Like All Good Fairytales (4/7)

[amfiguree]

master post | prologue | i | ii | iii | iv | v | epilogue

iii. peter pan grew up

"There's this quote that I really love from The Sandman. It goes 'You build up this whole armor, for years, so nothing can hurt you, then one stupid person, no different from any other stupid person, wanders into your stupid life. You give them a piece of you. They don't ask for it. They do something dumb one day like kiss you, or smile at you, and then your life isn't your own anymore.' I think, you know, I think that sums up my life story, pretty much."

It took David all of five months to figure out that Trina is a master manipulator.

Problem is, it's now five years later, and most other people? Still don't seem to realize that.

"We're talking world class skill, Mom," David says, his cell phone wedged firmly between his ear and his shoulder as he begins to fill the kitchen sink with water. "I mean, emotional bribery, tearful puppy-dog eyes, the whole nine yards. I don't even know where she learns half this stuff. Maybe it's too much TV."

"Sesame Street isn't teaching her anything but the alphabet," his mom says, with a sigh. "You, on the other hand..."

"What?" David demands, not at all defensively. He picks up a plate and begins scrubbing it, hard (fuck, he's definitely adding tuna casserole to his growing list of 'things that are only good ideas on paper'). "I don't - maybe it's the Powerpuff Girls. The monkey can't be a good influence."

His mom laughs, and David feels the tension in his shoulders start to melt. "I'm sure that's what your brother used to say about you."

"I'm pretty sure I was more an Alvin and the Chipmunks kind of guy," David says, as he drops another plate into the sink. Outside, the sun is shining, cutting out squares of light in the kitchen. Trina's still on the garden swing where David left her, combing her (tiny, tiny) fingers through Andie's mane. She waves when she catches David's eye, her grin so wide and infectious David feels his lips curl upwards in reply. He raises a soapy hand and wiggles his fingers, ignoring the foam that settles in his hair. His heart gives a little tug when she tips her head back and laughs. "God, she's getting big."

"Happens faster than you think," his mom says. She sounds almost wistful. "Soon, she'll be interested in boys, and dating, and--"

"Yeah," David says. "Not happening. I've still got that cleaver Andrew gave me for Christmas last year stashed somewhere in my bedroom."

His mom laughs again, a quiet sound in his ear. "You know that would be completely unnecessary if you'd just come down for a visit so her uncle could teach her some self-defense."

David rolls his eyes good-naturedly as he drops a spoon into the sink. "Don't start."

"I'm just saying," his mom says, patiently. "It would be nice to see my growing granddaughter for myself. All this emailing and, what do you call it, webcamming? Isn't the same thing."

"Mom," David huffs, on a weary laugh. "We've been through this. Tulsa's good for me right now. Business is finally picking up - I've only been in town a week and I'm already talking to a couple of people about designing their company logos, and T's starting kindergarten next week, things are really starting to work out for us here. Plus I've already promised to be back for Thanksgiving, so will you stop trying to lure us back?"

"About that," his mom replies, a lilt of a question in her voice. "Andrew says T's going to be done by mid-November."

Inwardly, David groans. Thanks a lot, Drew. "Uh, yeah," David says, as casually as he can. "I was thinking about taking T down to Disneyworld for a couple of days before we head home."

"Really?" his mom asks. "What happened to not letting corporate America scam you out of your money?" David can picture her almost exactly, phone cord wrapped around her wrist, her mouth quirked in a smile and sunlight dancing in her eyes. He glances out the window again, seeing her face in his baby girl's. When he starts paying attention again, his mom is saying, "She's got you wrapped around her finger hasn't she? She says jump--"

"I say, 'is twelve feet high enough?'," David agrees, nodding even though she can't see him. "It's just like it was with her mother. Why am I surprised that my daughter is turning out to be a natural at exploitation again? It's obviously in her genes."

"Honey," his mom sighs. "It's not genes. Now I love my granddaughter, and Disneyworld once a year is fine, but if you keep letting her get away with things --"

"I know," David says, interrupting her. "It's, uh, I'm sure it's just a phase. You know how she..."

And that's when he spots his five-year-old daughter trying to climb to the top of the garden swing poles. David drops the cutlery - and his phone, fuck - into the sink in his scramble for the kitchen door. "T!" he yells. "Trina! Trina Evangeline Cook, get down from there! You are in so much trouble, young lady!"



