Who: Fiona Collins and Aaron Daniels When: Afternoon, Dec 31st (slightly backdated) Where: The playground at the park What: Supervised visit Rating: PG-13 for language Status: Finally complete!
For being New Year’s Eve, it was a beautiful day out, and Fiona couldn’t justify keeping Lian indoors. She had the day off, and her father was scarce, so for most of the morning, it was just the two of them. After she’d spoken with Kelly, she took a chance on texting Aaron. She could have called; it might have been more personal, or at least sounded friendlier, but anytime she thought about doing so, she froze up. So a text it was.
Backfiring, of course, was the order of the day. From the terse first reply, she couldn’t tell anything about his mood, so now, as she watched Lian run pell-mell across the playground at one end of the park, she didn’t know what to expect when he arrived. It was easier to not anticipate anything at all. So she took a seat on the bench nearby, one foot on the seat so she could wrap her fingers around her knee to keep from fidgeting. Lian, for her part, was blissfully unaware of any tension in her mother and was making a godawful racket as she ran from slide to stairs and slide again. A few other parents had slanted Fiona a dry look for the noise, but she pointedly ignored them. Kids could be kids outside; this wasn’t a fucking library. Lian was happy, and that’s what mattered.
Aaron didn’t know how he felt about almost anything right now and that was troubling - one thing that could usually be said for him was that he felt his emotions strongly and, generally speaking, could articulate them to you precisely (if at annoying length). Right now, just the thought of Lian made him smile but that was the sole thing he could pick out of the mess last Saturday had made of his feelings. Which culminated in an unfortunate amount of smoking and scribbling random thoughts in his notebook. His lyrics rarely ventured into confessional territory but if this kept up who knew?
As hurt and confused and uncomfortable as this all left him, Aaron couldn’t bring himself to refuse an afternoon with his daughter. And, well, whatever uncertainty remained about Fiona’s place in his life (and heart, really), it couldn’t be denied that, wherever that place was, she had one.
Sans wings, Aaron made his way down to the park, hands in his pockets, raggedy and well-loved t-shirt loose on his frame as he nodded to different people here and there. His life wasn’t here anymore, but it had been once. (Maybe would be again, some day.) When he caught sight of Fiona, his stomach twisted unsettlingly and he couldn’t help but roll his eyes at himself. This wasn’t him. Except that now it was. So with an internal sigh, he stepped up next to her and summoned a subdued smile.
“Hey.”
Fiona had been mired so deeply in her thoughts that she startled slightly at the footstep, but when she looked up, she only had a small, lopsided smile of her own, an uneven curve of her lips. “Hey.” Dropping her tense grip from her knee, she moved her foot from the bench to rest both feet on the ground. “I’m glad you came over.” There was no question that he would since he agreed; Fiona knew he didn’t renege on plans without saying anything. And she was glad; one emotion tangled up among guilt, intense sadness, anxiety, and more. The week had been the worst she’d had in a long time. “No wings?” she asked, with a tilt of her head, a skittering glance. It seemed unusual, as he loved his wings.
At the same moment, Lian caught sight of him and ran over with a running commentary of daddy, daddy, but all she did was climb over him and give him a big, throat-strangling hug, and then promptly climb back down to answer the siren call of the slide, curls flying every which direction.
“Yeah-” was about all Aaron could get out of his mouth before he had an armful of Lian, a startled but happy laugh escaping his throat as he wrapped his arms around her in a brief hug. There and gone just as quick, his daughter’s hug attack left him groping for his train of thought. He cleared his throat and gestured to his clothing, as worse for the wear as they always were. Not gorgeous, but passable and certainly par for the course in the life of a struggling musician.
“Don’t have many shirts that work with the wings anymore. And everywhere I go they keep telling me I need a shirt,” he responded, hooking his hands behind his head, amusement in his voice.
“I’ve never known that to give you pause before,” Fiona observed, warmed a little by the laugh. It came so effortlessly to him; she felt a pang of jealousy. She had to smile as Lian assaulted him and then left again; it would look like she never took their daughter outside, the way she was acting now. Her gaze returned to the shirt. She remembered it; she even had a vague memory of wearing it once, and the stray thought threatened to bring a small blush to her face. Instead, she commented, “I’m surprised you didn’t tell them to go fuck themselves, as is usually par for the course.” She had said it low, amused, but knowing that most of the other patrons of the park wouldn’t necessarily appreciate the language around their little darlings.
