“Henry, would you like to go for a walk?” Nelya questioned as Martinez loaded the dishwasher, having just finished what could be called their first family dinner.

Overall, it went better than any of them had assumed it would have. The conversations were varied and light, and the meal itself was filling. Heck, even Kyroll had no issues throughout.

The old Aviex man was in the living room and likely about to fall into a food coma after eating four whole plates of food and downing three beers. None of them minded; while Martinez and Lysa tolerated him, only Nelya loved to spend time with him.

“Sure, that would be nice,” Martinez replied over his shoulder, seeing Nelya and Lysa stuffing the last leftovers into the fridge.

“May I come along?” Lysa asked, closing the fridge before leaning onto the island, a beatific smirk on her lips.

With a gentle, motherly smile, Nelya patted Lysa’s shoulder but shook her head. "Not this time, my little Huntress. Your father wants to spend some time with you."

Any semblance of Lysa’s smile died when Nelya told her no, morphing into a childish pout. "Must I?" She groaned loudly.

Nelya hugged Lysa gently, supporting her daughter's need to spend time with her father despite all parties present being aware of her reservations. “You promised to try to work it out with your father, and because you two are leaving soon, now might be your only chance.”

Lysa sighed and tapped her nails on the counter, looking between her mother and Martinez, trying to think of some excuse she could give to weasel her way out of a solo interaction with Kyroll.

Yeah, he apologized to her, and they agreed to make an attempt to get along, but that didn't mean she wanted to spend time alone with him. She wanted Nelya and Martinez there as mediators; that had to go better than alone daddy-daughter time.

In the past, when she wanted to have a loving father, he was never there when she wanted to have a shoulder to cry on or teach her valuable skills; Kyroll only wished to take an interest when he felt like it—which was fleeting at best.

After her agreements with others, she seems to have backed herself into a corner and couldn’t think of a quick, witty response to get away from this—especially not with how foggy her head has been over the last few weeks. An issue that has been plaguing her all day, along with nausea and fits of moodiness.

"Fine, I shall make an earnest attempt," Lysa concedingly said, not wanting to rebuke her promise to Martinez, especially after his reaching out for her had injured him.

Despite how much she wanted to blame her father for the injuries, both Martinez and Kyroll swore it was just a freak occurrence with hungry animals, so she believed them—her Ruh'ah would never lie to her.

"Oh, that's perfect, deary," Nelya chirped, grabbing Lysa into a deeper hug and squeezing her daughter tight enough that she gasped and struggled to return the gesture.

“Now, Henry, go grab your jacket," Nelya said after hugging Lysa, leaving her gasping for air.

Martinez nodded and watched Nelya pirouette and rush out of the kitchen, a skip in her step and giggling like a schoolgirl.

"What's gotten into her?" Martinez asked.

“I haven’t the slightest clue,” Lysa replied, watching her mother vanishing down the hallway toward her room, moving so fast that her pink clothes made her a cotton candy blur. “Mother is usually bubbly; perhaps mine and Father's reconciliation has her in a particularly good mood.”

Martinez shrugged. That was a believable thing, but he wondered if there was more to Motherly Aviex’s current mood. Ever since Martinez and Kyroll returned from the hospital, Nelya had been so sweet he was about to get cavities. It's not that her acting like that was out of character, but she seemed giddier than when they first arrived.

“I’m going to go get my coat,” Martinez said, stepping toward the back doors to head to the guest house.

“I shall await you two by the door,” Lysa smiled meekly, ignoring the churning pain in her stomach.

—--

After seeing Martinez and Nelya out the door and watching Nelya tug her Ruh'ah up the driveway, hurrying him toward the woods, Lysa shuffled into the bathroom near the kitchen. Typically, she would go the extra distance to use the one in the guest house, wanting her privacy, but that was not viable right now.

Over the last week, on top of her irregular spikes of emotionalism, she also had been regularly plagued by bouts of extreme nausea. It had not reached the point of her vomiting yet, but just having the feeling of one hard jerk or a nasty flavor would trigger such a reaction.

To her regret, the nervousness of being alone with her father drove her to the point where she knew she was about to throw up. The fear of how he would act, how she should treat him, and the neurotic worry of them getting into a physical altercation once again pushed her over the edge.

Lysa barely made it to the toilet as the floodgates opened. She gripped the bowl and retched. Every fiber of her being screamed at her to expel the non-existent poison. Retching turned into gaging, gaging into erupting a vile mixture of barely digested food, blood, and bile. The red chunky spew filled the bowl as her painful groans filled the house.

