Work Text:
“Hey, daddy? I wanna talk to you about something.”
Harry looked up from his sketchbook, blinking at his daughter. CJ stood in the doorway, a determined expression on her face even as she shifted nervously from foot to foot. Harry had to have the design ready by tomorrow afternoon, but he set the book aside immediately. “Yeah, duck, what's up?”
CJ marched forward until she stood in front of him, fists clenched, jaw working anxiously. Harry reached out automatically and took one of her hands in his, gently uncurling her fingers so he could hold it properly, rubbing his thumb over her palm. “Are you okay? Did something happen?”
“Why,” CJ began, and then stopped. She didn't continue, and Harry's brow furrowed. He could feel his heart picking up, and he squeezed her hand a little.
“CJ? Talk to me, kid.”
“Why does your hand feel weird?” CJ blurted out.
Harry blinked. “My– what? Weird, how?”
CJ reached up with her other hand to where Harry was holding hers. She brushed her fingers lightly over his upturned wrist, and Harry's stomach plummeted.
“It's all bumpy. Under your tattoo.”
“That…” He floundered for a moment. “I, um. I don't know if you're old enough for that story, duck.”
CJ shot him a dirty look. “I'm seven.”
“And I'm thirty-one,” Harry said flatly. “And I was twenty when it happened. I know you're a big girl, and you're very mature, but it's not a happy story.”
CJ slipped her hand out of his grasp so she could cup his in both of hers, running her thumbs over the scars on his hand with an expression that was as curious as it was soothing.
“They're just really big, is all,” she said softly. “It's like, almost as big as Uncle Gil’s scar, on his head. But you've got a lot more. Did you have a hand surgery?”
“I… yeah,” Harry said, swallowing. “I did.”
“How many surgeries? ‘Cause you got a lot of cuts. How many cuts do you have?”
Harry glanced down at his hand, and the ink Jonas had so carefully wound around and over the scars, working them into a design that covered them so neatly they were impossible to see without touching them.
“Eight cuts,” he said finally. “But just one surgery, because the doctors didn't make the cuts. They were already there when I went to the hospital. The surgery was to fix some of the pieces of my hand that got messed up really badly. You know how I have a hard time moving my thumb?” He tried to curl it in to demonstrate, and CJ nodded as she watched it barely twitch. “That's because of how it got cut. Feel those two lines right there, sort of criss crossing?” He pointed, and goosebumps broke out across the back of his neck when CJ traced her fingers over the X-shaped scars. “They cut through the muscle pretty bad. The doctors stitched me up real good, but they couldn't get it back together just right.”
CJ was frowning at his hand, brow furrowed as she continued gently prodding at his scars, and Harry fought the urge to snatch it back. “How'd you get cut up so bad?”
Gotta see just wanna try it what's it like wanna feel it did it hurt how'd he feel wanna try it wanna see it wanna do it do it do it
“See,” he said finally, “that's the part of the story that's not so happy.”
CJ finally looked up to meet his eyes, paused a moment, then asked, “Will I be sad if I hear it, or will it make you sad if you tell me?”
Harry swallowed hard. How the hell did his kid get so perceptive? “Little of both,” he said weakly. “It wasn't a good time.”
“You don't have to tell me,” CJ said, looking back down at his hand. “If it makes you sad. But I promise I won't be too sad to hear it.”
“Come here, duck.” He held out his arms, and CJ clambered into his lap, squirming around until her back was against his chest. Harry wrapped his arms around her and rested his chin on the top of her head, holding her close as he frantically tried to think of an explanation that wouldn't terrify her.
“Do you remember,” he said finally, “when I asked if you would mind me dating Uma?”
He could almost feel CJ frowning. “You asked me first?”
Harry ducked his head, pressing his face against her hair. “Yeah, sweetheart,” he mumbled. “It was a few years ago; you were just four. I wanted to make sure you'd be okay before Uma and I did anything, because I didn't want you to be too upset. And you asked if…” He puffed out a breath against the back of her head. “You asked if Uma and I had been in love a long time ago.”
