Title: Girl From Mars
Author: Anneka O'Carter
Summary: You've always been more complicated than you liked to admit.
Sequel to: Blood Connections in the Stand By Me series. You'll need to read the series to understand what's going on…
A/N: This is probably the last in the series, unless anyone wants me to do anymore, I'm always open to persuasion though *g*…I hope you enjoy it. Song lyrics at the end from Ash.
*
"The more sensitive your are, the more certain you are to be brutalised, develop scabs, never evolve. Never allow yourself to feel anything, because you always feel too much." - Marlon Brando
*
You think that you should look different somehow. That your face should show the sense of disillusionment with the world or the jaded cynicism that you so desperately feel. The scars on your body should display why your mind is so numbed to love, and to empathy. You used to be normal, but now you look at everything as if for the first time with aching indifference. You know none of this matters anymore. None of it.
You yearn for a different consciousness, you know "they" probably could have done it. But you refused to blank the memories, declined to forget what you had learnt; you understand now that you have a strong masochistic streak in you.
Time will not erase these feelings, you sometimes wish that they would, but they never will. Detachment is all that you can now ever hope to feel. Your reflection stares back at you, taunting you with cruel jibes about your insecurities. You can't count the number of times you used to stand in front of the mirror and poke at your unsightly body or how many hours you would spend "preening" in front of the mirror so you could look half-decent. You always failed.
Now as you look into the mirror, you see not a teenager, but an adult with feelings verging on hatred for everyone not like you. Because you know what is out there, what truly matters whilst fellow students debate the merits of dating the quarterback. Oh, you know what life is like. Uncompromisingly ruthless and unapologetic; it will take away everything you know and in its place will be emotionless discontent. You don't care if you live. Dying is preferable, you think with a bitter smile, because in your fours years on Earth you haven't warranted hell. And then maybe you'd be happy, wherever you'd end up.
But knowing your invariably bad luck, maybe not.
You button your trousers and grab your bag; they still make you go to school, hoping that you will be normal. You won't be, you know that for sure. So instead you sit at the back of the class, next to the window, wishing you could be as free as the birds soaring high without a care in the world. Your teachers don't bother you anymore; they know you're more intelligent than everyone in the class…you'll go far with or without their help.
Friends to you are non-existent. Who cares whether you sit with someone during lunch? You certainly don't. You never did before, but now you care even less, if that was possible. Sometimes you see Bonnie Chalmers, the last of your friends to leave you, and she smiles weakly. You stare on ignoring her totally. They've nicknamed you "the ice queen" now. To their horror, you revel in it. You've doodled the nickname on the diary your "father" gave to you in various forms, some with flowers surrounding it and some with blood dripping off the letters eerily. You know he would be shocked if he saw it; with surprising empathy, you hope that he does not.
They think that you are coping, and by God, you wish that you were. You remember being the adoring daughter and the dependable sister to little Ella, and you fling from one extreme to another; wishing to forget everything that's happened, praying to never remember, and then to wanting to remain in your comfortable cynicism.
You've always been more complicated than you liked to admit.
*
Jack could feel Chloe's eyes on him; he'd learnt that since she was younger, just after Charlie died and he could feel her piercing stare that she had even at eight years old, boring into his back as he contemplated death. He'd begun to recognise the eerie feeling; even as a specially trained soldier, he never thought he'd have to use it in the home with his teenage daughter.
Sam was sitting on the veranda behind him with Ella who was giggling about something. He had an urge to sit with them, but he was drawn to just staring over the view from the back yard he'd tamed earlier in the day. And that was when he felt Chloe staring at him, most likely from her bedroom where she spent most of her time since her kidnapping…and everything else that went along with that.
