Nick didn't waste any time answering the door. "Hey, what's up? You seemed so out of it on the phone."
Monroe's face was troubled. "I need your help."
Unused to this request, Nick told him to come in. Monroe sat on the couch, and Nick was about to take a seat in an armchair when he noticed the glass of water resting on the floor. "Sorry about the mess. Alex came over yesterday, and-"
"Could you just give her a break?" Monroe interrupted unexpectedly. "Not only has her kind been hated since, like, the beginning of time, but now you're off complaining that she forgot to put away a cup? Seriously?"
He looked at Monroe, confused. "What are you talking about?"
"You don't know what wassermanns have gone through!" He almost shouted. "You think the Witch Trials were actually for witches? They've been hunted out since the very first one! It's terrible!"
Nick just stood there for a moment. "What's with the sudden change of heart? I thought you hated them as much as everyone else did."
He chose his words carefully. "That was before I got to know one." Nick set the glass back down on the floor and sat in the chair opposite the couch. He told him to explain why he'd come over. "Listen, when I was young, I did some stuff I regret. But there's one thing I would never go back and change. I was at a party once, and I met this mauzhertz girl. And I'm not gonna lie, I was drunk off my ass. If I were sober, I wouldn't have given her the time of day. Not because she wasn't attractive or anything, it's just, a mauzhertz and a blutbad... Anyway, at one point or another, I must've passed out, 'cause I woke up at her house. She helped me out, we talked, all that stuff. And it got a little... Intimate. We didn't fool around until we were dating for about five months, but still, it wasn't just two horny kids wanting a little fun. We really had something. And we were careful; she was on the pill. She's the reason I got myself under control. When I went to her house one day, she was gone, and I never saw her again."
Nick wasn't following. "What, did you find her or something?"
"No. I found... Something that belongs to her. To both of us." He was having trouble saying it out loud. "Her name was Lauren Smith."
Now he finally understood. "Wait. Are you saying...?" Monroe nodded. "And you're just realizing this? You didn't pick anything up when you looked at her, or when she said her name?"
"Yeah, because Smith is a really rare last name." He rested his head in his hands. "What do I do?"
Nick got up and sat on the couch beside him. "You need to talk to her. She's looking for you."
"She thinks I hate her!" Said Monroe. "And... I did hate her. Before I knew who she is..." He shook his head. "I can't do this. I can't take care of another person. And how do I tell her?"
His shoulder now had a friendly, supportive hand on it. "You're just gonna have to figure it out."
The clockmaker's house was silent but the sound of the cello. The music was sad, but he was somehow able to add a bit of hope to the melody. He didn't understand. Why had Lauren lied and said he'd left, when in truth, she'd been the one to flee? And Alexandra. She looked so much like her mother. But she got his eyes, musical enthusiasm, and snide attitude. It killed him to know how much she'd been hurt. To think she'd been abandoned, to be despised simply for existing, to have the only people she felt safe around die.
He tried as hard as he could to push away his guilt. After all, what could he have done? He hadn't known; there was no way he could have. But the way she'd looked at him, the poison in her voice. He could almost hear it.
"What? You don't want to be in the same room with me, blutbad? Fine. Have it your way"
Chances were it wasn't personal. That was her way of protecting herself from hurt. He knew because it was the same as his. If you don't care about anyone, they can't betray you.
She obviously didn't know, otherwise she would have said something. If not to him personally, to Nick. He thought back to the performance. The way her face reflected both the joy of music and the loneliness of her life.
How would she react when he told her? That's what scared him the most. Would she hear his side of the story, or would she figure the man who left her mother alone wasn't worth a second chance? And what if she didn't believe him? What would he do then? He had the evidence, but if she were anything like her mother, there was a chance she would think it was a trick.
He needed to tell her, but not today. He had to sort it all out, decide exactly what he would say. It wasn't something you could just jump into. It took planning. He stopped playing and closed his eyes. Lauren, He thought. If you can hear me, help me with your daughter. Our daughter.
The next day was warm, and Monroe stood outside the old, boarded up house. This was it. He knocked on the door for the better part of fifteen minutes. Under any other circumstance, he would have just come back later, but he checked, and he could smell her in there. Something wasn't right.
The door's lock was broken, so he entered easily. She'd begun to add some pieces of furniture, but nothing extraordinary. It was quiet other than his footsteps. Where was she?
He took a left into the kitchen. What he saw nearly made him sick with anguish.
