Work Text:
Marc Edwin Hollis is a fairly simple man. Sure, he travels all around the world as a photojournalist, he’s seen places most people only dream of, and he wants for nothing but at his core, Marc Hollis is still the kid who grew up in a small town in Canada. He’s still the teenager who got teased for always having his Pentax K1000 hanging around his neck. He’s still the young man who was left a single father when his wife decided she wanted a different life. He’s still the man who would do anything for his only child, the apple of his eye, his Laura.
So when she calls, he answers. Every time.
It’d been hard for Laura, growing up without a mother, and it led her to harbor great anxiety that Marc, too, would leave her. That it was somehow her fault that her mother left them both behind.
So he tries to check in on her as frequently as possible. This time, after a few days of getting Laura’s voicemail [which isn’t out of the ordinary; that girl is busy], Marc finally gets ahold of her.
He can hear it in her voice from the very first word that comes out of her mouth. He can hear the tension, the anxiety that she only exhibits when she’s afraid of disappointing him.
Marc decides it’s better to get right to the heart of what’s bothering his daughter.
“What’s wrong?” he asks.
Laura beats around the bush for a few minutes, but Marc’s interest is piqued when she mentions a Carmilla.
Carmilla.
"Carmilla. I know that name. Why do I know that name?”
Carmilla! Of course. Laura’s freshman year roommate, who his daughter had labeled as “The Actual Worst.” Marc, a good father, pretended he didn’t notice the way Laura always, without fail, got flustered when he asked about how things were going with her roommate.
Then she drops it, that word - disappointed - and Marc wants to shake her, hug her, and say, “You could never disappoint me,” but this is just part of who Laura is.
So when she asks, he promises her. This time, and every other time.
She says it quickly, in her Laura Jean Hollis racing ramble, but he hears it clearly, as if in slow motion.
“Danny and I broke up and I got drunk and married Carmilla,” Laura says on the other end of the line.
Time freezes.
Did she say “married?” She did. Marc thinks this through, as much as one can in the space of twenty seconds. Laura and Danny are no more, and now she’s married to her ex-roommate who Laura once had an enormous crush on, but who also mostly made Laura want to bash a wall in with her head.
He needs to say something soothing. Something that lets Laura know that Marc does, in fact, support her. Something that assures his daughter that he is not disappointed in her for making a potentially rash decision while under the influence because, hey, worse things have been done. Something to comfort her in a time of ample stress.
“That’s quite the meet-cute, as the kids say,” is what comes out.
/
All things considered, Laura seems calm by the end of that conversation, and Marc asks her to keep him updated. A forced trial marriage certainly sounds like a stressor and a half, but Laura seems to relax, as much as Laura ever relaxes, in the weeks following that phone call with her. She even starts sending Marc snapchats of her everyday life with Carmilla. Part of the time, he isn’t even sure that Carmilla is aware she’s been photographed, but through these glimpses, he’s able to construct a cohesive picture of how their life have meshed together.
[Marc screenshots 99% of those snaps in an effort to document this blossoming… thing between them.]
/
As the tenth month creeps closer, though, Marc hears from Laura less and less. He suspects she’s busying herself with work - more work than usual, that is - to block out the sting of the month her mother left. Marc wonders if that wound will ever fully heal for his daughter. He feels his own break open every now and again but, at this point, it’s mostly on Laura’s behalf.
On the morning of the first, he texts Laura, “Love you pumpkin”
She doesn’t answer him until late that night, but the response was worth the wait.
“Thank you for loving me enough for two.”
/
A few nights later, Laura sends Marc a snapchat of Carmilla, soaked to the bone and frowning in the kitchen of Laura’s loft. The caption reads “carm’s a sad wet cat.” Carmilla is trying her best to glare at Laura, but Marc can just make out the corners of Carmilla’s mouth turning up. He can picture Laura’s glowing smile causing Carmilla to completely break her facade. He wonders how much longer it’ll take for them to realize that they’re each in love with the other.
