Hello, dear readers. This chapter is the answer to the request Ifbookswerefood-I'dbefat made months ago, to have a bit more on Kate and her father. It took me a long time writing and it's quite possibly the hardest thing I've ever written. Nevertheless, I hope you'll enjoy it.

Chapter 6

Daddy's Little Girl

'So, what about your parents?' Balin asked at some time. 'Are they still alive?'

'Yes, although I don't really see my father anymore,' she replied, determined not to waste too many words on that subject. The less said about John Andrews, the better. 'I used to live with my mother until two years ago. Now I've got a place of my own, sharing it with a close friend, but I still see her a lot.'

At this, people frowned. 'Your parents don't live together?' Glóin asked.

Divorce must not be a common thing around here, she observed. 'No, not anymore,' she replied truthfully. 'My dad's a jerk. He cheated on my mother a lot, so in the end she kicked him out. That was about ten years ago. I haven't really seen him much since.' She shrugged. 'That's all there is to it, really. No big deal.' Of course, it was a big deal. For years she had struggled with her anger and the never answered question of how her dad had been capable of doing that to them. But her anger had apparently failed to affect him and in the end he had all but disappeared off the radar altogether. As a matter of fact she didn't even know where he lived these days and with a shock she realised that she could no longer really care about it either.

The Journal, Chapter 7: Arguments

Kate Andrews doesn't really know when she first noticed that something is not as it should be. When you are a child, you generally don't care too much about any troubles your parents may have as long as they don't intercede with your life. She is hardly an exception to that rule.

And she loves her parents. She loves her mother's gentle laugh and her cookies. She loves her father as well, loves his deep chuckles and his bear-like hugs, the ones she gets when she stays up late to see him come home from work. She knows he loves it when she does that and so she tries to make a habit of it, even if Jacko can't seem to be bothered about welcoming their father home. She rolls her eyes at him and is snappy with him for a few days, but staying angry with her twin is quite a challenge and so she gives up after three days, when she needs someone to play with. Her life is a carefree one, a happy one, even if it takes another ten years for her to fully realise just how lucky she is to have such a happy childhood. She only realises it when it all starts to fall apart.

Only then can she see that the trouble has begun much earlier. Her mother tries to keep it from them and she's doing a good job of it too. Her father reassures her frequently that all is well and so why would she think anything is amiss? As long as she gets to crawl onto his lap in the evenings and he tells her a story, what could possibly be wrong?

She reckons the first cracks start to show when she's about six years old. Well, they may have been there longer, but she's never paying any attention to them. She ignores the fact that her father seems to be out all hours. He's working hard, her mother tells her, and she has no reason to believe it's otherwise.

Of course, perfection doesn't last forever. It's the weekend and Kate would love nothing better than to play outside and play football with Jacko and a few kids who live nearby. The weather interferes with her plans; it's pouring and her mother's forbidden her from stepping as much as a toe over the threshold on pain of not getting dessert. Kate and Jacko briefly contemplate whether foregoing ice-cream is worth the risk, but in the end they decide that it's not. Anyway, there'll be another day of weekend left, and they might get another shot tomorrow.

'So, what shall we do?' she ponders. They're sitting in the windowsill of Jacko's bedroom, sending glares at the deluge outside that's preventing them from doing what they'd like to do best. Kate's extremely bored and she really doesn't feel like playing any game at all, but if their mother catches them doing nothing, she'll have them pass the time by doing chores for her and that is something Kate hates even more than being bored.

Jacko is equally non-enthusiastic. He has this telling pout that gives him away. 'We could always play hide and seek,' he offers, apparently incapable of thinking up something better.

'Ugh,' is her commentary.

Her twin looks at her. 'Do you have better ideas?' he throws back.

Kate would be forced to admit that she hasn't, but admitting that Jack has a point is something she doesn't do as a rule. 'Any idea is better than hide and seek.' She speaks the name of the game as if it something that falls into the same category as chores, school and grown-up visitors.

