Some Things Are Personal
For the Livejournal 50scenes challenge. A collection of scenes featuring Lieutenant Helga Sinclair.
Nostalgia
One night, a father reflects on his daughter.
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters who appear in this collection of fiction. They are property of Disney and the creative team behind Atlantis: The Lost Empire.
"Are you happy?"
The question produced an immediate reaction. The woman tensed, the muscles in her back tightening as she straightened. She pulled her shoulders back and crossed her arms over her chest. Her head turned, and one strand of blonde hair fell across her face. She tucked it behind her eat and took a long look at the man who stood beside her, still leaned against the porch railing.
Major Alexander Sinclair stood just taller than his grown daughter, though her boots helped her. He was much broader than her. Even if temperament was worlds away from her mother, the two women shared a sleek build. His hair had turned gray over a decade ago, but his eyes were young. Sometimes, when she was lost in thought of didn't know he was watching, he almost wondered if Helga hadn't somehow grown older than him.
"Sir?" she asked.
He repeated himself. "Are you happy?"
Where was his little girl? He watched her out of the corner of his eye. When had he blinked and missed so much? What happened to the nine-year-old he'd bribed to study French with Jules Verne novels? When had she stopped being the thirteen-year-old he scolded for picking fights and ruining her dresses? How had his rebellious sixteen-year-old daughter become a trained soldier who barely blinked at a gunshot? Where was the twenty-three-year-old woman he'd waltzed with at her wedding? Why would he wake up at midnight and find her here, standing on the porch, her pistol at her hip?
Helga took her time answering. She closed her eyes and briefly interlaced her fingers. Something weighed on her shoulders, valiantly as she tried to hide it. Five years ago, he would have embraced her, held her against him until she let everything out, but the major hesitated. At times, he wondered if he even knew her. He settled for gripping her shoulder.
"I am," she finally said.
A twig snapped, and he felt her muscles twitch. Her hand went to the grip of her gun.
"Helga, it was probably a cat."
Had she always been so on edge?
"A cat," she echoed, but she didn't relax.
He ran his hand down her back, pressed lightly against her spine. "I thought," he murmured, "I might invite Captain Rourke to dinner tomorrow evening."
The words had the desired effect. Her back loosened, and her lips quirked ever so slightly. He almost smiled himself as he watched her. Poor Christopher. Even now, he thought fondly on the man, if not with some pity. Had he ever known? The major thought not. What man would suspect he'd never be first in his wife's heart? He doubted any man could ever rival Rourke in his daughter's eyes. He also doubted Rourke even realized how much he meant to Helga.
"Where are you going next?" he asked.
"Iceland. Professor Thatch thinks there's something worth finding."
"What?"
"He didn't tell us."
He let her lie, merely kissing the top of her head. "Come back inside, sweetheart. You need to get some sleep tonight."
She didn't protest, and he led her back into the house. She wasn't his little girl anymore he knew, but he was still her father.