“Yeah, but they won’t let me in to where the food is if I’m not wearing a shirt and these days I can’t just beat the shit out of them to change their mind.”
Not that he wasn’t itching to get into a fight because he actually was - it seemed to be his natural reaction when his emotions were being particularly troubling or confusing - but there was something to be said for at least wearing the facade of a responsible adult. He’d managed it for almost a solid five years, which was an impressive record for him. One corner of his lip tugged up into a smirk and his gaze followed in the same direction, glancing at her out of the corner of his eyes.
“Quite a few people in this town could benefit from having the shit beat out of them,” Fiona murmured, dryly. She caught this smirk and this time a bit of color did creep into her cheeks, but her lips only twitched faintly, trying not to give in to that memory. She fidgeted, and brought her knee up again, unconsciously looping her fingers around her leg once more. “You’d think around here they’d be more understanding.” She thought about the years touring, how she’d gotten used to photos popping up of him without wings, so much that when he’d come over a week ago, she’d felt actual relief to see them again.
“I’m sorry that you have to give them up to tour,” she added, giving voice to her thoughts. “At first, it felt so strange seeing pictures of you without them, and then now, it seems stranger to see you with them again.”
“I managed to have them at a few shows,” Aaron confessed, tilting his head back to stare up into the sky - which was more home to him than this town was, as far as he was concerned. “Smaller venues, early on, because it’s a cool gimmick, right? Frontman with big fucking wings stomping around stage and screaming obscenities, riling up the crowd, and they were all symbolic and shit, which was kinda the best part, but-” A shrug lifted his shoulders. “The more attention you get, the less you can do that shit, I guess. Because someone’s bound to realize that they’re not some cool prop, that they’re real wings, and I’m a fucking freak.”
People thinking him a freak had never been a problem - weirdo, troublemaker, radical, freak, they were all labels that he wore proudly - but this wasn’t just about him and it wasn’t safe. Years ago, that wouldn’t have mattered to him, being the sort of “damn the consequences” person that he was, but life had changed him at least enough to temper that.
“You’re not a freak.” She said the words familiarly, like she’d said them before, and likely she had. Early on, when she’d been just an aspiring student and he was little more than a hoodlum, she’d probably said it a dozen times just like that. Sometimes, it had been dismissive, and other times, affectionate. And just like before, she followed it with, “An asshole, maybe, but not a freak.” After all, then they would all be that way. She didn’t know anyone else who could turn into metal, or invisible. It wasn’t big wings that she had to conceal, but it was sometimes just as troublesome.
“I would have liked to see that, though,” she admitted, a bit of honesty. “It must have been a great show.” She’d just never been brave enough to take the chance, even when his band had toured close enough to where she was. And it was a huge shame, a regret, because she knew that seeing him on stage would have been amazing.
“I’m an asshole and a freak,” Aaron corrected absently, an index finger in the air in a vague almost lecturing gesture. “Among other things. It’s good for my street cred.”
He didn’t bother to ask her why she didn’t come to any of his shows because he knew better than asking questions he didn’t want answered. If the answer was what he imagined, it would only make the both of them feel worse. And there was a fragile peace here right now that he didn’t want to shatter, even if eventually it had to break. That was later though. How much later, he didn’t know. So instead he murmured his agreement, head still hanging back over the bench, curls bouncing as he nodded awkwardly. “But yeah, it was pretty great.”
“I’m….” Fiona caught herself; she had been about to say I’m sorry, again, even knowing that it wouldn’t help and he didn’t want it, not about his need to hide his wings, and not about anything else. She floundered for something to replace it, wishing she could talk to him like they used to, all easy banter and innuendo and affection, but it was as remote as the goddamn moon right then. Faced with what she had truly lost, it was humbling. “Maybe you could do it again, just once or twice,” she pointed out, trying to inject humor back into the words. “Like a throwback. People like that.” She liked that. The problem was that she liked everything about him and now it felt like the wrong thing to point out, too personal, too close.