'Mum will have us do chores if we don't play,' Jacko points out. Only in hindsight will she realise that a six year old should never be this shrewd, but this is Jacko she's talking about and she's used to it from him, even if that doesn't mean she has to like it. 'You can seek?' He knows she likes that better than hiding; she never knows where to go and most of her hiding places of choice are so dusty that her sneezing gives her away almost every time.

She rolls her eyes, knowing full well that there is no real point in arguing. 'Fine,' she says with emphasis. She may be unable to come up with a really good alternative, but she'll have him know that this one certainly does not have her full approval. 'One, two, three…' She's rather proud of her ability to count up to a hundred, so she'll demonstrate it. Jacko still counts in units of ten – ten times counting to ten is his preferred method with this game, although Kate strongly suspects him of cheating – and she's beaten him at this. It has taken a few long walks with her dad to perfect it. They counted every step they took, counting out loud in unison. By the end she was out of breath and her head was reeling, but she has never felt that proud before.

Jacko's out of the room before she's counted to five, a little speed devil if ever there was one, their mother tends to say. Well, if he's entitled to run fast, she's got a right to count fast. She makes it up to a hundred in approximately fifty seconds and then yells at no one in particular: 'Coming!'

And she thinks she knows exactly where to go. For all his cleverness, Jacko is still a creature of habit and there are only so many places he can be. Either he's hiding under the couch in the living room, in their parents' wardrobe or behind the pile of boxes in the attic. Their parents' bedroom is closest, so that is where she'll go first.

To her surprise he isn't even hiding. Instead he stands in the middle of the room, holding something in his hands with an expression of mild alarm on his face.

'Found you!' Kate calls out in a singsong voice, feeling rather pleased with finding him so soon. 'What have you got?'

Jacko holds out his hands so that Kate gets to take a look at what's in them. It's a small box with a very beautiful necklace in it. 'It fell out of dad's jacket and I can't get it to close again.'

The explanation makes sense. Even though this is one of Jacko's favourite hiding places, they're not supposed to actually be here and they're certainly not supposed to go through their parents' things. Mum'll give them a good scolding if she finds out.

'Give here,' she demands. 'I'll do it. What jacket was it?'

Jacko points at the black one that's nearest after he's given her the box. 'Do you think it's a present for mum?' he asks.

Kate merely rolls her eyes. 'What else would it be?' she retorts. Honestly, boys! Surely even Jacko would know that this is not the kind of thing her father himself would wear? She frowns as the box refuses to close as stubbornly as it did for Jacko. This is something she does not want her mother to know they found. It's rude to open someone else's presents, she's been told. And it would spoil the surprise. But the fact remains that the box doesn't do as she wants it to, and in the end she just shoves the thing back into the pocket of the jacket, frustrated with it all.

'What are you doing?' Jacko asks in shock. 'He'll find out.'

'He won't be mad,' Kate says confidently. She's daddy's little girl; he is never angry with her. 'Not if I tell him. Mum won't find out.'

'You sure?' Jacko asks, but only because that's expected of him. The relief is written all over his face.

Kate doesn't deem that worthy of a reply and so she rolls her eyes again. She's seen her mother do that and finds it to be a good method of dealing with stupid questions herself.

And she keeps word. Her mother is doing the dishes with Jacko and Kate uses the opportunity to monopolise the spot on the sofa next to her father. He's watching the news, something that Kate really can't be bothered to find interesting, so now would be the perfect moment to talk. 'Dad?'

'Yes, sweetheart?' The rumble comes from deep inside his chest, she can feel it when she lays her head on it.

'We found your present,' she whispers conspiratorially in his ear. When that doesn't trigger a reply right away, she adds: 'The necklace in your pocket.' That way he'll know what she's talking about. 'It's for mum, isn't it?'

Her father stiffens and for a moment there Kate fears she has found a way to anger him after all, but then it's gone and he says: 'Of course it is, little Katie. But you can't tell her.'

'Of course,' Kate agrees. 'Or it wouldn't be a surprise.' Everyone knows that.