“Yeah,” CJ said slowly. “You said… you said your brain made you do something bad. You had a bad idea, right? Because you didn't have your medicine back then?”
Harry squeezed her a little, looking up so that he could nod before dropping his chin back on her head and rocking gently back and forth. “That's right. So I had this idea, and I wasn't thinking quite right. So I decided to try it, because I thought it would be a good idea, and I wound up getting hurt pretty bad.”
“What was the idea?”
Harry, oh my god, put down the knife, please put down the knife, please Harry, please–
Harry pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “We're gonna skip that question for now, duck, okay?”
CJ paused for a long moment, then finally nodded. “Okay. You had to go to the hospital for it?”
“Yeah.” He shivered hard enough that CJ felt it and wrapped her arms over his where they were holding her to squeeze them in a backwards hug. “Uma drove me there.”
“You broke up after, right?”
I can't wait around until you kill yourself, you keep promising you'll stop and then you're back here three weeks later, I can't watch you do this anymore, you need help, real help, I'm scared for you–
“Yeah,” Harry said hoarsely. “Yeah, because I scared her pretty bad. Scared both of us, really. So we had a fight, and she decided she couldn't take me scaring her anymore. So she went home.”
CJ twisted around so she could look up at him, eyes wide. “From the hospital? She broke up with you while you in the hospital?” She sounded horrified.
“Aw, duck.” Harry bent down to kiss her forehead. “It was complicated, sweetheart. Neither of us knew what was going on, and we didn't know how to handle it. You know what it's called, right, what I have?”
“Tattoos.”
Harry snorted. “You're a riot. The brain thing, miss comedian.”
“Bipolar disorder,” CJ corrected herself, snickering at her own joke. “Um, type two?”
“Yeah, that's right.” He hummed, trying to get his thoughts together in a way that would make sense to her without painting anyone as the villain. “I scared her a lot, CJ, in ways that hurt her pretty bad, because she didn't want to see me get hurt anymore. You remember when Uncle Carlos had the chickenpox last year, and you weren't allowed to go visit him until he got better?”
CJ nodded. “I wanted to bring him soup.”
“And that was really sweet of you. But even though you wanted to help him feel better, we had to make sure that you didn't get sick, either. Sometimes, no matter how much you love someone, you still have to look out for yourself first. Uma wanted to help me, but I didn't want her to, and that was hurting her a lot. I'm not mad about it, sweetheart. She was taking care of herself.”
“Oh.” CJ looked down at his arms, then gently pried his left hand away so she could hold it. He didn't fight it, letting her run her fingers over his palm and wrist. “One,” she counted quietly, and Harry gritted his teeth as she tapped each scar in turn. “Two, three, four… Daddy, you said there's eight. There's only seven.”
“Eighth one’s on the back, sweetheart,” he said softly. “S’not as big as the others. See, right there.”
He twisted his hand around and tapped the scar on the back of his wrist, barely an inch long but, although it was impossible to tell now, deeper than any of the others. CJ pressed her fingers over it as well, then carefully pulled his hand up to her mouth so she could press a kiss to it. “I'm sorry you got hurt, daddy.”
“Thanks, duck,” he choked, trying to swallow around the lump in his throat. “You're a really sweet girl, you know that?”
“You're sweet, too,” CJ said firmly. “Don't ever get hurt again, okay?”
Harry muffled a laugh into her hair. “Can't promise that, sweetheart,” he said. “But I can pretty much guarantee I'm not gonna get hurt like this again.”
“Because you've got meds.”
“Yup.” He bounced her on his lap a little, and she squeaked out a laugh. “And I've got Dr. Dawson, and Uma, and all your aunts and uncles–”
“And me!” CJ said quickly, twisting around to grin up at him. “You got me, too!”
Harry bent down to press a quick kiss to her upturned nose. “That's right, sweetheart. I've got you in my corner, and you got me. You know that?”
CJ tugged his hand to the side, and he took the hint to wrap his arms around her while she snuggled back contentedly. “‘Course, daddy. We always got each other.”
“Yeah, duck.” He pressed a kiss to her hair, then stayed there for a moment, breathing deep and slow until his hands stopped trembling. “We do.”