He knew she felt different now, as if she hadn't before. Sam had tried to convince her to go to the park with them yesterday, all of SG-1 plus the Fraisers, but she declined the offer, deciding instead to play music instead. During one of his numerous insomniac periods, he left Sam and her sleep-talking to get a drink and when he passed her room, he heard her cry. He'd always touch the door, but never able to summon the courage to walk in and tell her it was alright. He'd never been good with emotions; he thought Sam had softened him but when it came to Chloe, all he could think of was how he let her down with Charlie and the disappointment that he knew she felt towards him.
Suddenly Jack felt a warm hand on his shoulder and his tense body instantly relaxed as he felt the hand massage his arm. He turned round with a satisfied half-smile, not wanting to hide his obvious sadness from her, "Ella OK?" He asked wondering whether Sam thought he was a bad father by almost ignoring his young daughter.
"She's currently absorbing herself with her toes." Sam joked pulling him round with her to face the view Jack had just been looking at with his arms round her waist. "But you on the other hand, are feeling a lot less enthused."
Jack sighed, "I'm sorry Sam. I really am." He tried to apologise, but felt lacking. "Everything with Chloe seems to be shaking me up."
Sam stroked the hand currently circling her belly, "I know. And you need to try and work out whatever you two are going to do…she's your daughter, whatever planet she's from." She told him, "And whatever happens, I'll always be here. Always. You and the kids are my life, you're everything to me. I'll always be here."
Jack felt light-headed at her words, remembering a time when he thought being like this with none other than Samantha Carter was an impossible fantasy. And here she was with him, standing by him without a second thought, accepting his daughter like her own, and caring for Ella with such devotion. Words couldn't express what he felt for her, there were no words that could ever describe how much he loved the wonderful woman in his arms. And for everything she'd done for him and his daughter, he would always be by *her* side, whenever *she* needed *him*.
*
You sit on the couch whilst he paces up and down the living room, waiting to go to the school. You told him he didn't need to go, that you most of the teachers neither knew, or cared who you were, but he insisted. Like always. And so now you finger the cigarettes in your coat pocket, just waiting for the interval so you can go outside for a smoke. It's not because you want to look cool, it's because you can't bear to stand around inside, pretending like the teachers' half baked opinions of you matter.
Sam finally comes down ten minutes later and he drags you away from the television and you glare at him, "There's no point in even going."
He frowns at you as Sam gets the keys, "Look, I don't know what is with you and this attitude that you have going, but grow up Chloe, alright?" He says firmly and you roll your eyes as he turns his back on you to walk out the door…he understands you even less now.
The school is buzzing with peppy students and their "normal" families desperate to seek teacher's approval. If you didn't know yourself better, you would have been categorised as a "rebel" except that means some form of socialising…and you know how much you hate that.
The assembly and following appointments with various nondescript teachers is as boring as you'd expect. They sit talking to Miss Elbison and you look out the window, watching the stars and wondering if one of them is your home planet.
Before you know it, the interval is upon you and you breathe a sigh of relief. You almost sprint out the door towards the school railings where smoking is permitted by senior students, the school faculty finally realising they couldn't ban it outright. Sam and your "father" move across the green lawn in front of the school, casually talking to other parents and you sigh. Oh, to be so untroubled.
Your focus drifts for a few minutes; your mind wanders a lot these days, even more than before. But you can't help hearing the bitchy girls on the other side of the railings commenting harshly on the parents standing at the other end of the lawn. One of them, a girl called Marcie Lorne you recognise from the short time you were on the swim team, is unkindly trying to judge which of the fathers she would choose to screw.
"How about that one?" Jenny Roberts asked, gesturing with her head. You try not to look too obvious because if they realised that you were eavesdropping, well, they'd hate you more than they already do. You hate Jenny Roberts with equal measure as she feel towards you so you wonder why you're even bothered.
Suddenly you hear a small cackle from Marcie, and you realise she really does sound like a haggard old witch, the smoke clogging her throat and instantly turning her into a fifty year old. You know that thought should make you stub out your cigarette but hey, you're only four years old really, you've got a long while yet. "I would do him any time," She says with a faux-Bronx accent that almost makes you burst out with laughter. "I bet that woman of his is a tight assed bitch…probably be glad to get rid of her!"
