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The worn leather of Silco's chair creaked as Jinx shifted, her boots propped up on his desk. She felt like this place was a sort of shrine to him, to both of them, with the lingering smell of cigars and the faint but sharp tang of shimmer. The wall sconces did little to push the shadows back, but they illuminated motes of dust floating through the air like lazy firelights.
He was late.
She always hated waiting, but this was worse than usual. It gave the voices time to whisper, but worse, it gave her time to think. And lately, her thoughts had been a tangled, terrifying, exhilarating knot with him at the center.
She sighed and blew a strand of hair off her face.
It hadn't started suddenly, this desire. It seeped into her slowly but viciously until it was the only thing keeping her heart beating. She couldn't let it fester any longer. She needed to tell him before she couldn't control it, before it exploded out of her in a way they'd both regret.
It was the way his cool, steady hand would rest on her back after one of her episodes.
It was the low, approving rumble of "Perfect" when he inspected one of her gadgets.
It was the way he looked at her, not as something broken, but as the magnificent weapon she had become.
He saw all of her chaos and called it strength. He saw her madness and called it clarity. Who else could ever do that? Who else could ever handle— no, deserve her?
She wanted to crawl into that approval and live there. She wanted to be more than his daughter. What a small, insignificant title. She wanted to be his equal, his confidante, his… everything.
What if it ruins everything?
What if it scares him away?
What if he thinks of me differently forever and ever?
But… what if it's the thing we need?
Finally, she heard his footsteps in the hall, a sound she knew better than her own heartbeat. Daddy's home. She shot out of the chair.
The door clicked open and Silco stepped through, shrugging his coat off. His sharp gaze found her instantly, immediately reading her posture and expression.
"What's happened?" He moved to his desk, his hand brushing her shoulder as he passed. The fleeting, possessive touch made her skin prickle.
She bit her lip and pulled her arms behind her back. "Nothing's happened…"
“Then what is it?” He settled into his chair. He steepled his fingers. His attention fully on her made her feel like the most important thing in his world.
She had scripted so many quips for this moment, jokes to hide behind, but in the moment, with his light touch, his loving but suffocating presence, she forgot all of it.
Her words came out in a nervous exhale. "It's… somethin' I gotta tell you."
"You can tell me anything." His voice took on that soft tone reserved only for her.
"Promise?" She couldn't stop her puppy-dog eyes. She loved pulling that face, but not when it was her genuine reaction rather than a game. "Promise you won't… hate me?"
He responded with a small, almost sad smile. "You are the one thing I am incapable of hating."
She breathed in relief. “Okay. Okay. Here goes.” She forced a shaky laugh. “I… uh. I love you.”
Silco's brow furrowed. "I love you too… what were you going to tell me?"
"No, Silly! That is what I'm telling you!"
"I appreciate it, Jinx, but I don't understand—"
Before he could blink, she was a blur of blue sliding onto his lap. One hand braced the armrest, the other pinched his jaw between her forefinger and thumb.
She put on her best serious, sultry eyes. “You’re not gettin’ it, Silco,” she murmured, her voice dropped but didn't lose its manic edge.
He went very still. She could feel the tension humming through him. His good eye held hers, and she saw his dawning comprehension.
He let out a slow, controlled breath. "I believe," his words were squished under her grip. "I am beginning to understand."
"Good," she released his face but didn't move from her perch. "I was startin' to think I'd have to show you."
Silco turned a shade of red she had never seen and pinched the bridge of his nose as if he had a sudden headache.
"I knew this day would come."
"Whaddya mean you knew?"
He looked at her again, his gaze was weary but still fond. "I see the way you look at me. The way your touch… lingers."
"Well why didn't you say anything?" She challenged, hurt flicked across her face.
He stood abruptly, dislodging her and sending her to the rug with a soft thud. "Because you're my daughter!" The words were a strained growl from somewhere deep and conflicted within him. He turned away and rubbed his hand over his face.
I was right. He hates me now. Jinx couldn't keep her lip from quivering. A small, broken sob escaped her before she could choke it back.
Hearing her cry, Silco whipped around. He was immediately kneeling next to her, holding her face in his cold hands, wiping her tears with his thumbs.