Lying next to the sink, face down, was the girl he'd been looking for. He couldn't tell if she was breathing. He bolted to her side and turned her over. Her skin was rough, almost hard. She got too dehydrated, He thought. He knew wassermanns needed more than twice the amount of water than anything else to survive. And despite himself, he realized he was holding in a sob.
How could he have let this happen? He should have come sooner. He timidly stroked her hair.
And then he heard it. Short and raspy. He put his hand just in front of her mouth and felt the minuscule bursts of air. He still had time. He stood and turned the sink on full blast, but nothing came out. He tried the sink in the bathroom, and even the shower, but both of them were dry, as well. There was only one thing he could think of left to do.
He carried her out of the house and put her in his car. Only then did he see the graffiti scrawled on the siding.
There is no middle ground
Infuriated, he drove as fast as he could.
Alex's throat felt like it was on fire when she woke up. She opened her eyes and looked around the new setting.
Frightened and confused, she began to get up, only stopping when she heard a familiar voice. "Good to see you're awake."
She turned at looked at Monroe, who offered her a bottle of water. She took it and drank, the burning sensation inside her lessening. "Where are we...?"
"My house. You scared the crap out of me. I came to your house and you were half dead." She glanced over at the twenty or so water bottles scattered around the floor. "Some idiots must've found out you live there and broke your waterline. I had to bring you here so you wouldn't die."
"Why?" She adjusted her position so she was sitting. "Why would you bring a wassermann into your home, let alone try to keep her alive?"
Monroe pulled up a chair and sat directly in front of her. "What do you know about your father?"
Her gaze moved downward, and silently she wondered what had brought on the change of subject. "He's not a mauzhertz." She said softly.
"Nothing else?" She shook her head and he inhaled just a little to calm his nerves. "First off, I want to warn you that I'm not good with this kind of stuff, so bare with me." Alex nodded, Monroe sighed. "I can't say I understand what that's like, because I really don't. But I do want you to know I... I care about you." She seemed puzzled, but he continued. "I thought I'd seen you before when I first met you. I couldn't figure out where, but I could have sworn I did. And then, I saw you sing, and you looked so much like her..." He put his elbows on his knees so they were close. If each didn't know better, they'd have said the other had mirrors instead of eyes, reflecting their own back at them. Monroe lowered his voice. "'I ask that you always keep this necklace as a reminder that I'm always with you. If you do that, I will never be far away.'"
Alex recognised the words in a heartbeat. "How do you...?"
He took in his hand the watch around her neck and turned it over. "Do you know what E.M stands for?"
"'Everlasting Memories'. It says so on the side..."
He shook his head. "It's supposed to look like that to take away suspicion. It stands for Eddie Monroe." He pulled the identical pocket watch out of his jeans and showed it to her. "L.S. Not 'Love Survives'. Lauren Smith."
She touched it with a trembling hand, comparing it to the one she knew, before she uttered a single question-like word. "D- Dad...?" The sound of it, to be called that, was amazing. He nodded. "Why did you leave us...?" Her voice was shaking as much as her hand.
Taking a risk, he took her hand. "I didn't. I had no idea about you. I know I've been a complete bastard to you and you have every reason not to believe me, but I'm telling you, it's the truth."
She looked at their entwined hands, then up at those eyes that looked so much like her own. Was he really the one she'd been searching for? Yes. Yes, he had to be. He had the watch. And it just felt right. "The last thing she ever said to me," She recalled quietly. "Was that if I ever found you, to tell you she loves you." With that, she broke, some tears falling from her eyes. She felt them beginning to change and shut her eyelids.
Monroe moved his position over to the couch and put his hand under her chin, lifting her head to face him. "Look at me." She did as she was told, the light blue sending chills down his spine. But he didn't look away. "People know about the house. You can't live there any more. I have an extra room. If you want it..."
Still crying, she rested her head on his chest. "Thank you. For everything."
He pulled her close, wrapping his arms around her to let her know non-verbally that it would be okay, that he would always be there. He took a deep breath and quickly noticed that he no longer hated the scent. In fact, it was almost nice. It smelled of love and family. Her tears soaked through his shirt, but he didn't protest. They stayed in that same position for a long time, long enough for Alexandra's sobs to fade to the slow, rhythmic pattern of sleep. He felt her heart beating so close to his, and smiled. She was beautiful. And she was perfect. And she was all his.
Hope you liked it! ^.^