You look over to where they're glancing and you see your "parents" standing together, smiling about some shared joke that you wouldn't understand. You're horrified; to be honest, in your current mood, you know that you really shouldn't be, but you are. Because as much as you think he's not your dad anymore, you've got a lifetime of memories, falsely created or not, and they don't disappear as easily as you'd hoped.
And now you make a choice, do you stand around and listen to this crap, letting some nameless girls insult a woman who has helped you more than you can imagine? Or do you pick a fight, and show them that not everyone will bow down to them?
There was really no question at all.
"Why don't you shut up for once Marcie?" You ask quietly from the other side of the railings, blowing some smoke out of your mouth. She turns round slowly to face you, as if to make you scared. After everything you've seen, she is nothing in comparison.
"What did you say O'Neill?" She asks as her and her friends look you up and down with disdain.
"I said why don't you keep that mouth of yours shut for once? You don't even know those people." You reply quietly and calmly, desperate to not release your raging temper.
"And?" She replies, "You do know them, then?"
"Yes." You reply after a pause, you're determined not to let her win this game.
"Yeah, right (!)" Marcie turns to her sniggering friends, "Don't tell me you actually have parents? I thought freak babies like you were left at the side of the road…"
"They're *my* mom and dad," You reply in the tense moment gesturing towards the pair, knowing that she is not going to take that well.
"No way!" Marcie laughs unkindly, "I never woulda guessed your dad would be so hot. For an old guy." She whispers her face coming closer to yours and you wish you had the gall to hit her round that face of hers. God only knows that she deserves it…
"Marcie, you're only insult is that he's old, that does happen to everyone…you're really not the bitchy cheerleader I thought you were," You reply with a self satisfied grin. This is more fun than you thought it would be.
"At least I'm not a freak like you O'Neill…and my dad isn't paying someone to pretend that she's his girlfriend," Marcie nears you even more now but you're desperate to not let the humiliation of what she's saying show…you are of course "ice queen" Chloe.
"You have no idea what you're talking about," You reply walking round the railings to stand in front of Marcie Lorne and her amazingly superficial friends.
"Like the reputation of your stupid family matters to me." Marcie says, her voice grating heavily in your mind. "I can say whatever I like and to whoever I like."
"Not any more. Not to me." You say, the tone of your voice promising retribution that words cannot portray. "If you ever say another *word* about my dad again, and I will make sure you live to regret it."
You turn away to see Sam and your father standing there looking at you with a mixture of disappointment and confusion and Marcie huffs derisively behind you, "Hey, is that a threat O'Neill?"
You turn around; your confrontation with Marcie more important right now, and walk towards her. "You know what, you're right Marcie…it's not a threat, it's a goddamn promise."
*
"I can't believe you behaved like that," He reprimands you as you sit on the couch determined not to look at him. You're right. You knew you were. It would obviously take him longer to appreciate what you've done. "You embarrassed Sam and I and you threatened a classmate."
"And? So? But? Therefore?" You reply in his usual obnoxious fashion which almost gains a smile from him.
"And the only way that you've not been expelled is that you're grades are second to none; you're the best in the school with your grade point average and that saved your butt tonight." He tells you but to be honest, you're not listening. You're thinking about what you said. What you *actually* said. And it thrills you beyond belief. "What the hell are you smirking at?"
"Nothing." You reply innocently but your face betrays you; it's always been more expressive than you wanted it to be.
"Come on Chloe, I know you well enough to know something's amusing you. Care to share?" He sits down next to you, legs aching from the hour of pacing up and down the living room berating you for your actions at the school.
You turn to face him, able to look at him without feeling amazingly depressed and unhappy about everything that has happened, "I think I've had an epiphany." You say simply, smiling.
"A what?" He replies. You know that he understands your words, but maybe he wants to make sure you understand too.
