It had been sweet, to be called to collect her sleeping form, to carry her like he had when she was a baby - thank god he'd gotten to have that, to have the contrast, the weight and heat difference. It had been a long time since he'd put anyone to bed this way, but he did so reverently, tucking Willa into the safty of his bed. He sat with her for a good ten minutes, just watching her sleep before getting up.
He ends up sleeping on the couch, a throw blanket and a squished pillow the only evidence and by the time she pads out, he's standing barefoot, dressed in the kitchen looking over a couple of library books. Magic, if she pays attention.
Still, he smiles at the sudden thud of a body against him and he shifts, one arm moving to settle around her shoulders and squeeze her gently.
"The Givens Taxi service. Arthur called me. How'd you sleep?" In the wardrobe, being carried, in Dad's bed - dealers choice.
"A lot." She'll definitely notice the magic books, once she's slightly more conscious. Willa has a bit of a headache, is thirsty besides, but she's not moving. She speaks into his shirt.
He hums a note of agreement at 'a lot', but that only meant that she needed it and he knows it's a pretty good place to hide from feeling things.
I love you.
Except for that one. Sure, Willa had said it before to him, here, and he didn't know how often they said it to each other back home but - his heart swells as he curls around her, pressing a kiss into her hair, taking in the smell of her and her shampoo.
"I love you too, kiddo." The hug stays steady and gently firm for a long second. Was she okay? "Yesterday was somethin' for you, huh."
"Yeah." She hugs him a little tighter, warmed and worried at the same time. "But you know I'll always love you, right? Like even when I'm mad at you, even if I try to hurt your feelings, I just--"
She shifts and rests her cheek against him. "I just. Want you to know. I want you to know if I'm mad it's just because you mean a lot. You mean like, everything. --Are those magic books?"
He was sure that maybe he was supposed to know, but the idea didn't square with the Choice that it could be. The worry that it would be viable as a choice. That she'd - replace him wasn't the right word, despite it being the self-loathing's full throated suggestion but - find someone who she felt more emotionally connected to.
He'd never say it, for a whole host of reasons. Some prideful, some common sense trying to reign in the lizard brain, all improper to admit or talk about. Off hand settling up her arm so that he was fully hugging her, he can't help but huff at the question jammed up against such a endearing and heart twisting statement.
"I might need remindin' now and then. Got a lotta catchin' up to do on getting to tell you that I love you. And yes, those are magic books... There's a few sunflowers out on the beach now too."
Guilt squeezes her stomach alongside anxiety. "I just. I had to say. Because..."
Anxiety is winning. "When you sent me home from Detroit I kind of-- I said some things, and did some things, and I just... It wasn't because I don't love you. It really wasn't."
He can't stop his hand from rubbing up and down her shoulders a little, the gesture short in favor of his thumb going softly instead, other hand coming up to hug her head against his chest. Of course something had happened, was bothering her. She'd been too curt about talking about it before and how must it look for her. She says something she feels shitty about to her dad just before leaving and coming to a man that barely knew her the way her Dad back home did.
"I got no doubts he knows, darlin'," he starts softly. "Sometimes people say or do somethin' ugly because they're hurtin' and we've talked enough about things for me to get a basic understandin' about what's goin' on. You bein' mad won't mean I think you don't love me. Just means your mad and if a daughter isn't mad at her daddy sometime, I'm probably doin' somethin' wrong... But if you happen to decide to visit home, you might make an old man's day, tellin' him that."
She wraps both arms around Raylan and tries not to smile at the way he pulls her head against him. It's familiar. Instinctive, apparently. Makes here-Dad and there-Dad a little more the same person.
"We talk. You and me, I mean, more than me and mom ever do. You actually... hear me. You don't always listen," that said with long-suffering patience, "but you pay attention."
"Good," he says. "I don't ever want you feelin' unheard." He knew how much it sucked and how demoralizing it could be for kids. He also knew that kids wanted to be heard, needed to engage and learn how to People, and it was his job to help that along.
".. and I know how your mom can be about things. I want you to feel safe in talkin' to me, darlin'. No matter what it is you got to say."
He couldn't help but replay all the advice he'd gotten - all of Malcolm's gentle insinuations that Raylan would have to do some radical kind of changing to get her to trust him enough to talk, all Maggie's sweet concern that if he didn't give her a reason by being open himself, that he was going to damn things, Neal's advice to do what felt right for them, Fitz's subtle point about acceptance and Raylan having to worry about boys and girls with his maturing daughter...
"I don't... know." She wants to be definitive, confident, make it obvious she can handle herself. She doesn't think she can be any of that. "I messed up. With Arthur. He can't see and I didn't even think about it when he showed up and had no idea what was going on, and I didn't make it any better because I didn't think to actually like, tell him. So he ended up holding a gun on Kikimora because he was trying to protect me and didn't know she was an inmate until I got angry with him for pointing the gun at her."
"While I appreciate his instinct to protect, pointin' a gun at a problem ain't the first way to handle things. But that ain't your fault, and the mistunderstandin' that comes from you not thinkin' about his disadvantage is a natural one, darlin'. Somethin' to note for next time. Somethin' to do better next time - that's what matters."
