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If there had been one thing that Leone hadn't been trained for, it was comforting a teenage girl. Not that he could help the situation; he was the only one home that weekend. Still, that didn't mean that he knew what the hell to do when Trish showed up at his bedroom door at 3 in the morning, distraught. The girl sat on the edge of his bed, picking at a piece of yarn that had come undone from the sleeve of the comfy lavender sweater she wore. She looked absolutely miserable. Voice shaky in the way it becomes when trying to hold back tears, she asked, “...Abbacchio, have you ever lost someone?”
…This was going to be about a fucking grief dream, wasn't it. Considering the reason he was awake was also a grief dream—in his case, about his partner—he ultimately decided to put down his emotional barriers. Maybe it would help. “Yes.”
She let this linger in the air. Then: “I'm sorry.” Still, hearing that he could relate, her fidgeting slowed, the anxious energy replaced with a tired sadness. Then: “...You don't have to tell me, but, who—?”
Before she could even finish, he found the answer tumbling from him: “My partner. On the Force.”
“The Force?”
…She clearly hadn't seen the news plastering his name everywhere a few years back, had she? “Police Force.”
“You were a cop? You? A cop?” She turned to him. The bewilderment was distracting her from her anguish, at least…
A sigh. “Yeah, yeah…”
“You? A cop?!” Trish laughed at this as if the concept were the punchline to a joke only she’d heard. But, then, remembering the context, she cut herself off and grew somber: “...I’m sorry. About your partner.”
Trish stopped dangling her legs over the bed, and turned over to face him, cross-legged as she sat in front of where his feet rested. “Do you wanna tell me?”
That question made him pause; the choice was appreciated. Still, in order to make sure that she didn’t dodge the question either, he came up with a compromise: “I do. But, only if you tell me what kind of bullshit brought you to prod at my PTSD at 3 in the morning.”
“...Fine, fine. I, uh…” She tried to collect herself. “I had a dream where I had to watch my mom die. Again.”
“I’m sorry,” Leone said gently, meaning it. Grief dreams were a hell he wouldn’t wish on his worst enemy.
“That wasn’t even the worst part of my dream,” Trish laughed a bitter laugh. She trailed off, the words catching in her throat. “I saw what happened to you, Bucciarati, and Narancia when my Dad got to you. And I was watching from the distance. Then, I watched you guys bleeding out, and my dad was holding my hand, which wasn’t attached to my arm, and there was blood everywhere , and he was all like, ‘—They got hurt because of you. It’s all your fault.’ And I was like, ‘No, fuck you,’ and then he said…”
Her voice cracked, words devolving into a blubbering mess. Trish barely got out the last sentence before collapsing into sobs. “...‘This wouldn’t have happened if you were a good enough daughter to deserve my love.’”
Holy shit. That was far darker than he’d expected. Leone sat up from where he’d begun to fall into his pillows and made a Trish-sized (and then some) space beside him. “...Hey. Come here.”
Even though the girl was crying uncontrollably, she did just that. She moved to his side, where, as soon as she was within arm’s reach, Leone scooped Trish into a hug.
With sobs punctuating each word: “Why couldn’t I be the daughter he wanted?”
“...You mean a dead daughter.” It was harsh, but they both knew it was true.
Her breath steadied a bit: “When you put it that way…”
“—Diavolo was a pitiful, pathetic man who couldn’t see the gift he’d been given in you.” He felt her tears dampening his shoulder. “He didn’t deserve you.”
“You’re just s-saying that to make me feel better.”
Leone groaned. “No, I am not. You know what you do have , instead of that sad excuse for a sperm donor?” That got a chuckle out of the girl. “You’ve got Bucciarati. You know for a fact that he’d be tearing that nightmare apart with Sticky Fingers until it begged him for mercy. And… You have…” God, this was so embarrassing. Was he really going to go into full sap mode? He hoped a bear hug practically squeezing the breath out of the teen would distract her as he said, thanking the universe that she couldn’t see how much he was blushing, “...You have me.”
Trish gasped. Before he could be too vulnerable, he hastily added: “—All of us. That's better than anything your piece of shit dad had to offer you.”
She was shocked into silence. But, after a long, long beat, she let go, wiping away some of the tears on her cheeks. “Thank you.”
“Don’t mention it.”
“You know… I love you too, Abbacchio.”
…There went keeping his cool! The Una girl laughed as his cheeks burned with embarrassment. After a bit more teasing at his expense, she asked, sheepish, “...Could I stay here tonight? I’m worried I’ll have another nightmare…”
“If you do, I’m here.” Abbacchio ruffled her hair affectionately, being met with a small smile.
As they readied themselves to sleep once more, Trish had nestled herself beside Leone. He had his back to her until he heard her say, “...So, don’t you owe me your story?”
Begrudgingly, he turned around. “...Fine, fine.”
Trish took his hand, resting it on the pillow between their faces as Leone shared the burden of his past, his heart growing the smallest bit lighter. She stopped responding shortly after he’d begun to explain how the Police Academy worked—she'd asleep. He soon followed, having a much-needed pleasant dream.