"John."
"John."
He turns, lowering his hand and looks at his daughter through the open balcony door. "What?"
Fahr rolls her eyes, snorting as she gives him a deadpan glare. "You fuckin' love her, don't you?"
He's taken aback a bit by the—all too accurate—observation, but slowly nods his assent. "Yeah, yeah I do." He narrows his eyes. "Why?"
Fahr sighs, jaw tightening, her jaw muscles bunching, showing the strain she puts on them, then releases, slowly. "Can't believe I'm sayin' this, but... she's not the type to treat that lightly, so give her some credit and stop worryin' so much n' stalkin' her, yeah? She'll work things out with Nicky. Shit, if she can keep Charon handled as well as she does, Nicky should be a walk in the park."
He frowns at her. "Whaddya mean? Charon's contracted to her, you've read the shit."
She quirks a skeptical brow at him, walking over and standing toe-to-toe with her father, looking him right in the eyes. "Have you ever looked him in the eye, John? There's a fuckload more to that'n than his damn contract, mark my words. He treats her with a hell of a lot more respect than his contract calls for, and you know it. She's got him handled, John. He's like her, but she's got him handled. What's that tell ya?"
He scoffs, a half smirk lighting his eyes and tugging a corner of his mouth up. "That he's pussy-whipped by the contract?"
Fahr shakes her head. "No. You're missin' the point, John." She half-growls, lifting his mentats tin from his frock and nabbing five from it, jamming three between his lips and two between her own before she puts the tin back in his pocket. "Chew," she orders, starting to chew her own.
He sighs, complying, unsure what the point is, but willing to reach it if it'll mean Fahr's happy and backs off from whatever this rant's about sometime soon. He swallows, shows her proof of his empty mouth, then closes it and tilts his head, waiting.
She swallows her own dose, waiting a few seconds for it to kick in and shuddering once it does, before beginning, "He's got a will as strong as hers, John. Could be even stronger. He ain't entirely followin' her outta some obligation from that damn contract now, though that's probably how it started. He's followin' her because he thinks she's somethin' worth followin'."
She points to the balcony John had been watching for the past half hour—Shana's balcony. "You watchin' her out here while she deals with Nicky sends a lot of messages to a lot of people, an' most of 'em ain't good. You wanna prove you love her ass and that you trust her, get your ass back in the House an' sit down."
He frowns, crossing his arms over his chest. "How the hell is my worryin' after her sendin' a bad message? And I ain't stalkin' shit, Fahr," he pins on, belatedly.
Fahr groans, smacking her hand to her brow and dragging it down her face in obvious frustration. "You're sendin' the message that you don't trust her to handle her shit. You're also helpin' paint an even bigger target on her back than usual, 'cause now everyone in this town knows how to hurt you. Y'should know better'n this, John." She shakes her head in clear disappointment and turns, walking back inside without another word.
Stunned speechless, he mutely follows her all the way across the house, only to stop before he hits the couch, sinking onto the ottoman instead. "Shit," he finally mutters, staring ahead blankly.
"Yeah, you got that right—'shit'." She steps up behind him, resting her right hand on his slumped shoulder, giving it an encouraging push. "Move your ass to the couch and smoke a joint before anyone sees ya sittin' on the foot pad, c'mon."
He slowly shakes his head, still staring ahead as he lifts his hand to Fahr's on his shoulder, curling his fingers under her palm. He rips his eyes away from the middle space that tries to devour his sense and turns his head as he pulls her hand up, pressing his ruined lips to her palm, then laying that palm on his cheek. "Dunno what I'd do without ya, Fahr. Thanks for..." he makes a vague motion with his free hand, "Pullin' me outta makin' a stupid."
He hears a sigh, just before her other arm drapes over his shoulder, and a soft pressure pushes the crown of his hat against the top of his head; her lips, then her cheek, resting on it. "It's what I'm here for, dad," she murmurs, lingering for a few seconds in the vulnerability he caused her, before she pats his chest and straightens, slipping her hand from his and erecting her walls back into place. "C'mon, move. You don't move soon, I'm loosin' fifty caps. Get your ass up."
He chuckles, shaking his head and bracing his hands on his knees as he stands, then turns and takes one step, flopping back down onto his couch. "You rollin' the joint, or am I?"
She shrugs, planting her ass on the tan couch and reaching for the box with the supplies in it. "I'll get it. You always roll it too tight."
He scoffs. "No way in hell, you roll it too loose. I keep tryin' to show ya, but you never wanna learn—"
"That's 'cause I can't keep it lit when it's rolled that tight, John," she reprimands, "It's a waste of damn lighter fluid."
He sighs, letting his head fall back onto the couch back, shaking his noggin in amusement. "You don't draw on it hard enough, sweetheart."
"Not my fault you're so used to suckin' basketballs through garden hoses, John," she returns smoothly, and when he looks down at her with a surprised smile forming on his lips, her smile matches his in mischievousness.
