. More like a little angel. 'A dark angel,' Rebecca played with the thought for a moment; then dismissed it irritably. How pathetically sentimental.

She frowned as she realised that the child was still making no move to follow her mother and sister. "Go upstairs," the woman barked, still bitterly irritated, "Go and pack." She regretted her harsh voice immediately. She was supposed to be helping this family - not ordering them.

Surprisingly however, her words had the desired effect upon the girl. Instantly she turned around, and rapidly placed her bare feet on the cold concrete to go back upstairs to the other two females.

Shrugging in satisfaction, Rebecca followed her upstairs, keeping an eye on the little figure as it moved ahead of her towards the hall. That was when she noticed the barcode on its neck.