Nixie
Disclaimer: Not mine
A/N: Ah sorry this chapter took me so long—I was going to write this chapter last night but my family decided to decorate the Christmas tree last night so any idea of writing anything was pretty much shot. I love Christmas trees…so pretty…. Oh and I recently found out that song lyrics are a no-no according to guidelines—so I'm going to continue to put song titles and the artist in the title of the chapter but no more lyrics—if you want to see how it relates to the chapter you'll have to hunt down a copy of the song yourself—or look up the lyrics is the best I've found) Brownie points if you can site the lines in the song that inspired me ;-) AnYwAy on to the chapter!
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Chapter Five: Where are you going? (Dave Matthews Band)
Don followed behind Agent Wilson, his stomach churning. He had an enormous dilemma and he had no idea what to do. To take the girl or to not take the girl; that is truly the question. A question that Don didn't have an answer for.
Jack cleared his throat as they were walking, Don snapped from his thoughts and made what he hoped was a sound of acknowledgment and not annoyance.
"Just thought I'd let you know a few things before you meet her," Don nodded as Jack continued, "We don't know a whole lot about her—there's a birth certificate on file as well as records of all her immunizations but no name was ever put on the birth certificate so we have all just been calling her 'Jane'—not that she ever answers us when we talk to her but we didn't want to just keep calling her 'the girl.' The only thing we know about her for sure is that she likes blankets…" Don felt his eyebrows rise as he looked at Jack inquiringly.
"Blankets?" Don asked incredulous.
"Yeah, she keeps sneaking out of her room and raiding all the other rooms for blankets—at one point the nurses thought she was missing but turns out that she was sleeping in the enormous mound of blankets on her bed." Don smiled a little at this, yet he was still plagued by an insecure feeling.
Suddenly Jack veered off to one of the rooms, turned and looked at Don.
"This is it," He said, pointing to the room, "I'll be in the lobby." With that the other agent turned and walked away. Don didn't know how long he stood there, just that it seemed like an eternity.
Finally Don mustered up the courage, opened the door and stepped into the room.
Just like Jack had mentioned, there was a huge pile of blankets heaped on the narrow hospital bed. Don took another step into the room and cleared his throat peering at the mound in a vain attempt to discern the child buried within it.
Then, startling Don, a small curious face suddenly presented, popping out from the side of the mountain of blankets. Don felt his mind blank out. Don recalled that he had seen Jack's steps falter when he first saw Don and now he knew why.
He was looking directly into the puppy-brown eyes of a miniature, female version of himself.
The physical resemblance to Don was astonishing—there were only minimal traces of her mother in her features. Don felt himself staring at the girl and realized as the child regarded him with a curious gaze, that she had no idea who he was or why he was in her room.
Don suddenly cleared his throat again, shuffled his feet and met the child's eyes again—how do you tell a kid that you are her long-lost father? Don wondered, frustrated.
"Hey," Don started, Smooth Don, great start…
"Can I sit here?" Don asked her pointing to the empty place on the bed beside her. The girl nodded without hesitating, but pushed herself back into her blankets a little as Don sat down.
"My name is Don," he said, holding out his hand to her—she tentatively took it, shook lightly then snatched her hand back into her warm fortress. Don opened his mouth to speak and then abruptly closed it again. What was he going to say? Did he even want to tell her that he was her father or should he just sign custody of her over so it was less painful for her? He couldn't take care of a kid…could he?
He glared down at his hands, silently debating in his mind what the right thing to do would be. He was an FBI agent, a dangerous job that required him to take risks with his life. Hell, he'd had to use lethal force more than once—would it be good for him to take her and then make her suffer and feel pain if something happened to him? What about his father and Charlie? If something happened to him then she would go into their custody—would he want to force that responsibility on them? But what if he didn't take her? She would get lost in the system—just another kid with no real parents. Don thought about his brother and his father—if he took the girl he would have to explain to them why he had an illegitimate child—he would have to tell them about Miriam. God, that woman terrified him—to Don she embodied his weakness—his loss of self-control. This child would be a reminder of that, yet Don couldn't bring himself to put her in an orphanage or foster care—in Don's mind it would be like throwing her to the wolves.
As Don agonized over this decision: this decision that had to be made, that required only a few words and a little paperwork—Don felt the tears begin to slide down his face. He couldn't stop them—he hadn't cried in so long and yet here he was, frozen by indecision, crying in front of a small child who had no idea why he was there. Abruptly, Don saw a small hand reach out and touch his hand, grabbing onto his pinky; the closest finger that she could reach from where she sat. Startled, Don looked at the small girl. She sat upright, the covers all wrapped around her, her shoulder-length brown hair in disarray, and biting her lower lip in nervousness.
And suddenly, Don's answer was there—so simple and so clear.
He had been in the dark and all it took was the one moment of kindness from this child to light up his path: to show him where he was going.
"I know your mother," Don began, his voice catching as he enveloped her small outstretched hand in both of his, "In all honesty I never really liked her much," Don gave the girl a half-smile as she cocked her head sideways in curiosity, "I uh," Don glanced down at his hands enclosing hers, sucked in a deep breath and forged on. "I'm your father, your uh, dad." Don finished nervously, looking into her eyes as her features registered surprise. Don felt her grip tighten on his hand. He wracked his brain—there had to be something else he could say—something that would make the situation…better.
"I didn't know about you at all—she never told me. If I'd have known I…" Don trailed off not sure of what he would have done—yet feeling that it was important to explain himself to the silent child.
Don didn't know what else to do. He stared down was his hands, holding her hand and he waited. He didn't know what he was waiting for—just that he needed to wait. Then he felt her hand relax and he felt her scoot out of her blankets and over next to him. He looked over at her with something akin to wonderment as she timidly laid her head on his shoulder, periodically glancing up at him as if to gauge his reaction and his approval.
Don felt his eyes well up with tears again, and he gave a short laugh of relief and he took a hand and smoothed her hair back as she relaxed a little against him.
Maybe things will be all right after all, Don thought as he watched the girl—his daughter, he amended—slip into slumber next to him as Don stroked her unruly hair away from her fragile porcelain face.
Hardship and confessions were in the future, but for now Don was at peace.
He was out of the dark.
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A/N: Ok what do you think? This was hard as hell to write—I wasn't sure how true to Don's character I was staying—I was trying to think about how he would react, and keep it emotionally realistic—it was very very tricky. Please R&R!