Hey wonderful readers! This is a very short chapter – sorry. But sometimes the shorter, the better. Sorry if it's a little depressing; I had With Or Without You on replay as I wrote it.

The song is From Here to the Moon and Back.

Sparki: I own nothing!


Sybbie just held his hand.

Was there really anything else she could do? Oh, how the little child wished that there was. She wished that she could press a hand – a small, trembling hand – to her father's chest, and suddenly, he would rise, healthy, well, and ready to live out the rest of his life. By the side of his daughter.

His daughter, who needed him so very desperately, but could not reach him.

Tom lay on the hospital bed, still and silent. His beautiful eyes remained closed, and his once warm skin seemed as pale as the sheets upon which he rested. The only sign of life; the gentle rise and fall of his chest.

She wanted to be closer; she wanted to crawl beneath those starched white linens, and meld herself into her father's body. Perhaps he would feel her warmth, her life. Perhaps then, he would wake up. But the doctors had told her no. It was too dangerous, they said. He was not to be moved; not even in the slightest. So Sybbie sat, tears silent in her eyes, and held Tom's hand.


She felt a hand on her shoulder.

"Make sure that he hears you." Sybbie turned, and gazed up into Thomas' shadowed eyes. She didn't even try to smile; the girl knew that he would understand. And he did.

"Tell him that you love him."

And she would.


Sybbie remembered a lullaby.

It was a beautiful song – the girl's favourite. When she was ill, or afraid, or lonely, Tom had smiled. Holding her little body against his own, he would whisper that lullaby against her ear.

Maybe...

"I could hold out my arms, say, 'I love you this much'." Sybbie whispered. Her voice was so quiet; it was little more than a breath. "I could tell you how long, I've longed for your touch."

She knew those words; Sybbie could never, ever forget those words. Her papa's hand was soft within her own. With her small thumb, she stroked his pale skin.

"How much, and how far," she sighed, "would I go to prove, the depth, and the breadth, of my love for you?"

The little girl sang to her sleeping father, her young voice strangled, and filled with an untameable sadness. But on and on she sang.

On and on, until she was certain that her father knew she was there. Watching, and waiting.


I would blow you a kiss,

From the star where I sat,

I would call out your name to echo through the vast.

Thank heavens for you,

And to God, tip my hat...

From here, to the moon, and back,

Who else, in the world,

Will love you like that?

Forever, and always,

I'll be where you're at...

From here, to the moon, and back


:D