Aaron caught the beginning of that sentence, the abandoned I’m, and didn’t want to know what she was, found himself glad that she didn’t complete her sentence. It wasn’t his business anymore. She’d seen to that and he could continue the trend. In the intervening week since their first meeting, he’d convinced himself to take a step back, pulling back that easy affection he’d bestowed even during the end of his visit. His tactile nature made it more of a struggle than it had any right to be, considering everything that had transpired, but he remained resolute. For now anyway.
“I’ve thought about it. Opening and closing shows, something like that. It’ll wait until we get our own tour though. Then it’ll be a real throwback.” He shifted, lifting his head again, and curled one leg up under the other. “Long-time fans fucking eat that shit up. Like ‘oh I was there the first time they did this how cool am I.’”
Jesus, it felt like she was interviewing a stranger. Fiona let her eyes drift back over to watch Lian, savoring that small spark of life that watching her daughter always brought to her. A jolt of caffeine to her system, whenever she hurt too much. Still, she smiled at the comment, knowing he was right about the fans. “I guess none of us really old-timers can boast, since it will be all ‘oh, those are real’, which wouldn’t work out for you.” She had almost said, I touched those wings, but it was still too personal.
“Aaron…” She hadn’t wanted to have a personal conversation at the park, but if not right at that moment, Fiona had no clue when it might happen. It had been a week, a bare flicker of time and certainly not long enough to process everything, but she didn’t want to go through this for months, years, not again. The sick churning in her stomach was so familiar and she hated it, hated every moment of it. “I guess this really isn’t the best place, but….if I….we….could do anything, what would you want from Lian and I….being in your life?” Disjointed, just like her thoughts, but she didn’t know how to articulate what she was trying to say. She knew, just knew she was going to fuck it up, and offend him again, and ruin shit, but she had to at least try and come across as sincere as she felt. She’d screwed their lives up. She’d made everything complicated. And he had a whole life without them in it, and she needed to know if he wanted to bridge that gap, at all.
His mind, already swirling with snarky remarks about how the really old-timers would probably just sound crazy, stopped short when Fiona transitioned into her new train of thought. Aaron mentally congratulated himself on not scoffing. “Definitely not the best place,” Aaron agreed, but it was without heat or chastisement, simply acknowledgement. The topic couldn’t be avoided indefinitely, after all, and he could at least be grateful that he was outside instead of sitting on a couch in some small room, watching his entire life change in the space of a few seconds. “But I don’t really know what the fuck you’re trying to get at with your question.”
(What would you want from Lian and I being in your life?, like he was interviewing for a fucking summer internship, What would you like to get out of this opportunity? He almost laughed at the thought.)
Her heart sank. “No, you’re right….not the best place,” she said, waving it off with a jerky motion of her hand. “Don’t…I mean, just forget about it.” Although she managed to sound casual, or so she hoped, she had to look out over the playground, not at him. He just came here to see his daughter, and you’re fucking asking him if he wants you around, she mentally derided herself. It wasn’t even completely what she was asking, but he was right about that too. What was she getting at? Everyone, like Kelly, kept foisting this advice off on her to move forward but the truth was, she just didn’t know how. The anger swirling was too intense, and she withered under it like a scrap of paper held against a flame.
Lian came running back up, holding a leaf. In a little ritual, she gave it to Fiona with explicit, if unintelligible, instructions and Fiona just nodded. The leaf was placed next to what looked like a small, careful assortment beside her on the bench, consisting of a rock, another leaf, a seedpod, and some string. Before she added the other leaf, it had looked like motley junk. Well, it still looked that way, but now its purpose was clear. Satisfied, the toddler went back to exploring around the playground. “She does that,” she found herself saying, because he wouldn’t know, would he? He didn’t know Lian’s little quirks, not yet. “Saves things. Nothing big. I think all kids do it.” She had no clue, but it sounded good.