"An epiphany, y'know…major revelation, discovery, blah, blah." You elaborate needlessly.
"And what discovery would that be?" He asks.
You take a deep breath, knowing that this moment is one to be savoured. "I called you dad."
He looks taken aback. He was surprised by your attitude tonight changing to be more friendly, but this came out of the blue. "You did?"
"When I was thr-…I mean, *warning* Marcie, I called you dad." You reply with a smile that could split your face in two. "I haven't said that for a long time."
"I've wanted to hear it from you for a long time." He replies instantly before pausing as if to gain the courage to say what he wants to, "Chloe, I know everything has been hard for you…but I have to ask you a question."
You know what he's going to ask. A long time ago, almost in another lifetime, Sam warned you that this was coming some day, that he wouldn't forget as easily as you'd hoped he would; he has a longer memory than he professes. And today, it happens.
"I know," You reply and his face freezes in anticipation but for once, you are speechless. In reality, there is no way to approach this conversation in the way that you'd hoped. There is no conceivable way of breaking it to him "gently". You breathe deeply, and suddenly you feel like the old Chloe O'Neill; gauche and shy, not able to speak coherently under pressure.
"When Charlie died…" You start and his expression pales; you don't want to go down this path, but you know it is the only way to explain your actions, "…when he died, it felt like a huge chunk of me had died with him, and I knew I was never going to get that back. Ever. And then when mom passed away…" You eyes start to tear despite trying to hold them in, and now suddenly you're grieving for them all over again, "…it hurt to breathe, it was like a sharp pain inside of my heart and I couldn't forget no matter how hard I tried."
He moves closer to you on the couch and his arm goes round your shuddering shoulders to comfort you, "Shh, it's OK," He reassures you, taking you back to when you were 10 and your mother had died.
"When I moved here, you made it better. I didn't hurt so much anymore, and I could smile and laugh," She explained, reverting back to her childhood language, "You kept me alive Dad. Having you around helped me more than you know. And your friends, they became my family in a matter of months," You explain, finding it difficult to find the words for your complex emotions at such a tender age. "When….when we thought you died in action, it was like I was ten all over again, and I realised my family was gone."
His hands tighten on your shoulder, feeling the pain as harshly as you. You forget now as you see him with Sam and Ella and how happy he is, that years ago, he was like you. Desperate and ultimately suicidal.
You almost clam up as you realise that you need to tell him what he wants to know, maybe he'll understand you, understand the pain and despondency that you felt on that sunny morning as you planned your actions driving to school. "Dad, I ran out of school one day after you were declared MIA, and I drove to the West Ridge Forest bridge…" You pause to take a look at his face but his expression is totally neutral, "And I climbed over the railings, and I was going to jump."
"Chloe…" He says simply, guessing the rest of the story that you want to tell. You've told him numerous times how Sam "saved" you and he can assume what you have not spoken.
"I'm so sorry," You say, tears falling freely as you turn to look at him, "Please, don't hate me."
He shakes his head, and pulls you closer and you relax in his arms, finding peace, "You're my daughter Zo," He tells you, and you realise how much you've missed hearing him say that to you, "Nothing you could ever say to me would change the fact that I love you. Nothing you could do would make me love you any less, because you are my world."
You've never considered yourself "soppy" or "sentimental" but even you can't help crying at your father's gentle words, despite knowing that you are no more his daughter than a kid on the other side of the world; in fact it would be more likely that that child would be his than you.
Out of the corner of your eye, you can see Sam standing at the threshold of the door. You're not sure whether she's crying too, but you wouldn't be surprised; ever since you watched ET together, you knew that she wasn't the tough soldier she made out to be.
And you don't care that you can almost feel rivers flooding down your cheeks. You have a family again. And that's the most wonderful feeling in the world.
*
"Yeah, I still love you the girl from Mars."
