prompt: Missy brings home a boy

warning: mild language, mention of Missy's late mother, and I got carried away so just beware that feelings ensue

word count: 1552

pronouns: gender-neutral

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second-person point of view. . .

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There was pure rage hidden within his usually oh-so kind and optimistic deep hickory irises. Rarely did such violent feelings find themselves a home in his commonly so forgivingly understanding heart. In almost any other circumstance, it would have frightened and worried you. But given the current context, you found it amusing.

"Staring at him like that won't make him make spontaneously combust," You reminded him in a low voice with a playful smirk dancing on your lips.

"You don't know that," Marcus said quietly with a deathly serious tone, not tearing his eyes from the teenage boy. The teenage boy was sitting in his living room on his sofa next to his daughter. His teeth grit against each other as he had to stand several meters away and watch the boy blissfully touch Missy, helpless to stop him.

"You need to relax," Your voice was soft and comforting to his tense body. You came to stand behind him and look over his shoulder as he leaned on the wall just outside the earshot of the young kids.

"Missy is almost fourteen now," You pointed out to him gently. "She was going to bring a boy home eventually." Marcus did not look at you, his attention too trained by fury to focus on much else.

"Not that boy," Marcus hissed lowly. Your hands wound around his firm bisept and tugged lightly, urging him to remove himself from the wall. It took a solid minute of pulling before he finally budged, allowing you to pull him away from the living room. His gaze lingered on the teenagers before they were blocked by a wall.

A twinge of fear flashed over him when he could no longer monitor their behavior. Your hands were soft on his arm as you hauled him into your shared bedroom, closing the door behind you. Your hands drifted from his upper arm to his shoulder and you pushed him to sit on the edge of the bed.

Marcus reached out to tuck his arms around your waist so he could lure you between his parted legs so your knees carefully met the mattress. Your hands draped over both his shoulders intimately as he peered up at you.

Marcus looked far more calm now that you were in front of him. His anger faded into a sigh of frustration at the loss of control--of protection over his daughter. Missy never mentioned the boy before the evening he arrived to their home after school. Marcus had yet to determine whether or not he was someone she needed protecting from. You, however, knew it did not matter who Missy brought him.

"You don't need to be watching their every move," You told him sweetly, lacing very intentional sympathy into your words. "You know damn well Missy can lay him out." A proud chuckle escaped Marcus' lips. You were right, maybe he need not worry for her safety as heavily as he did. They were just down the hall and the boy appeared remarkably lanky.

"I still want to punch him," Marcus admitted, his high emotions now fizzling away. Your fingers lazily played with the soft curls that laid on the nape of his neck.

"How come?" You wondered, though you would wager you already knew the answer. Marcus' eyes wandered the room for a moment as he began an attempt at putting his complex feelings into coherent words.

"I just... I don't--" He began the setnece without knowing where it would end. "I don't want her to get hurt and I don't mean physically." You hummed in understanding, your suspisoins confirmed.

"I don't either," You stated reassuringly. "But someday we're not going to able to be protect her anymore. She's getting older and we can't stop that." Marcus knew this, of course, he knew this. That thought crossed his mind near constantly.

With every inch he marked on the wall where he kept track of her height, he knew it. With every new word she tossed into their conversations, he knew it. With every graduation and birthday party, he knew it. With every habit she displayed that reminded him of her mother, he knew it. With every mannerism she developed that reminded him of you, he knew it.

"So we should protect her as much as we can now." His words fell to a voice you knew too well. It was a low mutter he used when he did not trust his voice to raise any higher without breaking.

"No," You spoke soft and treading lightly. "We should give her the space she needs to grow or she'll resent us for it."

Every day it felt as if she ran farther and farther away from the little girl Marcus used to carry in his arms; the little girl who used to think he was so cool and laugh at all his jokes; the little girl who came rushing to him after school with a hug; the little girl who used to draw him pictures with crayons; the little girl who begged for a bedtime story every night; the little girl who called crying so he would pick her up from her first sleepover away from home; the little girl who needed him to keep her safe.

"What I mean to say is," You continued through his silence, "at some point, you have to take the tree out of its pot and plant it into ground. You'll still walk out to the garden every day and water it, keep the weeds away. But soon, you won't have to anymore, because she'll be strong enough on her own."

Was his little girl gone? No, no! She couldn't be, it was too soon. It was only yesterday he had brought her home from the hospital. At least, it felt like yesterday--it felt like yesterday and twenty years somehow at the same time. For almost fourteen years, Missy was his world. He would fight and die for her or better yet, he would live for her. They had done everything together. She was his best friend. How could all that be over so quickly?

"No," Marcus whispered, tears brimming in his eyes. "No, I'm not ready." He could not muster the strength to hold them back, so hot tears slowly streamed down his cheeks. "I'm not ready to let go of her yet." Your arms carefully wrapped around him, snug enough to show him you were there.

"You don't have to let go of her, you don't," You promised, your own set of tears surfacing. "You'll never have to really let go of her. She'll always be your daughter. She's just... " The lump in your throat was impossible to overcome, so you voice was high and struggling. "She's growing up." That was when a sob wracked through him silently.

You shared a fragment of his pain. You considered Missy as your own daughter after all the years you have spent together. While it was true you were a family, Marcus and Missy shared a connection you could never replicate, one that ran deeper than most with the loss of her mother.

You kissed the top of his head, willing to try any feeble effort to bring sollace to his aching heart. At first meeting, you would have never guessed such a kind and friendly heart held as much pain as his did.

"She's growing up, but she's not going anywhere," You again promised, though you spoke weakily. "She loves you so much, you know that." Your hands traveled to hold his face gently as you took half a step backwards. You titled his head up, so his weeping eyes met yours. Your tumbs stroked softly at the stream-stains on his skin.

"It's nothing to be sad about," You tried to convince him and yourself. "Just because she doesn't wander into our bed after a nightmare doesn't mean we won't be there for her. It'll just look a little different, that's all." Marcus held your tightly, some illogical part of him worried you would slip away from him. If he could lose his daughter, he could lose anything.

But was he really losing Missy? His mind had trouble comprehending the truth in your statements. It felt like he was losing her. Perhaps he was not. Perhaps it was as you had said, just different now. The love was no less, it was just changing like the seasons--as everything does.

Marcus saw the way your eyes suddenly lit up with the laughter that flowed from your sweet lips like honey.

"Before you know it, we'll have grandkids and we'll get to do it all over again!" He began to laugh too at the thought. That would be wonderful, all the fun with little to none of the discipline. He prayed that when the time came Missy would visit with them often, every day if she could. You pressed a kiss to his forehead chastely.

"We're gonna be just fine," You assured him with the smile he fell in love with. "All three of us." He nodded meekly and sniffled as he hastily brought his hands to dry his eyes as if he was now embarrassed by the display. You ran a calming hand over his hair. You were right, his little girl was going to be just fine.

"The boy seems harmless. But if he does end up breaking her heart... " You kissed his cheek swiftly as you volume dropped, "I'll help you kill him."