βWell,β Stephen says, and trails off. Itβs frustrating, being so pissed-off at someone who isnβt even here to be yelled at. And heβs not sure how far he can get telling her point-blank I think your dad was kind of an asshole, actually.
βItβs not like Iβm the expert on children, but thatβs singularly—β he starts, then stops, then frowns at her. Plainly: βYou deserved better, Ennaris.β
Ennaris blinks at Stephen, struck suddenly with a very strange thought, a sense she's never had beforeβwhat a naΓ―ve thing for such a smart person to say. He thinks she doesn't know.
"Of course," plainly, patiently, "but he is my father."
She was a child. She didn't ask to be born, or to be his, or to be anything at all. The least she deserved was a parent, even just one, who wanted her. But she had Keya and Vazeiros, and so that's not what she got. Deserving is a useless abstract, pointless to waste time on.
If the calculus is cruel, that is irrelevant. It is.
He shakes his head. This is the sort of problem he canβt just carve out with a knife; canβt just string together some reassuring words to fix it all in one go, and he already wasnβt the best at those inspirational speeches.
The issue of the stump, in fact, is simpler. Even with the medical complications, the trouble healing, the infection and near-sepsis, this is at least a physical problem that Doctor Strange knows how to solve. And itβs already been cleaned out and re-dressed, this checkup long-since technically finished, but —
βItβs healing nicely,β Stephen says, a quick pivot back into safer territory, even though itβs repeating what heβs already said and what she already knows. He readjusts the trailing end of the bandage, tucking it in tighter.
βSo I think weβre about done here, Ennaris.β And then, in case that feels too much like potential dismissal, he offers her a quick smile along with: βAnd telepathy practice at the usual time tomorrow, if youβre feeling up for it?β
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no subject
βItβs not like Iβm the expert on children, but thatβs singularly—β he starts, then stops, then frowns at her. Plainly: βYou deserved better, Ennaris.β
no subject
Ennaris blinks at Stephen, struck suddenly with a very strange thought, a sense she's never had beforeβwhat a naΓ―ve thing for such a smart person to say. He thinks she doesn't know.
"Of course," plainly, patiently, "but he is my father."
She was a child. She didn't ask to be born, or to be his, or to be anything at all. The least she deserved was a parent, even just one, who wanted her. But she had Keya and Vazeiros, and so that's not what she got. Deserving is a useless abstract, pointless to waste time on.
If the calculus is cruel, that is irrelevant. It is.
poss yrs to wrap?
The issue of the stump, in fact, is simpler. Even with the medical complications, the trouble healing, the infection and near-sepsis, this is at least a physical problem that Doctor Strange knows how to solve. And itβs already been cleaned out and re-dressed, this checkup long-since technically finished, but —
βItβs healing nicely,β Stephen says, a quick pivot back into safer territory, even though itβs repeating what heβs already said and what she already knows. He readjusts the trailing end of the bandage, tucking it in tighter.
βSo I think weβre about done here, Ennaris.β And then, in case that feels too much like potential dismissal, he offers her a quick smile along with: βAnd telepathy practice at the usual time tomorrow, if youβre feeling up for it?β