“...Dad? Why are you here?” I ask, my breathing growing faster as I begin to hyperventilate. “Is this some kind of bit you guys are doing?”

I look around at Revision and Menagerie, panic taking over when their expressions remain still. They said the were going to introduce me to one of the Crafting Vanguard, that he might have some insight into my situation, not that he IS the situation. I can feel as control of the situation slips from my fingers and the overwhelming urge to sprint away from everything again.

He presses his hand to a spot on his neck, prompting his helmet to separate and fold into the rest of his suit. What’s he going to say? I can’t do this I need to go I have to get out. I step backwards, my body trying to follow the mixed commands my brain is giving it.

Menageries hand presses into my back, steadying me as I back up. There’s no strength to it, she isn’t stopping me from leaving if I want to, she’s just giving me something to ground myself to. I feel the trembling in my hands reduce, but only slightly.

“I’m sorry, Brooke.” my father says, his eyes locking with mine. I try to look away, but I can’t. “I’m sorry about how we reacted; I’m sorry that this is how you’re finding out what I really am, and I’m sorry for coming here and making you feel even worse than I already have.”

His words batter at my psyche, and all of my emotions that I managed to wrangle during my talk with Menagerie start tearing at their bindings. I don’t want an apology; I want this to not be happening. And what does he mean “who he really is”? Is he seriously a Vanguard and kept it from me this entire time?

I don’t have any words for him, I’m just so unbelievably mixed up inside at all this. How did he even know I was here? Did one of them tell him? Does that mean they knew my dad was a Vanguard but I didn’t? I don’t even feel like I’m crying but I can tell my cheeks are soaked with tears.

The words don’t want to come out, like I’ve been silent for hours and my throat is unused to speaking so all I choke out is:

“Why?”

Now that his mask is off, I can see the pained wince that one word caused him. I don’t want to hurt him, I just want to go back to before any of this. I love him and he’s always been there for me, I just can’t reconcile the person in front of me with my goofy dad.

He passes his hand through his stubble, looking away from me for a moment while he considers how to answer my question. “‘Why?’ Is a fair question to ask. I promise I can answer it too, but there’s a lot to go over and it’ll take some time. Do you think you’ll be okay to sit and stay for a bit as I explain?”

I nod, shakily, not at all confident that I’ll be able to stay, but also unwilling to leave when the explanation for everything is right in front of me. My knee’s wobble and collapse, but my tentacles move almost instinctively to catch me, setting me down in a chair made of their tied together masses.

My dad leans back down into his seat, having shot up to try and catch me before I fell, only to watch me catch myself. A wistfulness flashes over his expression for a moment, no doubt experiencing some metaphorical nonsense at the moment.

“Old Ones, where to start? I guess me being a Vanguard would be the easiest bit, by some ironic twist.”

He goes on for a while, describing his Ascension and the choices he’s made since then. When given the option to stay behind the walls as a support Vanguard, he immediately agreed. He already had me and my brother by then, so he didn’t feel right going out and risking his life when there was a chance he could leave us without a father. I’m a little more upset that he kept it hidden from me and Victor all this time, but I guess wanting to preserve your normal life is a reasonable, if frustrating, reason. I also wasn’t going to tell them right up until I made the choice to literally risk my life, so I’m not sure how much ground I have to stand on for that one.

Instinctually, I send a thought towards Roosevelt, forgetting that he’s off doing something and can’t respond. That thought triggers a domino effect of other thoughts, leaving me with a question.

“If you’re a Vanguard, who’s your contractor? I feel like it would have been hard to hide them from us since you’re usually at home?” I ask, having settled down enough to talk during his explanation.

My dad, looking a bit exhausted from his explanation, perks up a bit at the question. “Oh, I forgot to mention that part. You know how you insisted on naming our cat General Tso? His actual name is Kthal’hul.”

My brain stutters to a halt, bizarrely more alarmed by the fact that my cat is an eldritch being than my fathers Vanguard Status. Dozens of memories flash through my mind, everything making more sense with this revelation. The weirdly long back-and-forth meowing they did to each other,

“Is that why he always preferred you, even though I worked so hard to make him like me?” I ask, dejected.

“No, cat’s just don’t like being picked up very much, and you tend to do that. It’s somewhat infantilizing to him.”

I put my head in my hands, my fingernails digging into the malleable substance of my beret as this information devastates me.

If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

A lull in the conversation starts, neither of us able to articulate the next words we want to say.

“...Would you like to talk about what happened back at the house?” He asks, his voice lowering into a more serious tone again. “If it’s too much, we can just talk about other things for a bit. There’s no rush.”

I wrestle down the emotions rising up in my throat alongside the nausea. Everything is fine. If he hated something about me, he wouldn’t have come all this way. He’s a Vanguard too; everything is fine. I’m fine.