His baby girl scrapes both her knees before David can get her down. She hides her face in his neck while he gets the first aid kit out and cleans her wounds, her small fists bunched in the fabric of his shirt, his shoulder muffling the tiny hiccups in her breathing.

"Hey," David murmurs, as he presses a kiss into her hair, smoothes an errant strand back from her forehead. "Hey, I got you. You're okay, honey. You're okay."

But it's not okay. This is not okay. The garden swing is old, already rusting with age, and Trina could have fallen off, or pulled the whole damned heap of metal down, or broken an arm, a rib, her spine. She might have impaled herself on a pole, Jesus fucking Christ, it is so far from the realm of okay that David feels sick with the relief.

They're going to need to sit down and have a real talk.



Which is why, later, (after she's wheedled him into four Bratz band aids and getting a scoop of ice cream) David hoists Trina onto the kitchen counter and runs his knuckles gently over her knees as he says, seriously, "T, do you have any idea how dangerous that was?" Which, fuck, he never thought he'd hear himself like this, like his mom. "We've discussed this, remember? Unless it's the monkey bars, I want your feet planted on the ground."

Trina turns on him with wide, guileless eyes. "I'm sorry, Daddy," she says. "Andie just wanted to see the squirrels."

And goddammit, David finds himself torn between laughing and chucking the fucking plush toy out the window. "Well, the next time Andie wants to see the squirrels, we're going to the zoo," he ends up saying, instead. Trina giggles and shrieks when he ruffles her hair and sweeps her into his arms so he can carry her to her bedroom.

His mom's right: he's totally fucked.



David's in the middle of a video conference call with a couple of potentially huge clients early Monday morning when his cell phone blinks to life. He scowls down at it for a moment, hoping that whoever's on the other end of the line will telepathically receive his 'no phone calls during business meetings' signal. But the caller is persistent, and David finally says to his laptop, "Just give me one moment," with a smile, and picks up. "Hello?"

"Um, hi. I'm calling from Learning at Judy's? Is this Mr. Cook?"

David's heart sinks almost immediately, and he raises an apologetic hand at his clients before swiveling around in his chair, pushing away from his computer so they won't be able to see the worry on his face. All things considered, he really shouldn't be surprised to be getting a call from Trina's school. Barely two hours after he dropped her off. On her first day.

"Hi, yeah," he says. "It's David Cook. Is my daughter all right? Did something happen in school?"

"Oh, no, nothing - she's fine!" the voice says, quickly, and David's pulse goes from frantic to simply anxious. "She's, um, there's just been a little, um. She sort of threw her horse--"

"Andie!" David hears Trina say, in the background, and he catches his mouth twitching despite himself. This cannot be good.

"Andie," the voice corrects, patiently. "At one of her classmates--"

"Oh my god," David groans. He puts his head between his knees for a second. "Oh my god, please tell me there weren't any concussions involved."

"Oh, no," the voice says, quickly. "No, nothing like that. Just - maybe some bruising? And, um, maybe some... hearing trouble? But, like, I'm sure he'll be totally fine after a few days."

David sighs, resigned. "She's going to grow up to be a menace to society, isn't she?"

There's a warm laugh on the other end of the line, and David catches himself smiling; for a moment things don't seem entirely dire. "I wouldn't worry too much about it. Lots of kids act up their first day of school. And I think Greg maybe deserved to have Andie thrown at him anyway? He said some nasty things that..." There's a pause, and then a hurried, "Or, um, totally not. Totally. Um. Violence is wrong? I - children should never throw things at other children."

"No argument there," David mutters, good humor disappearing as he scrubs the back of his hand over his mouth. "Listen, I'm sorry about the whole mess. I'm definitely giving her a time-out when she gets home. What do I, uh - do I need to come pick her up or something?"

"Oh," the voice says. "Oh, no, no, that's fine. We'll figure something out. I mean, I wouldn't want her to - there's a lot of stuff for her to learn today. About, um, about numbers and things."

"Oh, yeah," David says, with a little laugh. "Numbers. Awesome. T can't get enough of them."