“I’m not saying we can’t talk about it here,” Aaron reassured, firmly ignoring the change in topic she initiated with Lian’s collection (even if learning more about the little girl’s habits prompted a faint smile) and pinned her with an intent stare. “What I’m saying is…” An exhale of breath huffed softly while he attempted to organize his mind enough to hopefully be more coherent than she had been. Despite the mental disarray, his tone was quiet. Calm. “What do you want out of this? Why tell me everything three years after the fact? Like there’s gotta be some kinda fucking reasoning here, y’know? I can’t see it and I don’t understand and I definitely don’t get your question.”
Fiona rubbed her hand over her forehead, feeling the persistent ache there. It never really went away. “Yea, I don’t get it either,” she admitted, although she still didn’t look at him. “I’m….a cop, I don’t do well trying to talk about how I feel about….anything.” An excuse, no more; being a cop had little to do with it; it was just her. She’d always been shit at it. “Brutal honesty? There’s a part of me that wishes we could just ignore that and not talk about why it took me three years, and pretend that we can pick up again. Because….I don’t want to talk about it, and I think I never will want to, but that’s not the right answer. I like the way you thought of me before all of this. I wish I still had that, but I don’t, and I think….I won’t.” And that, by itself, was the most honest thing she could say. Before she’d left, he had believed so much in her, that she was a good person and had it all together. She gave him the uncomplicated world that he wanted. If he really knew her, she was afraid that would all change. As if it hasn’t already.
There were a lot of people at the park, but none were close enough to overhear, and Fiona could see that no attention was directed their way. And yet she felt exposed, like she held up a sign that said does not have her shit together like she pretends for all to see. “I….was depressed,” she finally said, little more than a low comment, her voice barely carrying over. “When I left Woodsbridge. It was….bad. My mother and I, we argued again and she said the same shit, about how I needed to accept being heartless, like I was still made of fucking tin, and….it made me realize how bad it was. I thought I’d be okay if I left town, left the other Tales, that it was the root of it. And….it wasn’t. I carried it with me. It didn’t just go away, like I hoped.”
“Things like that rarely do,” Aaron answered, an almost sage quality to his words, familiar with the unfortunate persistence of problems, mental or otherwise. “There's nothing wrong with struggling. I don't know why you think you have to be perfect for people to think fondly of you. Fuck perfection. You're talking to the most flawed motherfucker in this whole god damn town, S- Fiona. If there were only one person here who wouldn't have thought less of you, it would’ve been me.” There was something mournful in the way he spoke; silent regrets seeping into his words. Things could have been different if she had trusted him. Things could have been different if he had pressed the issue long ago. But you couldn't change the past. All you could do was understand it. Figure out how to walk away from it with as little damage as possible.
“For fuck’s sake, you can call me Skates,” she replied, ducking her head as she did so. “You can’t just….figure everything out by looking at me, you know? I didn’t mind it….I liked it too much.” She still wouldn’t look at him, eyes still on people across the way, on Lian, wary as if anyone there cared. “And it’s not about being perfect. I would have accepted halfway decent, to be honest. I would have been satisfied with going to bed and wanting to wake up in the morning.” That had been the worst, the sleeping, the lethargy and the desire to stay unconscious as much as possible. “Maybe you are flawed, Aaron, but you wear it, you own it. No one makes you feel less without your permission. Except me, I suppose,” she admitted, closing her eyes a moment. “This wasn’t me feeling like I was ugly, or I’d let myself go, or that everything wasn’t amazing rainbows twenty-four seven.” She’d drawn her knee up further, to her chest, wrapping her arms completely around her leg. “Everything was painful. Everything. Getting up, getting dressed. Eating. Talking. Because I was in denial about it, felt like I couldn’t possibly be feeling any of that because I’m not supposed to feel, right? That’s the way the story goes.”
Sighing, she rested her forehead against her knee, taking her eyes off her daughter for a moment. “You were the only thing that made me happy. And I couldn’t let that be all, because you’re a person, not a life support system, and I wasn’t going to make you responsible for my life. So I left to deal with this. And I found out about Lian after I got to the city. And for a little while, I was so happy again. It was like a drug. Having her was like a drug. Having her made everything else not hurt. But you see the problem, right?” She finally looked over, her eyes bleak. “I was turning her into the same thing I had done with you. Made her my life support system. That’s not fair.”