She feels more than she sees that he nods; she's laid her head on his chest, because it does make for a good pillow and she's getting a bit sleepy. 'That's right,' her father says. 'It's our little secret.'

Kate snuggles closer against him and gives a nod of her own. 'Our little secret,' she confirms.

If she would have been a slightly more suspicious soul, she may have noticed that she never sees her mother wear the necklace, but she doesn't. And really, she has more interesting things to worry about. The matter is closed, Jacko and she won't get their ears blistered and life goes on. She doesn't give the necklace as much as a thought after that day.

It doesn't mean that all is well and soon even she can't deny that. Her father is working long days and often comes home after she has gone to bed. Often she tries to stay awake until he's back, so that she can go down and say goodnight; it seems important to do that somehow. She can't do it every night and sometimes she falls asleep before she hears the tell-tale sign of the front door opening – she's always furious with herself for that afterwards – but tonight she's been careful and she smiles to herself when she hears the door. She did it. Now she only has to wait another ten minutes to give him time to take off his coat and shoes and greet her mother. Then she can go down. It's like a ritual that has been in place for years. Her mother tells her that ten years is too old to do that, but her father still likes it and that is the opinion that matters to Kate.

But tonight, instead of silence, there's shouting. She hears it when she stands on top of the stairs and means to go down for the nightly ritual.

'You don't understand a thing of it!' That's her father and he's positively roaring, effectively freezing Kate into place mid-motion, foot dangling over the stair, where she had meant to put it.

'I understand it perfectly!' Her mother easily matches her father for volume, something Kate had not expected at all; her mother always sounds so gentle. This, this is infinitely wrong.

The shouting continues, but she can't make out all the words. Only when the anger downstairs reaches a crescendo she hears bits and pieces.

'Other women, John!' her mother screeches. 'Did you honestly think you could keep that from me? How could you?'

'Maybe I was fed up with all this banshee's wailing!'

Kate doesn't know what a banshee is, and neither does she know what her parents are even talking about, but all of a sudden it feels as if the world as she knows it has come to an untimely and abrupt end. Without knowing why exactly, she turns back and returns to her room. She is unable to say how long she has been standing there, but her feet are cold. That night, she cries herself to sleep. Her feet remain icy all night long.

It is not the end.

That is a realisation Kate Andrews comes to before long. She no longer goes downstairs late at night to say goodnight. There's a lot of shouting a lot of the time, ever more. And then there are nights her father isn't even there. What use would it be waiting up then? She tells herself she's too old for it anyways, so it doesn't matter.

But it does. Of course it does. She feels it in the air, the atmosphere in living room and kitchen. It's cold. It's not a physical cold, but it feels like winter, all ice and harshness and chill. It's never agreed, but for some reason it isn't talked about. Still, all of them know, even Jacko, whose intuition has never been very well developed. And it affects them all. Her mother grows silent and at some point Kate has trouble remembering what her laugh – the real, happy one, not the one she so obviously fakes – sounds like. Jacko is stubborn and uncooperative. He has bouts of silence and even Kate doesn't get through to him, even when they used to share everything, as siblings should in her opinion.

Her father is the worst. She still tries to climb next to him onto the sofa when he's watching the news and she's done her homework, but it's always 'not tonight' or 'I'm tired, Kate.' Katie, the childhood endearment he so often used, is mentioned less and less.

One night, she's had enough of the dance, of treading on eggshells and letting her father do what he is doing. It isn't right. She's twelve now and even though she still hasn't got the full picture, she knows quite enough to realise that her parents' marriage is falling apart and that the reason for this is that her father has relationships with another woman, or women, she doesn't know. By now she has pieced together enough to know that "working late" or "seeing a client" is just a very flimsy excuse for going to see a female who is not Helen Andrews.

'You're lying.' The words are out of her mouth before she can stop herself. It's a Tuesday night and they've finished dinner in an awkwardness that has Kate wishing for an immediate escape route. Apparently the same is true for her father, who's announced that he's going to see a client. It triggers something in Kate and she speaks her mind before she can check herself.