/
It takes a month for Laura to figure it out, Marc finds. His phone rings and flashes Laura’s name and photo as he’s finishing up his breakfast - leftover Halloween candy for his trick-or-treaters - and he’s quick to answer the call.
“Hey, pump-”
“Dad.”
“Yeah, speaking,” Marc says. Laura’s voice is sharp, the way it gets when she’s just had a breakthrough on a story. Sharp like a light bulb just sprang on.
“I love her.”
A broad grin spreads across his face.
“Who now, hon?”
“Dad. Carmilla. I’m in love with her.”
“That’s great; when’s the wedding?”
“This isn’t funny! This is serious! I love her. She had a rough night last night and I woke up this morning and she’d made me my favorite breakfast and she was so bright and soft and lovely and it hit me: I love her. What am I supposed to do?”
“You could tell her.”
“Don’t be ridiculous!”
“Laura, I don’t know what you’re looking for here. You love her. Maybe part of you always has. Maybe not. Who am I to say? Regardless, you love her now. You seem happy and in those snapchats you send me, she looks happy when she’s with you. But you know your situation best. You’ve gotta weigh your options and, pumpkin, it comes down to two things. One, you can pursue this woman who brings joy to your life and, worst case scenario, she doesn’t feel the same way. At least you’ll know where you stand. Best case scenario: she loves you back.”
“And two?”
“Two: you do nothing. You stay exactly where you are now. You wait out this trial marriage and you let her leave, never knowing one way or another.”
Laura’s silent for a moment, and then, in her smallest voice, she says, “Just thinking about that hurts.”
“So I guess we know what you’ve got to do.”
/
After a long shoot for a New Year’s Day spread in a Portland-based magazine, Marc settles down on the balcony of his hotel room with his laptop and a beer. He scans his email for messages from Laura - she sends him links to every one of her stories at his request; he doesn’t want to miss a single thing - when an email from [email protected] catches his eye.
Marc immediately double clicks it, opening it to a full screen view. The subject line reads “ATTN: FATHER-IN-LAW” and Marc chuckles before diving right into the body of the e-mail.
Dear Mr. Hollis,
We don’t know each other, but I’m married to your daughter. God, that’s an awful opening sentence. I really tried to come up with something better, but it turns out there’s no good way to start an e-mail like this. Laura doesn’t know I’m contacting you; she would just get all twitchy if she did and she doesn’t need any more stress than she already has. I just wanted to introduce myself. We met when you picked Laura up for holiday break our freshman year and by “met,” I mean that you were very kind and I avoided any kind of interaction. I’m sorry about that. I wasn’t very… agreeable back then. I’m marginally more agreeable now, I think.
Anyway, I’m here to tell you that I’m taking this incredibly seriously. I care for Laura very deeply. I haven’t always [or ever, really] shown her that, but I’m trying. Or, I’m thinking about trying. I’m not sure. This is all very strange. I just don’t want you to worry, is what I’m saying.
She’s dealing with it as well as anyone can deal with a drunken wedding that turned into a wildly unethical trial marriage. She talks about you a lot -- I think she’s worried about what you’ll think.
I’m rambling here [I guess living with Laura has had that effect on me] but I want to be up-front with you.
I love your daughter. I’m in love with her, Mr. Hollis, and I’ve felt this way for quite some time, but if I could go back in time, I wouldn’t go to that bar that night. Because being in this situation with Laura against her will because of our drunken decision is the last way I ever would have wanted to court her.
With that said, I plan to treat her well and make this situation go as smoothly as possible for both of us. I will not take advantage of her in any way. I hope that, soon, I can reintroduce myself to you in person.
Respectfully, Carmilla Karnstein
P.S. If you have to tell Laura that I got in contact with you, I understand. She’s your daughter, after all. I just ask that you don’t tell her about the penultimate paragraph of this message. Thank you, sir.
Marc reads through the message three times before clicking reply and the blank e-mail seems to mock him. The girl had already been growing on him before he had even ever been in contact with her, but this message has him really rooting for her.