*
Feedback appreciated. Sequel could be in the pipeline. Thanks for reading =)
Author: Anneka O'Carter
Summary: You've always been more complicated than you liked to admit.
Sequel to: Blood Connections in the Stand By Me series. You'll need to read the series to understand what's going on…
A/N: This is probably the last in the series, unless anyone wants me to do anymore, I'm always open to persuasion though *g*…I hope you enjoy it. Song lyrics at the end from Ash.
*
"The more sensitive your are, the more certain you are to be brutalised, develop scabs, never evolve. Never allow yourself to feel anything, because you always feel too much." - Marlon Brando
*
You think that you should look different somehow. That your face should show the sense of disillusionment with the world or the jaded cynicism that you so desperately feel. The scars on your body should display why your mind is so numbed to love, and to empathy. You used to be normal, but now you look at everything as if for the first time with aching indifference. You know none of this matters anymore. None of it.
You yearn for a different consciousness, you know "they" probably could have done it. But you refused to blank the memories, declined to forget what you had learnt; you understand now that you have a strong masochistic streak in you.
Time will not erase these feelings, you sometimes wish that they would, but they never will. Detachment is all that you can now ever hope to feel. Your reflection stares back at you, taunting you with cruel jibes about your insecurities. You can't count the number of times you used to stand in front of the mirror and poke at your unsightly body or how many hours you would spend "preening" in front of the mirror so you could look half-decent. You always failed.
Now as you look into the mirror, you see not a teenager, but an adult with feelings verging on hatred for everyone not like you. Because you know what is out there, what truly matters whilst fellow students debate the merits of dating the quarterback. Oh, you know what life is like. Uncompromisingly ruthless and unapologetic; it will take away everything you know and in its place will be emotionless discontent. You don't care if you live. Dying is preferable, you think with a bitter smile, because in your fours years on Earth you haven't warranted hell. And then maybe you'd be happy, wherever you'd end up.
But knowing your invariably bad luck, maybe not.
You button your trousers and grab your bag; they still make you go to school, hoping that you will be normal. You won't be, you know that for sure. So instead you sit at the back of the class, next to the window, wishing you could be as free as the birds soaring high without a care in the world. Your teachers don't bother you anymore; they know you're more intelligent than everyone in the class…you'll go far with or without their help.
Friends to you are non-existent. Who cares whether you sit with someone during lunch? You certainly don't. You never did before, but now you care even less, if that was possible. Sometimes you see Bonnie Chalmers, the last of your friends to leave you, and she smiles weakly. You stare on ignoring her totally. They've nicknamed you "the ice queen" now. To their horror, you revel in it. You've doodled the nickname on the diary your "father" gave to you in various forms, some with flowers surrounding it and some with blood dripping off the letters eerily. You know he would be shocked if he saw it; with surprising empathy, you hope that he does not.
They think that you are coping, and by God, you wish that you were. You remember being the adoring daughter and the dependable sister to little Ella, and you fling from one extreme to another; wishing to forget everything that's happened, praying to never remember, and then to wanting to remain in your comfortable cynicism.
You've always been more complicated than you liked to admit.
*
Jack could feel Chloe's eyes on him; he'd learnt that since she was younger, just after Charlie died and he could feel her piercing stare that she had even at eight years old, boring into his back as he contemplated death. He'd begun to recognise the eerie feeling; even as a specially trained soldier, he never thought he'd have to use it in the home with his teenage daughter.
Sam was sitting on the veranda behind him with Ella who was giggling about something. He had an urge to sit with them, but he was drawn to just staring over the view from the back yard he'd tamed earlier in the day. And that was when he felt Chloe staring at him, most likely from her bedroom where she spent most of her time since her kidnapping…and everything else that went along with that.