Staring forward, Aaron bit his tongue because, as much as he was prone to awful honesty, anything and everything that sprung to mind first was hurtful. Unkind. Maybe (probably) unfair. He didn’t want this conversation to devolve into something destructive, even if - somehow - most of the sentiments she shared dragged anger to the surface of his thoughts. Hurting her wasn’t the point of this exercise. (But so many words out of her mouth tore at him and it was a struggle to not return the favor.)
Sighing softly, he managed to keep his tone even when he finally replied, not entirely warm but much kinder than his natural inclination. “I know how depression works, Fee. It’s shitty and painful and not a passing case of the blues and I’m sorry that you’ve been dealing with it alone.” But I would have been there for you if you had just told me he didn’t say. It seemed an almost cruel thing to share. Another what-if to add to the mounting pile. Instead, he revised the thought, because making sure she knew that she had someone in her corner seemed more important than grinding that axe. “But you know... I’m here now. To listen. To sit with in silence. Anything. Whatever. I know… or I imagine it makes you feel like less, but you’re not.” A boatload of things remained unaddressed - the nickname, how clear it was that she didn’t know him as well as she had thought (or as well as he had hoped), first and foremost - but they could stay that way.
Finally, his statue impersonation ceased and he looked over at her, face grim. “And you have a fucking heart, fuck all those assholes who ever told you otherwise. Fuck. Them. They don’t know shit.”
They knew something, she wanted to say, but she didn’t. He was being a lot more fair to her than she deserved, that was the reason. Fiona didn’t know why, but she had expected--wanted--him to lash out at her again. No, she knew why. Because what she had told him was a bullshit excuse for hiding something for three years. She had not lied; everything she’d said was true and it was still a poor, poor excuse, and she knew it. “I know they’re wrong,” she finally said, after pressing her lips together tightly to keep all the other words inside. Swallowed them down deep where they couldn’t come out. “It would be better if they were right, though.” Jesus, would it be better. This past week, she’d wanted to find the huntsman and have him carve her fucking princess-acting heart out and then burn it for good measure. Yea, she had one, she knew that.
“Look,” she managed, tucking her hair unevenly behind her ears, “It’s….I didn’t tell you because I wanted to give you excuses. It’s just….the reason. It doesn’t make it right, but at least you know. Things were easier with Lian, felt better, but they were also worse, and I didn’t know what I was doing. It’s just that it took me an absurdly long time to admit that and come back here and…..and all this. The things that make me feel lesser aren’t in my head, they are the decisions I made, and….I made them.” She let out a ragged breath. “I know you don’t want to hear it, but I’m still sorry.” Saying it didn’t feel any better either, although she meant it. She had no idea why people thought it was cathartic.
“Stop that,” Aaron began with a directive in his best 'I am a hardened criminal’ voice, eyes fixed on her, frown etched onto his face, somewhere between concerned and angry. “It wouldn't be fucking better, Jesus fucking Christ. I know you're going through something here but just- no. Having a heart is a good, painful thing. And saying sorry won't make things better, no matter how many times you say it. I get that you have regrets - hell, I have a shit ton - and I get that it's sincere but I can't accept your apology.” He paused and, after a moment of consideration, he added “Not yet.” Because he knew he eventually would. This was a now problem. This was a ‘fades-with-time’ problem. And he cared enough about Fiona to know that one day this would all be so much water under the bridge, but for now-
“You took something from me that I can't ever get back - taking care of you when you were pregnant, holding my newborn daughter, watching her take her first steps. You had every right to keep it to yourself, that was your decision, but I'm not fucking okay with it.” It had surprised him to realize how much he regretted missing those things. In the course of his life, Aaron hadn’t ever expected to want anything like that, a pregnant girlfriend, his own little family. He tried to ignore the pang in his chest when he thought about it, running fingers through his curls.
Not trusting herself to speak, Fiona only nodded. He was right about all of it, and about not accepting her apology--not yet, so she could hold onto those words---and about what she had taken. And how much better it would have been if he’d been there, if he had taken care of her, and Lian, during those early years. How much better everything would have been.
