Work Text:
At least once a week, they all try to have dinner together.
It’s for Diana’s sake, as much as anything; she’s still adjusting to bouncing between homes, and showing her a unified front goes a long way toward making her feel more stable. No matter what any of them have done in the past, they all love Diana dearly, and they’re willing to try almost anything to make her happy.
Kelly, Sean, Adalind, Nick, and-at Diana’s request-Juliette are regulars at these family dinners. (And that is still taking some getting used to: calling her Juliette once more.) Sometimes others join in, when their schedules clear up, but tonight, it’s just the regulars, making stilted small-talk over mashed potatoes and steak.
Normally, Diana’s happy chatters fill the silence, but she’s suspiciously silent. Adalind raises a brow, glancing around the table; judging by the concerned expressions, she isn’t the only one who has noticed.
“Diana? Honey, you okay? You’ve been awfully quiet tonight.”
With far too much gravity for such a young soul, she nods. “Just thinking.”
Adalind hesitates. Should she push? She doesn’t want to pressure Diana if she doesn’t want to talk about it, especially not with so many people there. But if something’s wrong….
Nick takes the choice away from her, clearing his throat. “Those look like pretty heavy thoughts,” he says casually. “Anything we can help with?”
Silence. Diana seems to be debating something with herself. Finally, she shrugs. “Eleanore’s dad died.” Matter-of-fact, but tinged with sadness, and something else. Something Adalind can’t quite make heads or tails of.
She has to take a moment to think. Eleanore? Definitely a name she’s heard before… A classmate of Diana’s? They’re friends, it seems like.
Sean, closest to Diana, rests a hand on her arm. “That must be hard,” he says gently, and for just a split-second, she can see why she used to love him so much.
Diana shakes her head. “Not really. He died a long time ago. She doesn’t even remember what he looked like.”
It probably shouldn’t be unsettling anymore, the way she can say such heartbreaking things with all the emotional turmoil of talking about the weather. Still, Adalind has to take a couple of breaths to get her bearings. (And okay, maybe it hits a little too close to home. Her father left when she was so young, if she didn’t have a photograph, she might not know what he looked like, either.)
Juliette has been holding back, clearly hesitant to overstep in a “parental” conversation, but now she speaks up. “So why are you thinking about her?”
“Her mommy got married again.”
Such a simple statement, but the tension in the room grows thick with wariness. In a room full of cops, a lawyer, and a woman who seeks justice everywhere she turns, there are too many horror stories between them.
Nick is the one to reply, and Adalind can hear the deliberate caution in his voice. “Is her stepdad nice?”
A nod that has them all exhaling in relief. “She likes him.” Then, drawing in a breath- “She calls him dad.”
Oh.
Now that it’s out there, Diana seems determined to explain. “And I asked her why, because he’s not her dad. And she said, ‘He loves my mommy and takes care of me, so he’s my dad.’ ”
O h h h.
“And now you’re wondering what you should call Nick,” Juliette finishes quietly, as realization dawns for everyone.
To Sean’s credit, his voice doesn’t go tight when he chimes in. “Well, Sweetheart, your situation is… Well, it’s a little bit different than Eleanore’s.”
“Right.” Nick offers her a gentle smile to ward off any hurt feelings. “I mean, you’ve got your dad right there. It’s okay if you just call me ‘Nick.’”
This doesn’t seem to soothe her any. “But you love Mommy and take care of me,” she points out, voice raising just a bit. The lights flicker, and Adalind gives Diana a warning look.
“Diana…” Sean sighs. It’s clear that whatever he’s about to ask is weighing heavily on him, but he still looks impossibly gentle when he asks, “Do you want to call Nick ‘Dad’?”
“I want to call you both dad!” She looks like she might be on the verge of crying, but the lights don’t flicker again. “But I can’t. Because then you wouldn’t know who I meant!”
Not for the first time, Adalind regrets the life she has given Diana. She wouldn’t trade her daughter for anything, but she’d give just about anything to let her have a normal life. Her throat is too tight, and she wants to say something-anything-to make it better, but she doesn’t even know where to start.
Thankfully, Sean does. “How about this: you know that I don’t just speak English, right?”
Diana nods slowly, brows furrowed.
“Good. What if you called me something in a different language? That way, you’d have something special to call me, and you could call Nick ‘Dad’.”
Oh, if she didn’t have to talk herself out of hitting him half the time, she could almost hug him. It’s such a simple solution, but absolutely perfect. She steals a glance at Nick, who’s watching the exchange with something close to shell-shock.
“Like what?” Diana asks finally.
“Hm.” Sean considers. “Papa? Padre? Père?”
“Père,” Diana echoes, brightening. “I like that. So I can call Nick Dad?”
“Sure, honey.” There’s no edge to Sean’s words, no hesitation to his smile. Maybe he’s just relieved that her life isn’t on the line again. “As long as Nick’s okay with it.”
Diana looks at Nick with a heartbreaking amount of hope, and Adalind cannot help but steal a glance at him. She knows he loves her, and she has long been sure that he loves Diana, but that doesn’t necessarily mean he’ll be okay with this. Diana may be her daughter, after all, but she’s also Sean Renard’s; maybe Nick won’t want-
“I’d be honored,” Nick says, and she knows she’s not imaging the too-bright sheen in his eyes. Her heart swells, and she falls for him all over again. What she ever did to deserve this man, she has no idea.
Diana giggles at Nick’s formality, the tension fading from her completely. “Okay! Dad-” She hesitates, as if testing it out. Apparently, she likes it, because after a moment, she continues. “Will you teach me how to use a sword?”
“Absolutely not,” Adalind interrupts before Nick can get a word in edgewise. “You’re too young.”
“But Mommy. ” She pouts. “Aunt Trubel already taught me to use a machete.”
…. Don’t scream. Count backward from ten. That’s a good way to keep calm, right? Ten…. Nine… Eight… Seven….
“She what?”