“Shhh. Don’t. Don’t cry. I’m sorry.” His voice was raw. He sank down and pulled her into his chest, tucking her head under his chin. She clutched at his waistcoat and wept against him. He hushed her, stroking her hair with a trembling hand. “I should have been better prepared. Forgive me.”
"'m so stupid," she whimpered into him.
"Never," he said absolutely. He leaned down and kissed her head. "You're courageous for telling me. It's good you did."
"What does that mean?" she mumbled without looking up.
“It means we have no secrets. That is our foundation. We must trust each other completely.”
"But… you can't love me like that?" she blubbered. The question was tiny and vulnerable.
“I…” A part of his resolve weakened. “I’ll always see that little girl in you. Clinging onto me when she lost everything. I can’t betray the innocence in that.”
That word felt like a slap. Innocence.
“Sheesh! You sound like my sister!” She still didn't look at him. “Powder is dead. I’m not a little girl anymore. She’s Jinx now. You gotta see me. Jinx.”
“Jinx.” His voice was thick. He tilted her chin up, forcing her to see the sincerity in his face. “I love you with every corrupted inch of my soul. You are my child, my heir, my… my girl. That is why this is… complicated. This isn't what I wanted for us… what I imagined. But who would I be to deny you?"
Fragile hope and disbelief shone in her wet eyes. "What does that mean?"
He sighed and stroked her hair. "It's not what I'd choose. But my purpose is your happiness alone."
"So you just don't think I'm pretty?"
He let out a breath that was almost a laugh. “That is a catastrophic understatement. My feelings are not a reflection of your allure. You are… radiant…” He sighed, the fight leaving him. “It is my perception that is the issue, not you.”
A sly, teary smile curled her lips. “So you do think I’m hot.”
He shook his head, with a real smile for a fleeting second. “I think you are the most devastating creature I have ever known. But the idea of… crossing that line…”
“We don’t gotta cross all the lines,” she whispered, shifting even closer. “Just… one? One little kiss?” She plead.
He studied her face, saw the hope, the love, the terrifying need that somehow mirrored his own. He saw the chasm between what was and what could be, and knew he would follow her into it. For her.
"I can manage that," he whispered as he leaned in to kiss her.
"Ugh, no!" She pushed him back. "Do it properly!"
She scrambled up and offered him her hand. He took it, and she pulled him to his feet. He stood before her, a king in his shadowy court, yet utterly disarmed.
“What, precisely, constitutes ‘properly’?” he asked, a hint of his old dryness returning.
In answer, she rose onto her toes and looped her arms around his neck. He hesitated, frozen under the new affection, before his hands found their place, one sliding around the delicate curve of her waist, the other coming up to cup her cheek, his thumb stroking her jawline. She leaned her head into his touch.
“Yeah,” she breathed, her eyes fluttering shut. “Like that.”
He could feel the frantic rabbit-beat of her heart against his own. He knew he was stepping into a minefield. But her trust was tangible, and her love, in all its forms, was the only truth he had ever known. He wouldn’t resist this and deny her. He couldn’t.
He closed the final distance.
Her lips were softer than he could have imagined and tasted somehow familiar despite being entirely new. He nearly flinched away, not from disgust, but the shocking and electric feeling of rightness.
She melted against him with a tiny, contented sigh, and any of his remaining resistance crumbled.
He wasn’t just tolerating it. He was there, with her. His arm tightened around her waist, pulling her flush against him as he kissed her back, slowly, deeply, pouring a lifetime of devotion into it.
They were both breathless when they parted. He rested his forehead against hers. He couldn't hide his smile when she giggled.
“Thank you,” she whispered, her arms still around him.
He held her tightly. “There is nothing I would not do for you.”
“Don’t pretend you didn’t like it,” she teased.
A genuine, quiet chuckle rumbled through him. He didn’t know what this meant, what new, treacherous path they were now on. The world outside these walls would never understand. He still saw his daughter in her smile.
But he also saw his equal. His partner. His. Entirely, and in all ways.
As he held her, feeling her warmth seep into his bones, he admitted to himself that it wasn’t such a bad thing. She would never know a heartbreak he didn’t cause or couldn’t fix. She would never seek comfort in another’s arms. She would never have to be with someone who didn't know exactly how to please her. She would be, forever, only his.
And, he realized, he did want this.