The only solace that Lysa had in this horrible experience was that the blood was the few minute's worth she drank out of Martinez just before dinner. At least it should be; as far as she knew, she was healthy and had nothing odd going on. She had just been nervous and was overwhelmed the last few weeks—right?

She continued to vomit, and the sounds of her gagging, groaning, and nearly sobbing got louder. As the pain grew, a hefty thumping came from beyond the door, approaching like a rolling tide, followed by thunderous knocking.

“Lysa! Are you alright”? Kyroll yelled through the door.

“I am alri—” Lysa started attempting to lie, hoping to keep Kyroll away from her. But as if the universe was punishing the attempt, she threw up again, covering her shirt and hair in bile.

“No!” Lysa sobbed, turning her head back into the bowl.

Without thinking or asking, Kyroll tossed open the door and rushed over to Lysa, finding his dear daughter slumped over, clutching the toilet bowl.

"It's okay, it's okay, you'll be fine," Kyroll said, pulling her hair out of the bowl and rubbing her back.

Kyroll chose to do that simply because he did not know what else to do. He was not a medic or corpsman. He could triage minor issues—other than that, his training was to keep people safe until help arrived, he brought them to it, or the danger was dealt with. So, for now, trying to keep her from choking was all he could do.

The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

Lyza couldn't help but feel humiliated; she had never had anyone see her sick, vomiting, or in any way this distraught; not even Martinez saw the effects of her time of the month that badly.

Why did it have to be her father of all people to come to her side when she fell ill for the first time in years?

"Don't worry, just let it out," Kyroll encouraged.

Lysa did not need the encouragement. Her body was still forcibly expelling anything she had inside her. Perhaps her lungs or heart would pop into the bowl, ending her humiliation.

As Lysa continued to vomit, she made no attempts to argue about Kyrolls presence; there was no point, and he wouldn't have left even if she had. His stubbornness was something she knew all too well.

After a half hour, Lysa’s body had at long last decided her gauntlet of pain was over. She looked like a mess and felt just as awful. Crusted partially dried vomit covered her shirt, face, hair, and half the floor and around the toilet.

Along with that, every muscle burned, feeling like she had just gone back to back rounds of fighting Teacher, followed by letting someone hit her with a hammer.

Glancing around and up at Kyroll’s patient, caring gaze, Lysa’s heart clenched. Seeing the horrible state of everything and that she was clutching her father, whom she had been awful to over the last few days, cumulatively put her back into a state of mania.

"Why? You, you should hate me," Lysa quaved. “You're not supposed to be nice."

"I'll never hate you. I was stupid, overprotective, and pushed you away, but I'll always love you, Lysa; you’re my little huntress," Kyroll replied softly.

"But I'm awful," Lysa protested.

"No, no, you aren't," Kyroll replied, hugging her tightly, uncaring about the vomit or tears. Finally, holding his little girl again was a dream come true.

It took Lyza a moment, but with her father unrelenting in his caring hold, she clutched him just as forcefully and buried her face in his collar.

"Come on, let's get you cleaned up," Kyroll said softly, rubbing his hand on the small of Lysa’s back, just as he did when she was little. Lysa nodded and stood with him, letting him clean the floor while she prepared the shower.

By the time Lysa showered off and managed to wrangle her emotions back under control, Kyroll had already set out some sweats and a shirt for her. They were her mother's, and unlike the clothes she usually wore, they were bright pink and covered in flowers. But for now, she didn't mind, nor did she think her mother would mind borrowing some clothes.

As she slipped on the simple t-shirt, Kyroll knocked on the door yet again. "I put your dirty clothes in the washer. uhhh--- would you want to--- come relax?"

Lysa hesitated when answering that, not because she was angry or anything along those lines. She just had to ruminate on how Kyroll was being so lovely to her, especially after all she had done.

She had yelled about him, talked behind his back, and insulted him for years. She hit him only a few days ago, for star's sake.

Martinez and her mother seemed right about him making an effort, which is earnestly unreal. She was finally accepting that perhaps this trip was not a waste.

"Have Ruh'ah and Mother returned?" Lysa asked, hanging up her wet towel. She still did not trust her father entirely and wanted them to have her back.

"Not yet; Nelly texted me and said they would be a while," Kyroll explained.

That was curious. The pair must have been gone for almost an hour by now; Lysa estimated that much time had passed based on the sun coming in through the window. She wasn't precisely sure how long her vomiting and clean-up had taken.

She wondered if they had found a pleasant location to bird watch or observe some other section of the wilderness. After all, they both enjoyed nature.

"I shall be out momentarily," Lysa conceded. "Where shall you be?"