Just like that, any argument was over, although Fiona had precious little to argue with even had she wanted to. She’d told him the one thing she had kept to herself about those years, and now he knew. No more apologies remained. Neither of them were okay with it, with any of it.
Never. She feared that he might forgive her someday but they’d never get over that, never absolve the wound that it left behind because she couldn’t give him those years back. She would have to find a way to live with it. At least now, Lian had him and she knew him, and she wouldn’t have to grow up with that uncertainty.
The little girl in question came bounding back over, still amazingly full of energy for having run that long. Fiona knew from experience that Lian would crash soon, and crash hard, probably sleeping all the way back home. But for now, she crawled up on Aaron’s lap, ignoring her mother at the moment, and begged for a drink. “Here,” Fiona said, quietly, fishing a somewhat beat-up juice box from the bag at her feet, and handing it over.
There was so much more here that Aaron wanted to explore, like that exploration could soothe that persistent ache in his chest. It didn’t escape his notice that she had entirely side-stepped the question of what she was hoping to get out of this. Granted, that had been in order to share something important, but he made mental note of it anyway. A question to return to later, when there weren’t little ears around. For now, he squeezed his daughter in a tight hug as a greeting while she accepted her drink from Fiona.
“Hey Blueberry,” Aaron murmured, propping his chin up on Lian’s head, already more exhausted than he had any right to be. His fingers drummed against the juice box in her little hands as he smiled at her. “Can you share with me?”
“Yes,” Lian answered promptly, a small lisp to the word. She held the straw up to his mouth rather than relinquish it into his grasp, carefully positioning it with her hands so he could take a sip. Fiona watched her, a little critically, noting the color in her cheeks and how fast her breath came, looking for signs that she was getting worn down. They’d been there for a little bit now, and Lian was still on the small side as it was.
Erring on the side of caution, Fiona told her, “OKay, five more minutes and then we are heading home.” Renewed with the threat of a time limit, Lian sucked noisily on the drink and then handed it off to Aaron so she could scoot back off his lap and run back to the other kids. “She can’t really tell time,” Fiona said to him, once Lian was out of earshot. “It’s more like a prep for the inevitable dragging away and wailing. Could be five, could be twenty.” She kept wanting to tell him about all the little habits and quirks that Lian had, but she also wanted him to learn them. And she knew that whatever relationship he and his daughter had, it would be different than what she had with Lian. Better to let them figure some of it out on their own.
Aaron shook the juice box, some liquid still splashing around inside, and set it off to his right. The little insights Fiona shared found a quietly receptive audience in Aaron who greeted them with some mixture of enthusiasm and envy. A nod was his only outward response, eyes trained on Lian. There was still so much for him to learn and do and he didn't know how he fit into the picture just yet. Moments like these he felt so heavily invested but like an intruder at the same time. This wasn't his life. It was theirs, Fiona's and Lian’s.
“So fucking cute,” he murmured as if to himself, an almost amused smile tugging at one corner of his mouth. His next words carried a little further. “I love her so much already. How is that possible?”
Although Fiona didn’t smile, there was worn affection in her tone as she said, “I think it’s because she’s perfect. I don’t really care if I’m biased. She’s just very easy to care about.” Rubbing at her face, she added, “Jesus, remind me that I said that the next time she has a tantrum about not taking a nap or something.” Dropping her hands again, she added, quieter, “It’s because she’s yours, though, that’s why. It’s...different. You feel like you don’t know her, but you do, because she’s got a lot of pieces of you.” She didn’t say it was partly the same reason she loved watching Lian do anything, because it was like having a part of Aaron in her life all the time. Maybe she would tell him that, eventually. But for right now, this was about his connection with Lian.
Another distracted nod, this one accompanied by a crooked smile. “Well, obviously she’s perfect. I don’t see how should could be anything else. ” There was some of him in there - those little curls being the most obvious - but somehow he kept seeing Fiona reflected in her.
Aaron wanted to stay longer. To linger until Lian tired herself out and endure the apparently inevitable wailing. To walk them home like this was his life. To pretend like this was his little family. (Maybe it was, in the most general sense, but not in all the ways that counted.) He didn't know how he fit in here though, where Fiona wanted to slot him, and the fact remained that he had a very real, very noisy life outside of his newfound daughter, one that had commanded his attention completely for the last three years and then some. There would be a way to blend the two, surprise parenthood and his career, he was sure of it, given some time and thought. But it probably wouldn’t be achieved today in this park.