He knew she felt different now, as if she hadn't before. Sam had tried to convince her to go to the park with them yesterday, all of SG-1 plus the Fraisers, but she declined the offer, deciding instead to play music instead. During one of his numerous insomniac periods, he left Sam and her sleep-talking to get a drink and when he passed her room, he heard her cry. He'd always touch the door, but never able to summon the courage to walk in and tell her it was alright. He'd never been good with emotions; he thought Sam had softened him but when it came to Chloe, all he could think of was how he let her down with Charlie and the disappointment that he knew she felt towards him.
Suddenly Jack felt a warm hand on his shoulder and his tense body instantly relaxed as he felt the hand massage his arm. He turned round with a satisfied half-smile, not wanting to hide his obvious sadness from her, "Ella OK?" He asked wondering whether Sam thought he was a bad father by almost ignoring his young daughter.
"She's currently absorbing herself with her toes." Sam joked pulling him round with her to face the view Jack had just been looking at with his arms round her waist. "But you on the other hand, are feeling a lot less enthused."
Jack sighed, "I'm sorry Sam. I really am." He tried to apologise, but felt lacking. "Everything with Chloe seems to be shaking me up."
Sam stroked the hand currently circling her belly, "I know. And you need to try and work out whatever you two are going to do…she's your daughter, whatever planet she's from." She told him, "And whatever happens, I'll always be here. Always. You and the kids are my life, you're everything to me. I'll always be here."
Jack felt light-headed at her words, remembering a time when he thought being like this with none other than Samantha Carter was an impossible fantasy. And here she was with him, standing by him without a second thought, accepting his daughter like her own, and caring for Ella with such devotion. Words couldn't express what he felt for her, there were no words that could ever describe how much he loved the wonderful woman in his arms. And for everything she'd done for him and his daughter, he would always be by *her* side, whenever *she* needed *him*.
*
You sit on the couch whilst he paces up and down the living room, waiting to go to the school. You told him he didn't need to go, that you most of the teachers neither knew, or cared who you were, but he insisted. Like always. And so now you finger the cigarettes in your coat pocket, just waiting for the interval so you can go outside for a smoke. It's not because you want to look cool, it's because you can't bear to stand around inside, pretending like the teachers' half baked opinions of you matter.
Sam finally comes down ten minutes later and he drags you away from the television and you glare at him, "There's no point in even going."
He frowns at you as Sam gets the keys, "Look, I don't know what is with you and this attitude that you have going, but grow up Chloe, alright?" He says firmly and you roll your eyes as he turns his back on you to walk out the door…he understands you even less now.
The school is buzzing with peppy students and their "normal" families desperate to seek teacher's approval. If you didn't know yourself better, you would have been categorised as a "rebel" except that means some form of socialising…and you know how much you hate that.
The assembly and following appointments with various nondescript teachers is as boring as you'd expect. They sit talking to Miss Elbison and you look out the window, watching the stars and wondering if one of them is your home planet.
Before you know it, the interval is upon you and you breathe a sigh of relief. You almost sprint out the door towards the school railings where smoking is permitted by senior students, the school faculty finally realising they couldn't ban it outright. Sam and your "father" move across the green lawn in front of the school, casually talking to other parents and you sigh. Oh, to be so untroubled.
Your focus drifts for a few minutes; your mind wanders a lot these days, even more than before. But you can't help hearing the bitchy girls on the other side of the railings commenting harshly on the parents standing at the other end of the lawn. One of them, a girl called Marcie Lorne you recognise from the short time you were on the swim team, is unkindly trying to judge which of the fathers she would choose to screw.
"How about that one?" Jenny Roberts asked, gesturing with her head. You try not to look too obvious because if they realised that you were eavesdropping, well, they'd hate you more than they already do. You hate Jenny Roberts with equal measure as she feel towards you so you wonder why you're even bothered.
Suddenly you hear a small cackle from Marcie, and you realise she really does sound like a haggard old witch, the smoke clogging her throat and instantly turning her into a fifty year old. You know that thought should make you stub out your cigarette but hey, you're only four years old really, you've got a long while yet. "I would do him any time," She says with a faux-Bronx accent that almost makes you burst out with laughter. "I bet that woman of his is a tight assed bitch…probably be glad to get rid of her!"