I glance back at where Menagerie and Revision were, except now they’ve moved to a couch farther away to give me space and talk quietly. Noticing my gaze, Menagerie gives me a confident nod and watches me until I turn back around.

“I’ll be okay. I just—no. go ahead,”

Indecision mars his expression as my own hesitant response fuels his fear of doing the wrong thing. I feel terrible putting that on him, but I don’t know what to do or how to stop doing it.

“Youe-hrm” He starts, clearing his throat after cracking his first word. “Your mother was terrified when I first told her I accepted the contract to be a Vanguard. We’d only been married for around six years at that point, and as far as she was concerned, I’d just been drafted into the war against the fathom. Which, while more nuanced than that, was essentially true.”

He spreads his hands open, a series of pretty teal-blue strings tying themselves together into complex patterns of hexagons. I can tell they’re building into something, but I’m more focused on his words.

“She eventually came to terms with it, but even then it was mostly because I, as a designated crafter-type, would only see action if the worst came to pass.” He pulls on his jaw, his armored fingers scratching against his stubble. “I think what I’m getting at is that we were scared, Brooke. Not of you, not of the changes it’ll bring about in our lives, not even of the chance you’d have to fight if our city were in danger. We were scared because we know how empathetic and kind of a daughter we raised, and that there’s no way in hell you wouldn’t have chosen the path that puts yourself in the most danger.”

My throat squeezes shut, thinking about the mission I agreed to go on not even a day ago. I can’t refute him, but his eyes are begging me to. I break my eyes from his, unable to meet them. I don’t know what this feeling is, it’s not shame or guilt but it’s eating at me the same way they would. I try to say something, but it’s like I haven’t spoken in months, and nothing comes out.

His arms wrap around me, his warm embrace somehow comforting and suffocating at the same time.

“It’s your choice, and I’m proud of you.”

I can’t hold back my sobs anymore, and my whole body shudders as I wail into his shoulder. Relief at his simple words tries to smother my guilt I feel for endangering myself when so many people care for me so deeply. I almost want him to be mad, but I know he would never.

“Chin up, Buttercup. I’ve got something for you.”

His face has a smile on it when I look up at him in confusion, but I can see the redness around his eyes.

“These are for you.” He says, taking my hand and setting two small somethings in it before closing my fingers back over them.

I open my hand to see two small stud earrings with a beautiful gyrating design within them, hundreds of little teal hexagons moving in an inexorable pattern.

“I made a matching set for your mother and myself, as long as you have these on you, you’ll be able to see our heartbeat just like we can see yours.”

They roll around in my palm as I tilt it, examining them as they move. “What about Victor? Is this you admitting I’m the favorite?” I joke, but the brief moment of alarm on his face leads me to believe he overlooked his son for a moment.

“I don’t need a machine to see Vic’s heartbeat.” He says, regaining his composure, “If he leaves his bedroom it’s because he wants food or one of the three amigos has come over. I’ll make sure to give him one the minute he communes with an eldritch being, since it’s apparently a family thing now.”

I laugh but it comes out more like a sigh as I lean my forehead into his shoulder again. This is technically the resolution I wanted, but the knots in my chest refuse to untie themselves regardless of, or perhaps in spite of my reasoning.

“I am loath to interrupt this discussion, but the hour has just turned over to three am, and if my understanding is correct, you have a debut of sorts tomorrow.” Menagerie says, having arrived behind me without a sound.

I mouth the word three to myself like a question, though she clearly takes it as a response.

“Indeed. I do not often open my guest rooms to others, but the two of you are welcome to stay until morning if you like.”

My dad holds his hand up as if he’s blocking the offer like some sort of projectile. “Most generous, but I must get home to assure my wife that our daughter doesn’t hate us.” Before I can give him shit for saying that, he turns to me. “Don’t feel obligated to come home just because I am, though. I understand coming back tonight might feel a bit awkward.”

I had assumed I’d be going home with him, so hearing him say that kind of threw my three available NPC responses for a loop. “Oh, I’m—yes please?”

I hear Revisions snort from his location still on the couch. “I’ll go tell Blair to prepare the ocean room.” he says, standing up and heading back through the door we came through.

My dad stands up, his bad knee giving him some issues so I hug him as I help him get on his feet faster. “Sorry I just ran out on you guys, I should have—” he cuts me off by hugging me back, muffling my apology with the leather-like material the jacket of his costume is made from.

“Rather than unnecessary apologies, what I want is to know if your surprise gay cake is up for grabs since it’s no longer about you.”

Heat rushes to my cheeks, having forgotten all about the cake and Sydney.

And Sydney?

Absolutely not delving into that slip-up, I respond, “It is not up for grabs. And not for any weird reason; I just want it. Dibs.” I don’t look at him, but I know what he’s doing. “Stop doing that. Put your eyebrow down.”

I look up at him, regretting it, as he lowers one eyebrow and raises the other as I watch, complying with my demand in the most frustrating way possible

“Gah! Just go home!”