She's as shocked by her boldness as her parents and brother are. She supresses the urge to clasp her hands in front of her mouth and she's torn between wanting to apologise and standing her ground. She's only longing for how things used to be, still hoping and praying that they one day will go back to how things were, deep down knowing that might never happen. It's making her stomach feel like she's swallowed poison and she's burning from the inside out, but now there's anger as well and to her surprise it's her father this anger's directed against.

'You're not going to see a client,' she states when the silence drags on and on. She had planned an apology, but that is not what comes out. 'You're going to see another woman. And it's not right.' It's more than not right, but she doesn't have the words for it. She feels that this issue is so much bigger than she with her mere twelve years can understand. And for some reason it only makes her feel frustrated and therefore angrier.

'It's not true,' her father says.

The lie is so obvious that Kate doesn't believe it for even a second. Her mother is frantically signing at her to back off, but Kate ignores her. She doesn't know where the anger comes from, but it's there and it's strong and suddenly it's uncontrollable. Maybe it's the result of having been on the side-lines for so long and her own helplessness to do something, but she doesn't care either way.

'You're lying,' she repeats. It's not the best case she's ever made, but she is sure she has truth on her side. Truth always wins out, doesn't it? 'We all know it.' That is the truth, even if it has never been spoken.

Her father glowers. 'What do you know about these things?' His voice is harsh and Kate inwardly cringes. It is the tone of voice she recognises from the shouting he does at her mother when both thinks she is asleep. 'You are only a foolish child!'

It hurts. That is the only word for it. It hurts. It is as if she has been kicked in the guts and she finds it hard to breathe. She wants to say that she is his little girl, little Katie, not just a foolish child. He has never spoken to her like this and it hurts. Her vision goes a bit blurry. 'Don't go.' She's pleading, but her words fall on deaf ears. Even when she cries, he leaves all the same.

It goes from bad to worse after that. She doesn't always cry anymore, but the anger grows and intensifies. So do her outbursts. Her father gives as good as he gets and it rapidly turns into fighting, something that shocks Kate herself as much as it shocks her father. And she hates it. This is not how it is supposed to be. She wants things to go back to how they were. She wants to crawl up on his lap and pretend none of this ever happened. That would be her happy ending.

Instead she finds herself shouting at him time and again, all but demanding that he stays home and fixes whatever it is that he has begun. He refuses to and that is what makes her feel so powerless. Things are falling apart and there's nothing she can do to stop it from happening.

It eventually explodes. Later she'll think that it was only a matter of time, but that moment she only feels as if someone has died. And something has died. Her life as she's known it has died. Nothing is ever going to be the same.

Her mother and father have started to shout again, more and more as time drags on. Kate hates it and throws herself at her homework to have something to focus on between sleeping, school and the fights that are rapidly becoming commonplace in their home. Jacko hates it too, and locks himself in his room with music blaring from the speakers. His results at school are poorly, even as Kate's take flight. But it's escapism for both of them, a way of keeping their sanity under circumstances that by all rights should have them weeping most hours of the day, if not all hours. Of course she realises the underlying motives much later only. At the time she feels just powerless and so very, very angry most of the time.

When the end comes eventually, it almost comes unexpected. It's a few weeks before her fourteenth birthday, it's summer and she's spent the afternoon with Laura and Anna, two of her best friends, at the local swimming pool, swimming, sun-bathing and laughing. For the first time in weeks she feels as if not all is as gloomy as she thought. A weight has been lifted off her shoulders, the clouds chased away by an extensive laughter therapy provided by her friends. She's actually whistling a song when she comes home, hopeful again that things can straighten themselves out as long as days like this keep on existing.

She is reminded of just how foolish this notion is when she comes home and finds the hall full with bags and suitcases. She barely has the chance to wonder what this all is about when she notices that her father is standing between them, holding one bag in his hand.

It hits Kate with all the force of a lightning bolt. 'Where are you going?' she demands, wariness and fear in equal measure colouring her voice.

'I'm going to live somewhere else.' The words sound wooden and formal, well-rehearsed too, and Kate wonders how long he's practised them. She is not sure that she wants to know. 'Things don't work anymore, Katie. This is the best for all of us.'