Because look, Marc Hollis has always been a romantic. He’s a photographer, for God’s sake; he’s made a living by capturing the most beautiful sights this planet has to offer. He’s always believed in the universe, in nature, in meant to be, and the more Marc has thought about his daughter and Carmilla’s backwards marriage and the more he’s learned about them, the more he’s thought that they’re what’s best for one another. And now he knows it for sure: Carmilla loves his daughter and his daughter loves Carmilla.
His eyes widen.
“Fuck,” Marc suddenly says to the crisp November air, “I am the only one with this information.”
He closes his laptop; he’ll answer Carmilla in the morning.
/
[The next morning he sends:
Carmilla,
I wish I had some eloquent way of speaking so that I could tell you this in the most sincere way, but I’m a photographer, after all, and not a writer. This message warmed my heart, and here’s why: you don’t owe me anything. Not an explanation, not an apology, not a declaration of love for my daughter. So the fact that you said those things tells me that you are as genuine as a person can be. You sought me out to soothe any worries I may have, so let me tell you this: if you and Laura are looking over one another, I have no worries. I’ll be in New York for Christmas -- I hope to meet you then.
Be well, Marc
He attaches Laura’s favorite photo of his: the swirling colors of the Aurora Borealis dancing together as one.]
/
Carmilla’s accident scares Marc, and he briefly wonders how he came to care so much for someone he met one time eight years ago, but he knows how much Carmilla matters to Laura, so it’s really no surprise that Carmilla matters to him, too. Laura assures him that Carmilla is okay now - she’s already been through surgery and slept through the night - and she just needs to rest, to heal.
“We were supposed to go on a date yesterday," Laura says.
“A date,” he repeats.
“She kissed me, Dad, and I told her I love her, and I think we’re kind of together. I mean, besides the fact that we’re legally married.”
Marc laughs, “That’s my girl! You finally gave into Carmilla’s feminine wiles.”
“Dad! Don’t be weird.”
“I’m just happy for you,” Marc says, and he feels like he could cry.
Because this is one of those moments that he feels that old wound crack open and it does so because he wants someone to share this with. To say, “Our daughter found her soulmate.” To say, “It’s all working out.” To say, “Isn’t this amazing?”
Marc quickly shakes off the feeling when Laura’s voice gets small again.
“Dad, do you think it’s crazy?”
He runs through reasons that he believes their relationship can work and, because Marc Hollis has always been a romantic, he adds, “No, I don’t think it’s crazy.”
/
He’d never dream of breaking a promise he makes to his daughter, so Marc Hollis spends Christmas in New York City. After he knocks at the steel door of Laura’s loft on Christmas Eve, he hears his daughter exclaim, “He’s here!”
A few moments later, the door is thrown open and Marc is nearly bowled over by the force of his daughter’s hug. He’s quick to return it and he lifts her up off her feet, the way he always does.
“Great to see you too, pumpkin.”
When Laura’s feet touch the ground again, she spins to look at the dark-haired girl waiting a few steps behind. Carmilla. Laura holds her hand out and Carmilla takes it, letting Laura pull her closer to the door.
“Carm, this is my dad. Dad, meet Carm, my wife.”
Carmilla keeps her left hand in Laura’s and holds her right one out for Marc to shake.
Instead of taking it in his, he shakes his head and says, “We hug in this family,” and pulls Carmilla into a brief hug.
“It’s nice to finally meet you, Carmilla,” Marc says after letting her go. “You’re even more beautiful than you are in all those candid snapchats that Laura here sends me.”
“Dad!” Laura yells at the same time Carmilla says, “She what ?"
/
[It’s funny, Marc thinks, that Laura is the most-Laura when she’s with Carmilla, even though marrying Carmilla was the most un-Laura thing she’s ever done.]