"I - it'll be fun," the voice replies, so earnestly that David starts to feel a little guilty for laughing. "Really, Trina probably just doesn't understand how totally great school can be! I don't think she'll want to miss out on all of this."

David hears a polite little cough from his laptop, and he winces. "No, uh, you're probably right. This is going to be great. So, hey, man, thanks for calling and letting me know, but I should probably--"

"Right, yes. I, um - I think Trina wants to talk to you, though? I don't - she's waving her hands at me and pointing at my phone."

"Oh," David says, flinching at the next less-than-patient cough. He struggles with himself for a second, but then - like always - Trina wins. "Yeah, sure, put her on."

In two seconds, David earns himself an earful of shrieking five-year-old. "Daddy! Daddy! Guess what? School is awesome, I love it, I want to come back every day!"

"Hey T," David murmurs, "That's great, honey. Just - give me a second, okay? Just one second."

And then David puts his hand over the mouthpiece of the receiver and turns around to tell Bill fucking Gates that he's going to have to re-schedule their meeting for later.



He doesn't clinch the deal. Big surprise.

David sighs.

Story of his life.

And then Trina bounds into the room, Andie in tow, and drops herself right in his lap. "Daddy!" she beams, "Guess what I learned in school today?"

David puts his hands on her hips, steadying her. Her cheeks are red, almost as red as her hair, which has obviously been tugged into disarray by the wind. She looks more and more like Amy every day. "Hmm, did you learn how to bake chocolate chip cookies?"

"Nooooooo!" Trina giggles, and bounces Andie off of his chest (which, yeah, he should really work on getting her to stop doing that).

"Then you learned how to play the xylophone?"

"No!"

"No?" David looks genuinely appalled. Then he mouths a silent, "oh!" and smacks his forehead. "You were totally learning how to ride elephants, weren't you?"

"No!" Trina repeats, eyes sparkling as she chews on a lock of her hair. "We learned the colors of the rainbow!"

David pulls a face as he tugs her hair out of her mouth. "The colors of the rainbow? Wow. You wanna tell me what those are?"

T recites them easily, the colors rolling off her tongue like butter. "Mr. Archie says I'm doing really well," Trina adds, when she's done, like knowing the seven goddamn colors of the rainbow isn't enough to make David's chest swell.

"Mr. Archie?" David says, instead. "Is that who called me this morning?"

"Uh huh," Trina nods. "He's really nice, Daddy."

"Yeah," David agrees, rubbing a thumb idly over the inside of her calf. "Yeah, I could tell."

His baby girl grins up at him, her smile so quick and bright it's like a flashbulb going off, and David says, wanting to keep it there, "So hey, the colors of the rainbow, that's pretty impressive. I mean, I never learned that in school. I guess that makes make me pretty silly, huh?"

"Yeah," T says, and then, when David pretends to growl, shrieks, "Wait! No tickling, Daddy! No!"

She squirms in his hold, squealing with laughter as David pokes her ribs, her feet, one arm still fastened securely around her to keep her in place, until she's wheezing into his t-shirt from where she's mashed up against him. "Now who's the silly one?" he asks, gathering her up again.

"But you still don't know the colors!" Trina protests, as she catches her breath and looks up at him, and David has to concede the point.

"Looks like I'm gonna be silly forever," he sighs, as he rests their foreheads gently together.

"No you won't," T says, sincerely. "I'll teach you, Daddy. It's really easy."

David softens as she tucks her face into the crook of his neck. He feels her puts a tiny, tiny hand over his chest, then, feels her fingers curl into a loose fist.

In the grand scheme of things, David thinks, he'd pass up a million Bill Gates, if it meant this is where he'd end up.

"It's a date," he murmurs, and threads a hand through his baby's hair.

His heart is exactly where it belongs.



Surprisingly, Archie - who, after two weeks, becomes Trina's "most favoritest teacher in the world, ever, ever, ever!" - doesn't stop calling. (David wonders if all kindergarten teachers are this good about keeping their students' parents updated.) Thankfully, the calls are usually about small things, little altercations: yelling at Greg, hiding in the bathroom for an hour after Greg splashes paint all over her dress, throwing Andie at Greg again after he tears her homework up.