Kate doesn't know if it is because she has taken so many emotional blows already or that it means something else, but she stands there for a moment, unable to feel anything. Well, it feels as if the world has just come to an end, but that doesn't really count, she tells herself. The world hasn't ended and the idea is both irrational and foolish.

Then the anger surfaces and that is something she can do something with. 'You're leaving?' She all but growls the words. There are tears forming in her eyes, but she tries to ignore them. She's angry, she tells herself, not sad.

Her father nods. 'It's for the best,' he repeats. 'This can't go on. It doesn't work anymore.'

'It doesn't work anymore because you're sleeping with other women than mum!' She doesn't know why she shouts that at a volume loud enough that all the neighbours can hear, but she does. 'You're the reason this isn't working anymore and now you're running out on us!'

'Your mother has sent me away,' he corrects.

Good for you. Kate is shocked at her own thoughts and the intensity of them. She feels torn in half, between wanting to kick him out herself, so that they would be rid of the endless fighting and the atmosphere it causes, and wanting him to stay. Because deep down inside she is still that little girl who wants to crawl onto the sofa next to him and be his little Katie, little daddy's girl.

'But you're not exactly protesting now, are you?' She's verbally stronger than she was now and she can hold her own in an argument. Almost two years of doing this on at least a weekly basis has given her more than sufficient experience in that field. 'If you had been, you wouldn't find it so easy to abandon us!'

Something has gotten through to him and he looks at her in shock. 'That's not true!'

Kate takes that for all that it's worth. 'Coward!' she screeches, knowing she sounds exactly like the banshee he compared her mother with once. 'Coward!' She storms past him in a haze of tears and, once in her bedroom, collapses and weeps. She doesn't hear the door slamming shut behind him as he walks out on them once and for all.

Kate doesn't think the rest of the summer is worth remembering at all and she tries not to dwell on it too much later. They sell the house and move to a smaller one. It's a new start in a way and Kate tries to see it as one. She focusses on her school work – her grades are still great due to the ridiculous amount of time she spends on her homework – and does her best not to think of her father. Jacko has clearly moved on; three years on and he's doing good in school, has a girlfriend, Jane, and laughs again. No longer are her ears tortured by the too loud music he listens to.

Her mother too seems better than she was. She's laughing again and that is something Kate hasn't seen for quite some time. Sometimes she wonders if she's the only one who misses something. It's like the missing tooth; she keeps sticking her tongue in the hole. It's annoying and ever present, even when she doesn't want it. She misses the good old days. She doesn't miss the shouting, doesn't miss the icy moods and suffocating silences, but there should be four persons in the house instead of three.

Maybe that's what causes her to pluck up the courage, find out her father's address and take a bus there before she can change her mind. He is family after all and she's always been a daddy's girl. Even when all they did was fight, she always longed for his love and approval and maybe, now that some years have passed and the storm has calmed, they can begin to rebuild that which has been lost. She's not told her mother and Jacko of her intentions, only shared them with Laura and Anna. The former has declared her mad, the latter, whose own parents are divorced, albeit under friendlier circumstances, sympathises. Anna thinks that it's important to try and keep in touch with all of the family and since that is what Kate herself feels, she does as Anna urges her to do.

Her father has obviously done well for himself. He lives in a large and beautiful house with a lot of garden. It's all very impressive and for a moment Kate is tempted to turn tail and leave. Get a grip on yourself, girl. You're almost an adult. You don't do running away.

With that thought firmly cemented in her mind, she marches up the path to the front door and presses the bell. No going back now and in a way that puts her at ease. The choice is made now.

For a moment she fears that he won't be home, but then a child's cheering announces that there are people inside. Barely ten seconds later the door opens and then Kate finds herself face to face with a woman in her early thirties. She looks a bit shy and timid, but she's very pretty. She's tall, slim and has blue eyes and blonde hair, the type that's commonly known as every married woman's nightmare. Kate has the unpleasant feeling that this woman has been her own mother's nightmare.