He laughs, resting his head back again, still chuckling. "Ahh shit, well, when you're right, you're right."
"Damn right I'm right. I've seen you doin' it," she counters, arching a brow at him as if challenging him to deny it.
He frowns at her, slightly affronted at the implied accusation that he'd willingly let her catch him like that. "When? Who?"
She shrugs, filling the delicate little paper between her fingers with sticky, skunky green bits of bud trim, arranging them carefully in a gently layered pattern that only makes any real sense to Fahr. "Wouldn't be the first time, but the most recent was... hmm." She squints in thought as she finishes filling the paper and begins carefully rolling it, her calloused fingers making quick work of the affair. Wetting the paper's end between her lips, she finishes the roll snugly, leaving behind a perfect, if slightly damp spliff. "Mozzy, I think? Or was it Berk? Shit, I can't remember. Was about three, four months ago? Before miss popsicle first limped into town, anyway."
That little title garners a disapproving look. "'Miss popsicle'? She has a name and her own title, Fahr."
Fahrenheit shrugs once more, seeming entirely unconcerned as she passes the joint over. "Yeah, so? She's not my girl, John. She's still a rook in my eyes until she proves otherwise. Important, but not enough to worry too much about sacrificing."
John takes the smoke from her, glaring at her now. "Yeah, well she's my queen." He points to himself vehemently, then at Fahr. "So don't go trynna sacrifice her, unless you wanna piss the king off somethin' fierce."
She barely lifts a single, unimpressed brow at him. "We'll see how you feel in a year, John."
He frowns, even as he lights the spliff. "What's that supposed ta mean?"
She shakes her head, putting the supplies away and reaching for the joint when he hands it to her. "It means you get bored easily, John."
He scoffs, rolling his eyes. "Yeah, I don't think so. I don't see myself getting bored of her, ever."
She shrugs her head, drawing a thick cloud of smoke from the joint and holding the cloud in her lungs, before handing the smoke back across. "She won't have that vault-suit-worthy body forever."
He gapes at her, finally, actually offended. "You really think that's all I care about? Shit, Fahr, it's not like I'm anything to write home about, to begin with. You think I couldn't love her when she's old and gray, when I've got a face like this?" he doffs his hat, pointing the lit end of the now half-smoked joint at his wholly bared, ravaged features.
"Take a good long fuckin' look at your old man, Fahr. I ain't exactly winnin' any beauty contests here. Somehow, she chose me. She even let me love her. She lets me hold her and give her all the affection I've ever wanted to give a woman, and she doesn't care how I look. You think for one fuckin' second that I could throw her away, just because she gets a little frumpy or gray? I'm a ghoul, for chrissakes!"
He shakes his head, hands the spliff back and sighs. "Get your shit straight, kid. God, you know I love ya, but you got a lot to learn about the heart, yet. I did a shit job on that, so I'll own to that, but you can start learnin' right the fuck now. The shit you're talkin' about? The hit it and quit it attitude? That's lust. That ain't no fuckin' love. Not real love, anyhow. Wish I'd known the difference when you were younger, so I coulda taught you right, but it is what it is."
She narrows her eyes at him, over the glow of the cigarette cherry stoking between her lips. She takes her hit and hands it back to him. "You knew what it was, John. You just hadn't felt it yourself. Mom loved you. You just didn't want to see it, 'cause you didn't love her back."
He huffs impatience at her, then draws the biting smoke into his lungs and passes it over. "We really gonna get into that right now? We've gone over this before, Fahr. Not sure what you expect to get out of dredgin' up old ghosts. I ain't proud of how I did your mom, but she knew what she was gettin' into with me. She knew I wasn't ready to settle down like that. I told her, but she never would listen—every bit as stubborn as her daughter."
Fahr snorts, smoke puffing out with it, handing the spliff off again. "Shit yeah, she was. Ahh, who knows? Maybe you do stick with this one, maybe it is real love, I don't know. Definitely seems more serious than the others, I'll give it that. But this mixin things up with Nicky, I mean... ain't that gonna make this shit just... fifty times more complicated? I mean shit, neither of ya are exactly simple creatures to begin with. Addin' all Nicky's baggage on top of it seems... fuckin' stupid, s'what it seems."
He shakes his head and finishes off what remains of the joint, extinguishing and chewing the remainder for a bit. "Nicky was already in the picture before she really let me into it. It's... complicated. I'm the newbie here." He waves his hand through a cloud of smoke, gesturing widely. "It's all a whole lot to do with her memories bein outta whack, and pieces of what she could remember, and..." He sighs, swallowing and relaxing back into the couch with a groan. "I dunno, Fahr, can't we just chill for a bit? Shit's too complicated and I'm too stoned."
"Yeah," comes her fairly spaced out response, "s'cool. Wanna hear it later, though."
He flips her a thumb's up, utterly unsure if she actually sees it or not, and loses himself in the dust motes floating through the light shafts as they beam their fingers through the rafters.