You look over to where they're glancing and you see your "parents" standing together, smiling about some shared joke that you wouldn't understand. You're horrified; to be honest, in your current mood, you know that you really shouldn't be, but you are. Because as much as you think he's not your dad anymore, you've got a lifetime of memories, falsely created or not, and they don't disappear as easily as you'd hoped.
And now you make a choice, do you stand around and listen to this crap, letting some nameless girls insult a woman who has helped you more than you can imagine? Or do you pick a fight, and show them that not everyone will bow down to them?
There was really no question at all.
"Why don't you shut up for once Marcie?" You ask quietly from the other side of the railings, blowing some smoke out of your mouth. She turns round slowly to face you, as if to make you scared. After everything you've seen, she is nothing in comparison.
"What did you say O'Neill?" She asks as her and her friends look you up and down with disdain.
"I said why don't you keep that mouth of yours shut for once? You don't even know those people." You reply quietly and calmly, desperate to not release your raging temper.
"And?" She replies, "You do know them, then?"
"Yes." You reply after a pause, you're determined not to let her win this game.
"Yeah, right (!)" Marcie turns to her sniggering friends, "Don't tell me you actually have parents? I thought freak babies like you were left at the side of the road…"
"They're *my* mom and dad," You reply in the tense moment gesturing towards the pair, knowing that she is not going to take that well.
"No way!" Marcie laughs unkindly, "I never woulda guessed your dad would be so hot. For an old guy." She whispers her face coming closer to yours and you wish you had the gall to hit her round that face of hers. God only knows that she deserves it…
"Marcie, you're only insult is that he's old, that does happen to everyone…you're really not the bitchy cheerleader I thought you were," You reply with a self satisfied grin. This is more fun than you thought it would be.
"At least I'm not a freak like you O'Neill…and my dad isn't paying someone to pretend that she's his girlfriend," Marcie nears you even more now but you're desperate to not let the humiliation of what she's saying show…you are of course "ice queen" Chloe.
"You have no idea what you're talking about," You reply walking round the railings to stand in front of Marcie Lorne and her amazingly superficial friends.
"Like the reputation of your stupid family matters to me." Marcie says, her voice grating heavily in your mind. "I can say whatever I like and to whoever I like."
"Not any more. Not to me." You say, the tone of your voice promising retribution that words cannot portray. "If you ever say another *word* about my dad again, and I will make sure you live to regret it."
You turn away to see Sam and your father standing there looking at you with a mixture of disappointment and confusion and Marcie huffs derisively behind you, "Hey, is that a threat O'Neill?"
You turn around; your confrontation with Marcie more important right now, and walk towards her. "You know what, you're right Marcie…it's not a threat, it's a goddamn promise."
*
"I can't believe you behaved like that," He reprimands you as you sit on the couch determined not to look at him. You're right. You knew you were. It would obviously take him longer to appreciate what you've done. "You embarrassed Sam and I and you threatened a classmate."
"And? So? But? Therefore?" You reply in his usual obnoxious fashion which almost gains a smile from him.
"And the only way that you've not been expelled is that you're grades are second to none; you're the best in the school with your grade point average and that saved your butt tonight." He tells you but to be honest, you're not listening. You're thinking about what you said. What you *actually* said. And it thrills you beyond belief. "What the hell are you smirking at?"
"Nothing." You reply innocently but your face betrays you; it's always been more expressive than you wanted it to be.
"Come on Chloe, I know you well enough to know something's amusing you. Care to share?" He sits down next to you, legs aching from the hour of pacing up and down the living room berating you for your actions at the school.
You turn to face him, able to look at him without feeling amazingly depressed and unhappy about everything that has happened, "I think I've had an epiphany." You say simply, smiling.
"A what?" He replies. You know that he understands your words, but maybe he wants to make sure you understand too.