The main reason for that assumption is the child the woman is holding. Two years old at most, but he has the same green eyes her father has and although his hair is as fair as that of his mother, it's as messy and curly as Kate's own. Her stomach churns and she almost runs there and then.

The woman's question keeps her in place. 'Can I help you?' she asks, friendly, but mildly puzzled as well.

Now is definitely not the time to back out. She's come this far already. 'I'm looking for my father,' she tells the woman. 'John Andrews. Is he home?'

'Your… father.' The woman looks as if some pieces of a puzzle are falling into place and she seems shocked. Did she even know that her lover – husband? – had two children out of his first marriage? It looks like she didn't.

Kate nods. 'Didn't tell you about me, I reckon,' she says sourly. Why is she even surprised? He's made it perfectly clear years ago that he doesn't give a toss about the people he's left behind, or he would have made an effort to stay in touch. He hasn't. 'I'm Kate.'

The woman extends a hand. Kate spots the wedding ring before she takes it and shakes the hand. 'Audrey,' she introduces herself. She seems to be in a state of shock still. 'And my son, Henry.'

The child looks at her, but Kate's grounded in place, too shocked to remember her manners. She has a half-sibling and she didn't even know of his existence. He looks like a happy child – he surely positively beams at her – and is clearly well loved by his parents. At least he has a father, something that can no longer be said about her.

'He's lovely,' she forces herself to say, even if it costs her more than she'd like to admit. But it hurts, it bloody well hurts. It even hurts to breathe. It certainly hurts to look at her half-brother – it feels wrong to call him that when she feels no ties to him whatsoever – and to know that his father, their father, abandoned the family he had in order to marry this vision of physical perfection and have this child to replace the ones he's left. 'I'd like to see my father now.'

It's a lie. She's no longer sure that is what she wants, but she is nothing if not stubborn. She won't run now.

And it's too late for that anyway. 'Kate?' The incredulous voice belongs to the man she hasn't seen in three years, but for a moment Kate is taken farther back, to when she was five and came down to greet him when he came home late. It's the tone of pleasant surprise and she lets it reassure her. Not all is lost. Something surely can be salvaged from the ruins of what used to be.

She looks past his new wife and her child to see him standing in the hallway, casually dressed, like he used to do during weekends. He's unchanged, except for a few grey hairs at his temples and the glasses he didn't have when she last saw him. 'Dad,' she acknowledges. She's become good with words, but they fail her now.

He looks puzzled. 'What are you doing here?'

'I came to see you.' It seems logical to her, but clearly not to him. 'I didn't know you married again,' she offers, trying her hardest not to let that feeling of hurt and betrayal get the better of her; she's come here to reconcile after all.

He at least has the decency to look ashamed. 'I didn't know how to tell you. I wanted to, but…'

'You didn't know how to. That's it?' Despite her best intentions, the anger is welling up and it's strong. The mental pain, that by now is almost physical because of its intensity, doesn't make things easier either. 'So you avoided it. Because that was easier.' Her tone of voice is almost venomous. 'Tell me, did you even tell her about Jacko and me or is that something you didn't know how to tell her either?' The pain is twisting her stomach into knots and squeezes her lungs. Her eyes are burning too, but she won't let him see her cry. Anger is easier, anger she can do. It protects her from getting hurt worse than she is already.

The look on Audrey's face tells her this assessment of the situation is spot on. She didn't know. Kate supposes that makes it easier not to blame her and heap all the blame on her father's doorstep instead. And she knows exactly how to do that; she's had almost five solid years of experience with that.

She looks at the woman who is clearly completely taken aback by this turn of events. Henry is still smiling happily, pulling a necklace his mother is wearing. And that is what stops Kate dead in her tracks. She knows that necklace. For a moment she is six again and she's standing in her parents' bedroom, looking at the necklace she believes to be a present for her mother. It was never meant for her mother at all. Our little secret indeed. It is utterly sickening that she has helped him in cheating on her mother, even if she had done it unknowingly.