Each time, Archie says, "I think she's getting better, though? She's really sweet to everyone else. No, don't - don't worry about picking her up. Um, unless you want to? I - oh, no, I totally agree, Greg was out of line, but I really can't, um, we're kind of not allowed to let parents start hitting other people's kids. Sorry?"



His mom likes to say that he doesn't trust anyone with T but himself, but David's inclined to disagree. He trusts people fine, he just knows he can do a better job. It's different with Archie, though. And it's not just that he's the best kindergarten teacher in the world (which is certifiable by David and Trina both). It's comfortable with him.

So, when David can't get out of a meeting one afternoon, he leaves Archie a message letting him know that he's going to be twenty minutes late, and can he please keep an eye on T till David can come get her?

He gets to the school half an hour later, and Trina storms into the car before he can even park, her lips pulled in a tight, thin line. She barely even acknowledges him, except to say, "Drive now."

"Oh-kay," David mutters. He has to text Archie a thank you.

T's silent treatment lasts the entire drive back, and she goes to bed without any dinner, and without meeting David's eyes once all night.

David sits at the dinner table alone, pushing his peas around his plate. This is like the beginning all over again, the first couple of years after Amy--

The nightmares always woke him the same way: drenched in sweat, his heart fluttering his chest, his baby girl's name on his lips. Sometimes her mother's. He'd stumble down the hallway, breath catching, till his bare fingers trailed cold against the concrete wall outside Trina's room. He'd stand in her doorway, sometimes for hours, watching the rise and fall of the covers, counting every steady, sleepy heartbeat. Then, when he started to sway on his feet, he'd crawl into bed with her, curl up around her tiny, tiny body, wrap an arm around her and pull her close.

She's his to protect.

His to lose.

David finds her in bed, blankets pulled up to her chin. The mattress dips under his weight, and he settles beside her, gently. His baby girl is stiff in his arms. "Hey," he says, quietly. "T."

It takes a moment, but then she relents, turning to him and burrowing her face in his chest. "You promised, Daddy," she whispers. He doesn't need to look at her to know she's been crying, and his gut clenches. "You promised you were gonna be there."

"I know, baby," he murmurs, pressing a kiss to her temple to hide the ache he can feel hiding behind his lips. "I'm sorry. I'm here now."

T sniffles a little. David doesn't comment when she rubs her nose discreetly over his shirt. "Mr. Archie isn't you, okay?" she says, plaintively.

"Okay," David says, and squeezes her hand. "But he's pretty awesome, right?"

T chews on her lower lip for a moment - so much like her mother it makes David smile - and then nods a little. "Yeah. He's pretty awesome."



The next time Archie rings David up, his first words are, "So, um, she'll probably grow out of it eventually, but it would be a good idea to never do that again?"

David finds himself laughing in reply, the apology he'd been planning stuck in his throat. "Yeah," he agrees, as he swipes a hand over his eyes. "Yeah, that's probably a good idea."



The incident doesn't deter Archie from calling again, and every time, David picks up. It gets to the point where David finds himself looking forward to talking to Archie, to human contact outside of his daughter and work. Sometimes the calls come after office-hours. Sometimes they don't even come from the school. Sometimes, they don't even talk about Trina.

"I mean, it's not like I haven't been looking," David points out one night, after he's put Trina to bed. "It's not like I've ever thought I'd stay in mourning forever, you know? That's not what Amy wanted. It's just - being a single dad is a full time job, and dating is hard enough as it is, I don't even know what it's going to be like juggling that and work and T."

"Oh," Archie says, and David can practically hear him nodding over the phone. "Yes. I totally understand."

David smiles; the words are oddly comforting. "Really?"

"Um," Archie says, sounding vaguely guilty. "I - no. Not - not really. But, um, that must really suck." There's a pause, and Archie sounds a little panicked when he adds, belatedly, "I mean, not the working part. Or the single dad part! T is awesome, she's - I would totally fall in love with her if, um, I - wait, no, that's inappropriate, I - um. Dating is totally overrated anyway! Totally, totally overrated. Not - not that I would know, I guess, since I've dated no one, ever, and I don't even think I'm, like, picky or whatever, I just -- oh my gosh, I can't believe I'm telling you all this! This is totally embarrassing--"

David catches himself just before he starts laughing, and promptly dissolves into a coughing fit.

