She's his Beth. She's Slim. She's Marie. She's flight attendant, bounty hunter, pilot, angel, siren, partner in crime, absolute fucking love of his life... and again, he gets this rush of sadness where he's glad as hell she's too close to him to really look into his eyes
(Julia was always talking about you. Your eyes are different colors. I remember her saying that. Said you'd get a strange feeling if you keep looking straight into his eyes.)
which are nothing like perfect and he suddenly knows in his heart that no matter what -- no matter how hard he tries to justify things or rationalize them, no matter what words he uses -- this baby isn't his. Beth has a connection with her he can't have, he won't have, he can't know. The part of him used to being hard and apathetic says that figures; they always leave you. They always leave you in the end, so get ready for that now. Let go, back off: time for those shields to go up because if you don't, you'll get hurt all over again.
That part doesn't have very much faith.
He doesn't really like that part of himself, but it's come in handy time and again. But there's this other part of him that he had buried for a really, really long time. In fact, it didn't even show itself until maybe a year, year and a half ago and that's the part that goes hey, I'm not that big a loser. I'm worth hanging around for. I can do this thing. I can make some kind of a difference. I can help raise this little girl. I can make sure she knows she's both loved and wanted.
The problem is the other part -- the first part -- looks at it real skeptically and says yeah, right.
"On second thought, Beth, no. I'm not okay. I'm not okay at all." Closing his eyes
(I will not fucking cry: bury that shit, pal)
he takes a deep breath, and another, and another. He swallows back the stupid fucking lump in his throat and breathes in again once, twice, three times. "I... need to figure a few things out. I need to know where I stand with you and with Junior. I..."
Fuck.
"when people ask how our baby's doing, I want to be able to say hey, our daughter's doing great. She's beautiful. Look at her. I don't want to have to stand there and look down at the ground and say ask Beth; she's not my kid. I want Junior to know I love her and I'm proud as hell of her and that she belongs."
It doesn't take a biological parent to make a kid feel that way. Hell, Mao was a better father to him than his own dad.
"And that's either a lot to ask, or something I shouldn't even be questioning because the answer's so obvious but I can't see it. I can't see what you want me to do about it, and I'm scared to fucking death to even ask you about it, because what if your answer and mine don't match up?"
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She's his Beth. She's Slim. She's Marie. She's flight attendant, bounty hunter, pilot, angel, siren, partner in crime, absolute fucking love of his life... and again, he gets this rush of sadness where he's glad as hell she's too close to him to really look into his eyes
(Julia was always talking about you. Your eyes are different colors. I remember her saying that. Said you'd get a strange feeling if you keep looking straight into his eyes.)
which are nothing like perfect and he suddenly knows in his heart that no matter what -- no matter how hard he tries to justify things or rationalize them, no matter what words he uses -- this baby isn't his. Beth has a connection with her he can't have, he won't have, he can't know. The part of him used to being hard and apathetic says that figures; they always leave you. They always leave you in the end, so get ready for that now. Let go, back off: time for those shields to go up because if you don't, you'll get hurt all over again.
That part doesn't have very much faith.
He doesn't really like that part of himself, but it's come in handy time and again. But there's this other part of him that he had buried for a really, really long time. In fact, it didn't even show itself until maybe a year, year and a half ago and that's the part that goes hey, I'm not that big a loser. I'm worth hanging around for. I can do this thing. I can make some kind of a difference. I can help raise this little girl. I can make sure she knows she's both loved and wanted.
The problem is the other part -- the first part -- looks at it real skeptically and says yeah, right.
"On second thought, Beth, no. I'm not okay. I'm not okay at all." Closing his eyes
(I will not fucking cry: bury that shit, pal)
he takes a deep breath, and another, and another. He swallows back the stupid fucking lump in his throat and breathes in again once, twice, three times. "I... need to figure a few things out. I need to know where I stand with you and with Junior. I..."
Fuck.
"when people ask how our baby's doing, I want to be able to say hey, our daughter's doing great. She's beautiful. Look at her. I don't want to have to stand there and look down at the ground and say ask Beth; she's not my kid. I want Junior to know I love her and I'm proud as hell of her and that she belongs."
It doesn't take a biological parent to make a kid feel that way. Hell, Mao was a better father to him than his own dad.
"And that's either a lot to ask, or something I shouldn't even be questioning because the answer's so obvious but I can't see it. I can't see what you want me to do about it, and I'm scared to fucking death to even ask you about it, because what if your answer and mine don't match up?"
Shit.
Too late now to take back the question.