/
Carmilla insists on taking them all to dinner. It’s freezing, but Laura insists on walking and Marc decides not question her on it because Carmilla’s eyes go soft when Laura announces the plan. He watches the way they interact and he wishes he could take their photo. Carmilla’s body is still healing from the accident - it’s only been a month, after all - and Laura stays practically glued to her side, arm looped through Carmilla’s, as they walk down slippery sidewalks to their destination.
He asks Carmilla about her recovery over dinner and she just shrugs and says, “I’m fine.”
“Carm,” Laura says, nudging her lightly. “Dad’s not going to think you’re weak or something just because you’re body isn’t back in 100% shape.”
“A building crumbled with you inside it,” Marc says. “I think you’re allowed some recovery time.”
"Well, my hand is still in this cast, as I’m sure you noticed” she says, raising her right hand, “but it hasn’t really bothered me. Breathing gets tough if I exert myself too much, much to Laura’s disappointment.”
Laura’s cheeks turn pink and Marc is pretty sure she kicks Carmilla under the table, but Carmilla just carries on.
“It’s really my ribs that are taking more time to heal and feel better, but Nurse Hollis here has been taking care of me, so I can’t complain.”
/
That night, Laura picks out some movies and Marc settles into the large recliner in the living room. Carmilla and Laura snuggle up on the couch, Carmilla on her back and Laura draped over her, and the room is lit only by the lights on the Christmas tree in the corner.
It’s incredible how normal it all feels.
They start with Eight Crazy Nights - “It is the first night of Hannukah,” Carmilla had said - and Marc learns that Carmilla’s even funnier than he thought when she perfectly mimics Whitey’s voice during the musical bit. Marc can just barely hear her over Laura’s hysterical laughter and then he joins in and Laura begins to cry from laughing so hard.
Next is a line-up of Christmas movies and Marc pretends not to hear Carmilla and Laura whispering to and giggling with each other intermittently through the films. They’re like teenagers in puppy love, he thinks, and he hopes they stay that way.
Laura falls asleep on top of Carmilla before the end of Elf, so Marc and Carmilla decide to call it a night.
“Want me to bring her upstairs?” Marc offers.
“Nah, I’ve got her,” Carmilla says. “Thanks, though.”
Marc heads to the kitchen to give them a little breathing room, busying himself with getting a glass of water.
“Laura,” he hears Carmilla say in a low voice. “Baby, it’s time to go upstairs.”
“Mm-hmm.”
“Yes-hmm,” Carmilla responds lightly. “Come on, it’s almost midnight. There’s something I wanted to give you before Christmas Eve is over.”
Laura rouses at that. “We’re doing presents tomorrow.”
“Yeah, except for this one."
Marc looks up and they’re smiling at each other; he feels like he’s intruding on something private. Laura gets up then and pulls Carmilla to her feet. They move toward the stairs, Laura stopping to kiss his cheek, and he bid them goodnight as they make their way upstairs.
/
The next morning, Marc wakes up early to make the gigantic Christmas Day breakfast he used to when Laura was young. By the time Carmilla and Laura descend the stairs from their bedroom, he’s prepared stacks of pancakes and waffles, as well as mounds of bacon and eggs for all of them. Laura sees it first and bounds toward Marc and the food. Carmilla grunts a good morning at him but smiles appreciatively when he hands her a mug of coffee.
When Laura sees the myriad of presents under the tree, she says, “Dad, what did you do?”
“It’s Christmas! They’re Christmas presents. And plus,” he shrugs, “I never got you a wedding present.”
/
[When Carmilla realizes that Marc thought to wrap four of the gifts - two for her; two for Laura - in blue and white paper for Hanukkah, she hugs Marc tight and, through tears, says, “you asshole.”]
/
Marc Hollis hates leaving his daughter - daughters, now - but he leaves with the knowledge that family follows you wherever you go.
As his plane is about to leave from JFK a few days later, Marc sends Laura a text and attaches a photo of Carmilla and Laura on their balcony at sunset, Carmilla hugging Laura from behind, chin on her shoulder.
“Until next time,” the text reads. “Love, Dad.”