JC

Carmon sat on the sofa, flipping through the magazine she had found discarded amongst the many books on the shelf behind M's desk. Of all things, it was on gardening, something she didn't think the older woman would do, even if she had the time. Sighing, she threw the magazine onto the low setting table beside her and let her head fall back with a thump. Since she gave M the journal, she hadn't had anything to draw in, so she had quickly found herself bored with everything within moments when she was left alone in the house. She had been putting off going to buy another book to draw in for days as she and M had plans to go shopping on Friday. But even though that was a day away, she was starting to regret the decision. Just as she was about to reach out and snatch up the magazine once more, the door opened, letting in the short woman.

Lifting her head, Carmon looked at the clock on the wall, "You're later than usual." She said, pushing herself up to sit properly.

"Late appointment." M sighed, dumping her coat, bag and briefcase on the single sofa. "Have you eaten?" She asked, looking at the teen tiredly.

Carmon shook her head.

"Order in?"

Once again, Carmon shook her head, "I have chicken salad in the fridge."

Smiling at the brunette, M reached out, gently squeezing her bicep, "You're a god send Carmon."

Carmon laughed, "I doubt you thought that when you first met me." She smiled, "Now you sit down, I'll get the salad."

Doing as she was told, M sat, watching the girl as she walked into the kitchen. Once out of sight, M sighed and slipped her feet from her heels, stretching them out on the edge of the table. Resting her head back against the back cushion, she closed her eyes, listening to the quiet sounds of Carmon moving about the kitchen. She must have dozed off, because the next thing she knew, Carmon was sitting two bowls on the table.

"Ohh," she moaned, sitting up, "Christ I'm tired."

"Well getting a tattoo after a full day of meetings will do that." Carmon said, sitting down beside her, her own bowl in her hand.

"What?"

Chewing on the piece of chicken in her mouth, Carmon nodded towards the white square taped across the older woman's ankle. "I'm not as clueless as you think M."

"I never thought you were," she sighed, rubbing her forehead, "I had just hoped you wouldn't notice it yet."

"Why?"

"I have my reasons." She replied, picking up the bowl.

"Would they be because you don't want me to know what it is?"

"Perhaps."

Leaning back into the cushions, Carmon shrugged, "Well so long as it's not my whole name, it's cool."

Looking at the teen beside her, M sighed. She should have known that Carmon would figure it out.

With a smirk, Carmon asked, "So when can I see it?"

Friday afternoon found Carmon sitting in her usual spot in the corner of the lounge with her new journal open on her knees. Unlike her father, she liked to write about what happened to and around her.

At her desk, M sat, watching her. From where she was sitting, she could read the printed words the teen was writing.

'She didn't wear those god awful tights today. I'm glad. I like the tattoos. The simple calligraphy suits her.

She has one for Father, a J resting just above her ankle bone on her right foot. I believe she's had it for years.

Recently she's added a new one, a C, on her left ankle. Seeing it made me realise she loved me too.'

Tearing up, M looked down to where the girl was now drawing in the corner of the page. Sitting proudly was an exact copy of each of her tattoos.