"An epiphany, y'know…major revelation, discovery, blah, blah." You elaborate needlessly.
"And what discovery would that be?" He asks.
You take a deep breath, knowing that this moment is one to be savoured. "I called you dad."
He looks taken aback. He was surprised by your attitude tonight changing to be more friendly, but this came out of the blue. "You did?"
"When I was thr-…I mean, *warning* Marcie, I called you dad." You reply with a smile that could split your face in two. "I haven't said that for a long time."
"I've wanted to hear it from you for a long time." He replies instantly before pausing as if to gain the courage to say what he wants to, "Chloe, I know everything has been hard for you…but I have to ask you a question."
You know what he's going to ask. A long time ago, almost in another lifetime, Sam warned you that this was coming some day, that he wouldn't forget as easily as you'd hoped he would; he has a longer memory than he professes. And today, it happens.
"I know," You reply and his face freezes in anticipation but for once, you are speechless. In reality, there is no way to approach this conversation in the way that you'd hoped. There is no conceivable way of breaking it to him "gently". You breathe deeply, and suddenly you feel like the old Chloe O'Neill; gauche and shy, not able to speak coherently under pressure.
"When Charlie died…" You start and his expression pales; you don't want to go down this path, but you know it is the only way to explain your actions, "…when he died, it felt like a huge chunk of me had died with him, and I knew I was never going to get that back. Ever. And then when mom passed away…" You eyes start to tear despite trying to hold them in, and now suddenly you're grieving for them all over again, "…it hurt to breathe, it was like a sharp pain inside of my heart and I couldn't forget no matter how hard I tried."
He moves closer to you on the couch and his arm goes round your shuddering shoulders to comfort you, "Shh, it's OK," He reassures you, taking you back to when you were 10 and your mother had died.
"When I moved here, you made it better. I didn't hurt so much anymore, and I could smile and laugh," She explained, reverting back to her childhood language, "You kept me alive Dad. Having you around helped me more than you know. And your friends, they became my family in a matter of months," You explain, finding it difficult to find the words for your complex emotions at such a tender age. "When….when we thought you died in action, it was like I was ten all over again, and I realised my family was gone."
His hands tighten on your shoulder, feeling the pain as harshly as you. You forget now as you see him with Sam and Ella and how happy he is, that years ago, he was like you. Desperate and ultimately suicidal.
You almost clam up as you realise that you need to tell him what he wants to know, maybe he'll understand you, understand the pain and despondency that you felt on that sunny morning as you planned your actions driving to school. "Dad, I ran out of school one day after you were declared MIA, and I drove to the West Ridge Forest bridge…" You pause to take a look at his face but his expression is totally neutral, "And I climbed over the railings, and I was going to jump."
"Chloe…" He says simply, guessing the rest of the story that you want to tell. You've told him numerous times how Sam "saved" you and he can assume what you have not spoken.
"I'm so sorry," You say, tears falling freely as you turn to look at him, "Please, don't hate me."
He shakes his head, and pulls you closer and you relax in his arms, finding peace, "You're my daughter Zo," He tells you, and you realise how much you've missed hearing him say that to you, "Nothing you could ever say to me would change the fact that I love you. Nothing you could do would make me love you any less, because you are my world."
You've never considered yourself "soppy" or "sentimental" but even you can't help crying at your father's gentle words, despite knowing that you are no more his daughter than a kid on the other side of the world; in fact it would be more likely that that child would be his than you.
Out of the corner of your eye, you can see Sam standing at the threshold of the door. You're not sure whether she's crying too, but you wouldn't be surprised; ever since you watched ET together, you knew that she wasn't the tough soldier she made out to be.
And you don't care that you can almost feel rivers flooding down your cheeks. You have a family again. And that's the most wonderful feeling in the world.
*
"Yeah, I still love you the girl from Mars."
*
Feedback appreciated. Sequel could be in the pipeline. Thanks for reading =)