"Okay—uh, I'll be in the living room," Kyroll replied, stepping back from the door. His footsteps became quieter as he walked away, leaving Lysa to finish any clean-up she needed to.

Shortly after, Lysa found her father precisely as he said he would be. The sight of what he was doing caused her to smile and take a pleasant jaunt down memory lane—echoes of when she was no taller than Kyroll’s waist flashed in her mind.

Memories of days from when she had been bullied at school and he would snuggle up with her under blankets to watch a movie and ensure that all was all right in his little daughter's world.

Those were pleasant times, and it looks as though good old Dad still knows how to comfort his little girl.

He even had the same blanket, cookies, and tea laid out while digging through her mother's shelves, looking for either a movie or a book for them to relax.

After noticing her presence, Kyroll stopped looking for a movie and looked over at her. "Too much?" he questioned awkwardly, scratching his forearm.

"Not at all," Lysa assured as she walked over to the couch and let the plush surface pull her in.

"Any idea what you want to watch?” Kyroll questioned, showing her a collection of cutesy family cartoons that they used to watch.

Kyroll was barely looking directly at her, likely unsure how he was supposed to act. Still, he was doing almost everything perfectly to make Lysa feel comfortable and to try to bridge some of the gap between them.

Lysa certainly noticed all the effort.

"Can you play Rolala?" Lysa replied, pulling the blanket up and wrapping it underneath her.

She remembers the adventure story fondly but hasn't watched it in years. It was about a young Aviex hero traveling across a fictional version of Avalon, looking for some magical artifact to bring forth the sun and cast away the darkness.

If memory served correctly, the story was a modern retelling of the myth of why the Aviex home planet experienced darkness for days on end and now existed in a near-perpetual twilight.

Lysa was too unfamiliar with old Aviex myths to confirm it, but that sounded vaguely correct. Either way, the sword and sorcery story about fighting monsters and steadfast friends was heartwarming—she found it inspiring as a young lass.

"Okay, no problem," Kyroll said as he selected the movie. After putting it on, he moved to the far end of the sofa and groaned, lowering himself to the surface.

"Do you want some tea? Maybe a cookie?" Kyroll asked, leaning forward and groaning in pain, pushing the tray of snacks closer to Lysa.

"Maybe later," Lysa said, unable to look at the food without her stomach trying to throw up again.

Kyroll nodded, unwilling to push any subject with his daughter, especially when she seemed sick.

As they sat there and the movie rolled, Lysa continued to grumble, grip her stomach, and whined, still feeling like her gut would implode. Each time it happened, she noticed that Kyroll looked over at her and winced like he was feeling the same agony.

Between her spats of pain, Lysa looked at the details of what he had set up. There was only one tea cup and tray; he could not reach them if he wanted to. Had he done this only for her?

She whined, understanding how her father was putting such effort into this attempt at rekindling their relationship. She also understood how all she was doing was giving him a cold shoulder, pushing against and fighting him; ultimately, Lysa was not helping at all.

Thinking back to her promise to Martinez and Nelya, Lysa could not justify her actions. She had to attempt to meet her father halfway, and that was just what she would do.

Lysa stood, holding the blanket tight, and moved closer to Kyroll. Sitting down next to him, she threw the blanket over their laps and leaned against her father for the first time in years.

"There, much better," Lysa said, shimming closer and resting comfortably against him. She took in the odd mix of sap, smoke, and cologne that oozed from her father and found it comforting.

His scent was precisely the same as when she was younger and pushed deep into her soul and pulled forth feelings of comfort and safety that existed before she grew up, and they had their fights.

Kyroll froze and remained motionless, unable to comprehend that Lysa was close to him. His mind was racked with a million possibilities for why she might be attempting this. Was it some trick? Was it a cruel joke she would use to stab his heart? Or, by the rare chance, did she actually want to attempt to forgive him?

It took until she leaned against him and spoke for him to accept reality and relax with her.

"Thank you for trying," Lysa breathed.

"Thanks for letting me," Kyroll replied, draping his arm over her shoulder.

Lysa smiled and sighed contently, not needing anything else to be said.

They both understood their relationship was far from perfect, and this was just the first few steps at repairing what they once had. Even though it would be many years before all was forgiven--- this was a wonderful start.

For the following few hours until they both fell asleep on the spot, both were transported back to when she was a little girl, and he was just learning how to be a civilian and father. It was a time when their family was whole, and they all knew who was there for them.

Maybe one day, years from now, they will fully recapture that feeling. Lysa, Kyroll, Nelya, and even Martinez might just be one big happy family. Both wanted it at this point.