Mitigation of the incoming damage. "You'll get better with practice. That's all it takes, some practice and things that don't quite go to your plan."
Willa wipes hastily under her eyes, trying to preempt any tears. "It had the safety on. Arthur's gun. He hadn't taken it off yet. On purpose, not by accident."
"I'd rather you learn with me than do it behind my back with wizards I don't know." What an odd thing to be saying.
"It's scary, bein' on that end of a weapon, safety or not. Course I'm glad the safety was on, but I also know that having one pointed at you isn't any fun." He steps over and wraps an arm around her shoulders. "It's okay to feel that, honey. Though I'm glad to know you've got such confidence in his firearm skills. "
He doesn't draw back. Willa's weight on him was a soft comfort, a reminder of the reality of her being here and why he was here, a reminder of why his heart ached when he looked up towards the bedroom she was sleeping in.
".. You're gonna learn that men can have.. terrible sides of them. Terrible possibilities, we get worked the wrong way.. And when its about someone we love, or in the name of protection.. all bets are off. I know it can be intense. But bein' willing to sacrifice anythin' for the love of someone is."
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He ends up sleeping on the couch, a throw blanket and a squished pillow the only evidence and by the time she pads out, he's standing barefoot, dressed in the kitchen looking over a couple of library books. Magic, if she pays attention.
Still, he smiles at the sudden thud of a body against him and he shifts, one arm moving to settle around her shoulders and squeeze her gently.
"The Givens Taxi service. Arthur called me. How'd you sleep?" In the wardrobe, being carried, in Dad's bed - dealers choice.
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"I love you."
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I love you.
Except for that one. Sure, Willa had said it before to him, here, and he didn't know how often they said it to each other back home but - his heart swells as he curls around her, pressing a kiss into her hair, taking in the smell of her and her shampoo.
"I love you too, kiddo." The hug stays steady and gently firm for a long second. Was she okay? "Yesterday was somethin' for you, huh."
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She shifts and rests her cheek against him. "I just. Want you to know. I want you to know if I'm mad it's just because you mean a lot. You mean like, everything. --Are those magic books?"
Look this is important but she's still fifteen.
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He'd never say it, for a whole host of reasons. Some prideful, some common sense trying to reign in the lizard brain, all improper to admit or talk about. Off hand settling up her arm so that he was fully hugging her, he can't help but huff at the question jammed up against such a endearing and heart twisting statement.
"I might need remindin' now and then. Got a lotta catchin' up to do on getting to tell you that I love you. And yes, those are magic books... There's a few sunflowers out on the beach now too."
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Guilt squeezes her stomach alongside anxiety. "I just. I had to say. Because..."
Anxiety is winning. "When you sent me home from Detroit I kind of-- I said some things, and did some things, and I just... It wasn't because I don't love you. It really wasn't."
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"I got no doubts he knows, darlin'," he starts softly. "Sometimes people say or do somethin' ugly because they're hurtin' and we've talked enough about things for me to get a basic understandin' about what's goin' on. You bein' mad won't mean I think you don't love me. Just means your mad and if a daughter isn't mad at her daddy sometime, I'm probably doin' somethin' wrong... But if you happen to decide to visit home, you might make an old man's day, tellin' him that."
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"We talk. You and me, I mean, more than me and mom ever do. You actually... hear me. You don't always listen," that said with long-suffering patience, "but you pay attention."
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".. and I know how your mom can be about things. I want you to feel safe in talkin' to me, darlin'. No matter what it is you got to say."
He couldn't help but replay all the advice he'd gotten - all of Malcolm's gentle insinuations that Raylan would have to do some radical kind of changing to get her to trust him enough to talk, all Maggie's sweet concern that if he didn't give her a reason by being open himself, that he was going to damn things, Neal's advice to do what felt right for them, Fitz's subtle point about acceptance and Raylan having to worry about boys and girls with his maturing daughter...
Raylan is trying, he swears.
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"That's what Kikimora wanted." It's muffled, but audible. "When she was smashing things. That's all she wanted."
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"Lookit you already doin' wardenin' work," he says quietly. "How do you feel about that?"
He didn't elaborate only because he didn't want to effect her answer. He wanted that undiluted by his own ideas or points of view.
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Mitigation of the incoming damage. "You'll get better with practice. That's all it takes, some practice and things that don't quite go to your plan."
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"That's what Arthur said."
She reaches out to turn a page in the magic book, looking up at him first to make sure she's not messing up anything.
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He nods in encouragement at her, shifting a little and leaning one hand to open the book up to her.
"You gonna learn with me?"
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Willa wipes hastily under her eyes, trying to preempt any tears. "It had the safety on. Arthur's gun. He hadn't taken it off yet. On purpose, not by accident."
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"It's scary, bein' on that end of a weapon, safety or not. Course I'm glad the safety was on, but I also know that having one pointed at you isn't any fun." He steps over and wraps an arm around her shoulders. "It's okay to feel that, honey. Though I'm glad to know you've got such confidence in his firearm skills. "
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".. You're gonna learn that men can have.. terrible sides of them. Terrible possibilities, we get worked the wrong way.. And when its about someone we love, or in the name of protection.. all bets are off. I know it can be intense. But bein' willing to sacrifice anythin' for the love of someone is."