"Um," Archie says uncertainly, "Cook? Oh my gosh, you're - stop laughing at me!"

"Jesus, Archie," David says, in between his wheezing. "And I thought I was on a dry spell--"

"I am totally hanging up now," Archie huffs.

"No, wait!" David says. "Wait, Arch." He makes a valiant effort to sound like he's breathing normally. "I'm shutting up now, I swear."

They talk for five whole hours that night, and David falls asleep to the sound of Archie breathing slow and steady in his ear.



He doesn't think much of it until the next time he and Andrew have their routine biweekly phone call. Five minutes into their conversation about the Mets, his brother says, "Dude. Are you seeing someone?"

"What?" David demands, completely thrown. "Where the hell are you getting this?"

"You sound fucking giddy, man," Andrew crows. "Don't hold out on me! You totally are, aren't you? Jesus, wait till I text Mom about this."

"Andrew!" David barks. "Andrew, don't you fucking--"

Andrew hangs up.

David swears. It - dammit, it doesn't make him look forward to speaking to Archie any less.



That's probably the reason Archie's next call catches him completely off-guard. David isn't even thinking as he takes it, and he barely even pauses his typing of a business contract as he balances his cell between his ear and his shoulder. "Hey, Archie, what did she do this time?"

"Um," Archie says. His tone is enough to make David sit up, and push away from his computer. "Cook, you're totally not allowed to freak out, okay? Because it's not, um, it's not a big deal, and I totally have things under control. T was just on the swings, and Greg pushed her a little too hard, so... Cook? Cook? David? Hello?"



David used to think it was weird, the way other parents always seemed to be able to pick their kids out of a crowd. He doesn't think that now. He feels like a heat-seeking missile, hot and intent and focused as he half-runs past the school gate. His heart is banging frantically at his ribcage, like it wants to be let out, like it knows something's wrong with its other half--

And then he sees her, like a lone spot of color in a sea of washed-out gray. She's sitting on a bench along the wall, at the far end of the corridor, eyes on the floor, hands fisted in her shorts. "T?" David calls.

Her head darts up at the sound of his voice. Her face lights up. "Daddy!" she says, and then she's right there, jumping for him, her arms outstretched. David catches her (always, always catches her) and feels her fold into him as he presses his face into her hair and breathes her in. She's fine.

She's okay.

"Hey kiddo," he murmurs, after a minute, like he didn't just break every traffic law in the state to get to her. "How about let's never do that again, huh?"

"She's fine now," someone says. "We totally patched her up. Right, Trina?"

David feels Trina nod against his chest, and he looks up, surprised. He'd recognize that voice anywhere. "Archie?" The sight of the boy - man - in front of him catches him the way fatherhood did: both of them nothing like he'd expected. Archie's clad in an oversized, red checkered shirt, and he looks all of seventeen. "Wow," David adds, before he can stop himself.

Archie ducks his head with a laugh, rubbing an awkward hand over the back of his neck. And - Jesus, if David hadn't been sure of Archie's identity before, that would've sealed the deal. David suddenly wishes he was dressed in something other than jeans and his rattiest Zeppelin t-shirt. "Um," Archie says, eventually, and waves the remnants of a Mickey Mouse band-aid awkwardly at David. "It was just a little scratch. There's totally nothing to be worried about."

"Yeah," David says. "I, uh. Tend to be a little overprotective." Trina giggles, and David blows a soft raspberry against her neck. "Quiet, you."

Archie nods, a little. "Yeah," he says. "It was kind of hard to miss. I figured I'd, um, wait it out with her till you got here. In case I - in case she needed anything."

He says it with complete earnestness, eyes dark and wide, and there's this - this slow diffusion of warmth in David's chest. He wants to chalk it up to his armful of squirming baby girl, but -- it's this sudden, wondrous, overwhelming realization that he isn't alone. That he doesn't have to be.

"Thanks," David says, eventually. "So - hi, I guess."

Archie's smile is slow, and shy, and the warmth starts to leak into David's stomach. "Hi."

David knows all about love, that fierce ache in his chest whenever he sees his baby girl laugh, or when the light catches in her eyes, or when she chews on her hair, that little voice in the back of his head that echoes mine.

And this heat on his skin, this slow burn--this isn't it.

But David thinks it might be close.

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