“Hey. Um, thank you-” He offered, hand reaching over to pat Fiona’s knee, like touching her was an automatic response.
Fiona didn’t know what he was thanking her for, but she didn’t want to ask and sound like she dismissed the sentiment, or the touch. So she only smiled, a brief motion, before she added, carefully, “You know, you can see her anytime you want. Really….outside of work, I’m always around, or….or you can take her to see Kelly if you want….whatever works for you.” She wanted to walk this line so gingerly, to make sure that he knew he could figure out time with Lian without stress, but at the same time not imply that he needed to change everything around to accommodate them. Kelly had told her she should set boundaries if that made her feel better, but Fiona didn’t know where to start with that. If Aaron wanted to see his daughter, she would make that happen. Lian was still young enough that she could adjust, even though Fiona tried to give her structure where she could. Aaron would be back on the road in anywhere from a few weeks to a few months, however long it took them to record the album. If this was the window that they had, Fiona knew she’d need to be as flexible as possible.
His fingers squeezed gently at her knee before his hand fell away and he finally looked back over at her, subdued smile on his lips. It wasn’t perfect - this situation was so fucking far from perfect that it almost wrapped back around to being perfect, or at least fitting for their track record together. And what a sad statement that was. She was trying though, a little late but she was trying, and Aaron wasn’t the type ignore honest efforts. (Even if he’d almost involuntarily raised an eyebrow at the suggestion of taking her to see Kelly.) He didn’t know how this was supposed to work though, what he was supposed to say, how they were supposed to portion out time. Despite everything, he sometimes couldn’t help feeling like Lian was Fiona’s daughter, while he had a tenuous at best claim to parenthood here.
“Thanks. Again. For, I don’t know, working with me on this, I guess.” His arms draped over the back of the bench as he returned his attention out to the playground. “I’ll- we’ll figure it out.”
The simple touch overwhelmed her so much that Fiona was surprised that she didn’t fall apart right there. Ridiculous, really, how much it meant, enough that she had to chide herself for being foolish about it. Nodding, just a tiny bit, Fiona ventured, “I should be thanking you for working with me.” There was no slight on his being responsible about it, but she knew full well that this upended so much for him, for the path he’d been studiously on. And, she realized, with a flash of insight, it impacted why she felt as badly as she did.
“Look, I….I want to say something.” She had a hard time keeping her gaze up, but this was important. “This isn’t really about the past, this is about right now, because I’m not trying to give you another excuse. But I wanted to tell you that I was...I am really proud of what you’ve accomplished with the band, from where you were four years ago. And I know that this, finding out about Lian, impacts that and I don’t want it to….undermine what you’ve been able to do. So we….I will do anything I can to make sure that we can work that out, that this doesn’t keep you from that.”
I am really proud of what you’ve accomplished with the band
Aaron felt like an idiot, because he hadn’t known approval would hit him that hard. (And hers, he thought, would forever affect him more than anyone else, because she had always believed in him, even when he was hardly doing more than causing trouble.) Making her proud genuinely meant something. His throat felt a little tight at the thought. So he simply nodded through it, gaze wandering from her face where it had lingered while spoke. His teeth bit into his lip hard, hard enough to hurt, while he pieced together a response. He looked back to her.
“Thanks. You-” He shook his head, a huff of laughter escaping. His hand found hers and squeezed briefly before letting go, but he couldn’t quite meet her eyes as he continued. “You really don’t know how much that means, you being proud of me, so thanks.”
Another look out toward the playground and he stood. “I think I have a Blueberry to chase around the park though, before she’s too tired.” His easy crooked smile was back in place as if it had never left while he gathered up his curls into a ponytail - the ones that would stay anyway, a few ringlets framing his face.
Fiona just nodded, feeling her heart twinge again at his enthusiasm for spending time with their daughter. Lian was overjoyed when he joined her, and the two chased each other around. Maybe this could work, Fiona found herself hoping.