Judging by her father's expression when she eventually looks back at him, he knows exactly what she is thinking. 'Katie, I can explain it…' he begins.

Kate doesn't let him finish. The anger has definitely won the fight now. 'Don't you dare!' she snarls. 'I'm not your Katie anymore. That girl is gone, long gone. Good God, how long has this been going on for? How old was she when you decided to throw my mother over for her? Twenty? Younger?' The very thought makes bile rising in her throat and the burning feeling in her eyes increases. How could he? 'How could you do that to us?' She snorts; it's better than crying. 'And to her, come to think of it. Did she ever know you were married? Did she even know you had kids? And I mean before today.'

It's only too clear that Audrey didn't know; she's as pale as a sheet and a small, vengeful part of Kate feels a grim satisfaction for having wracked her life, even for a little bit. It will serve her right for having made such a mess of Kate's.

'Kate…' he tries again.

But she's had enough. If she'll linger here for only a moment longer, she won't be able to hold in the tears she has sworn not to cry where he can see them. And so she pulls herself together for the last time and glares at him. 'Save it,' she snaps. 'I'm not in the mood to hear it. You are despicable! It was a mistake coming here. I'd say, don't bother contacting me, but since you never did made an effort in the past, that's probably unnecessary anyway.'

She flees then. She hears him call her name, but she doesn't turn and she doesn't stop. She doesn't think she would have done, even if she had known then that it would be the last time she'd ever see him.

Many, many years later she'll stand and watch from the shadows as her husband lifts their youngest daughter onto his lap. Thorin has been kept up by all kinds of paperwork in his office and it's close to midnight already, yet Cathy has kept herself awake somehow, not unlike what her mother used to do when she was that age.

'Story?' she begs, wide eyes staring up at her father. It's the kind of look both mother and daughter know that Thorin finds impossible to resist.

Tonight is hardly an exception. 'Very well, but a short one. You should have been in bed hours ago, little princess.' He tries to keep his voice stern, but neither female is fooled. It doesn't help that he wraps a blanket around her and makes her as comfortable as he can, as if he is preparing to tell a particular long story. And there's every chance of that; Thorin loves story-telling and Cathy loves hearing tales. Unless she falls asleep, it's not impossible that they'll be here for another hour. Maybe she should tell them to keep it brief, and many an evening she will do just that, but maybe she can make an exception tonight; the sight that meets her eyes is nothing short of endearing.

'About your adventures,' Cathy requests. She tilts her head. 'Please?'

It's a good thing Thranduil doesn't know how easy it is for Thorin to change his mind, or he'd start making more of an effort. 'What adventure?' the King under the Mountain asks. He's had a lot of adventures and he sure doesn't have the time to tell them all. Most of them aren't appropriate material for a bedtime story either.

'You and amad,' is the request this time. A little romantic in the making and no mistake.

'Very well,' Thorin says again. 'It began, long ago…'

Kate keeps to the shadows, an endeared half-smile on her face. For a moment there she can see herself on her own father's lap. The scene in front of her is utterly familiar and she feels a sharp pang in her chest that she stubbornly refuses to put down to regret for what could have been. Instead she puts it down to longing for something that is long gone and she tells herself not to be so foolish.

Still, what she sees is so familiar that she can't help but feel the hurt all over again. The memories resurface so easily. Cathy is so like she was at that age, a daddy's girl to boot. Thorin is her own personal hero, just like Kate's father had been to her, until she discovered that he was not much of a hero at all. That's something that will never happen with this father and this daughter, she knows, and she smiles as she commits this to memory, to drag up when her own memories are too dreary.

She sends up a quick and silent prayer that Cathy can remain her little daddy's girl forever, no matter how old she gets. It's not like a second chance to her – her childhood is long behind her and no one can change the past – but it's hope, and a new start as well. And that's enough to be getting on with.

Next time I'll try to do something with the kids again, since this was kind of depressing to write. It certainly was intense and I hope I haven't made a mess of it.

As always, I'd really love to hear what you think and if you have a request for this story, don't hesitate to ask. Please review?