Work Text:
alma’s crying filled the house.
grady heard the back door close. he hurried through the house, from the office to the living room to the kitchen, where he ran into wes cradling their weeping, sniffling daughter. immediately grady saw the streak of blood on wes’s hand.
what the hell? grady said. wes, his arms full with their six-year old, could only shake his head as he shuffled past, heading for the powder room off the hall. grady followed.
he watched wes struggle to set alma down on the counter. she clung to him, crying into his neck and mumbling. “sweetheart,” grady said, cloying but firm. she opened her watery eyes and looked over at him. “let pop look.”
they held eye contact as she sniffed and let her arms go slack around wes’s neck. she sat on the counter, wes pulling away and kneeling to rifle through the cabinet under the sink for the first aid kit. and that was when grady saw it. alma’s little knee was bloody and caked in fine grit.
“what happened,” grady said, shimmying past wes on the floor so he could stand at alma’s side, putting either thumb on her cheek so he could wipe away her tears.
“tripped,” she mumbled.
“yeah? in the driveway, huh,” he said.
she nodded and he felt terrible for her.
wes set the first aid kit on the counter before standing. it was a cute little thing, pastel purple plastic with kid-friendly word art on the labels. completely unlike their own first aid kit that they used to stitch stab wounds and bullet holes with. though the exterior was approachable and friendly, the interior still made alma recoil. there was the antiseptic, the tweezers, the thermometer.
“you’re okay,” grady said. “papa’s got you.” alma nodded in his hands. he tucked a wavy lock of auburn hair behind her ear.
wes rolled a bit of toilet paper around his hand and wet it. he held her calf with the other hand as he brushed away the grit that clung to the surface, wiping blood away with it. he tossed the mass into the trash when he was done, and then he opened the first aid kit and took out the tweezers.
grady watched alma catch sight of them. “no,” she howled, squeezing her eyes shut, more tears falling. she kicked her feet at wes, and he looked at grady, one eyebrow raised, looking for some help.
“hey,” grady said, still holding her face, “kid, hey. c’mon.”
she opened her eyes.
“you know he has to. you wanna rattle around for the rest of your life, all those little rocks in you? kids’ll hear you coming and say oh, there’s alma, the rattler.”
wes had already started, so gentle in his removal of the bigger bits of grit that’d stuck that alma barely noticed.
“bigger kids’ll pick you up and use you as a maraca. you want that?”
“you’re a liar,” she sobbed.
“hey!” grady said, pressing down on her chubby little cheeks. she looked up at him with the world’s most pathetic glare, wincing as wes pulled loose a bigger shard. “has daddy ever lied to you? ever in your whole life?”
“yeah,” she said.
“about what?” he said. of course he’d lied to her. he lied to alma all the time. about santa, about whether there were creatures in her closet, about what he and her father did for a living. about the fact that she was their daughter - she wasn’t, not by blood and not by law but by fate, destiny, love. he would kill for his sweet little crybaby, the perfect little angel they had found. he had killed for her.
“i don’t know…” she mumbled, sagging, too tired to go through with the fight.
the tweezers hit the counter with a sharp clatter. grady let go of alma’s face. she looked down at her knee. not a rock to be seen, just half-dried blood and a little gash.
“look at that,” grady said. “what’d i say? papa always fixes you up right, kid.”
almost done, wes said to her. this stings.
he rubbed antiseptic onto the little gash. grady watched her bite her lip. a year ago, she would’ve held grady’s hand, squeezed it. she was growing up, getting tougher day by day. grady patted her head, running his fingers along her soft curls.
tough, wes said when he finished, like daddy.
this made alma smile. it was no secret how she admired both her fathers for how hardy they were, especially grady. she watched him give himself his shot every week, calling him cool and strong. hearing her say those things made grady feel like he was the most important person in the world.
wes wet a bit more toilet paper and used it to wipe away the dried blood before he put the bandaid on. it was one of the big ones. it almost eclipsed her knee.
good as new, grady said. wes waved his hands in a silent cheer.
alma went down easy that night, tired out from the excitement of the day. she dozed off on the couch with one of her stuffed animal friends while wes and grady cleaned the kitchen after dinner and sat and had a beer together. wes gathered her up in his arms and carried her off to her little room. grady followed.
he stood in the door and watched wes tuck her in. she woke up when her back hit the mattress. “pop,” she mumbled.
bedtime, wes said. grady drew closer, joining wes in sitting on the edge of her bed.
i love you, she signed.
wes leaned down and gave her forehead a kiss.
“goodnight, tornado,” grady said.
“goodnight…” she said, already halfway back to dreamland. before they left, grady switched on her bear-shaped nightlight
wes and grady returned to the kitchen once they left her room. before he could sit back down, wes grabbed grady and took him in an embrace. grady accepted it readily, melting into his warm, familiar, strong arms.
they stood there hugging awhile. grady listened to wes’s heartbeat and stroked up and down his spine, and wes played with grady’s hair, his touch light.