[outpost 12]

Aug 28, 2009 19:22

It's night, it's quiet. It's nice: Hotaru's tucked in, settling into sleep; he picks up his book (Charlie Parker: His Music and Life) and flips to the bookmark. He's read the book before, but not for a while, so it's time. Fluffing up the pillow, he leans back against the headboard.

This is a nice time of night. He's got time before the robots finish downstairs, if he feels like going down there and playing. He's here, though, because he promised Hotaru he wouldn't stray far until he's sure she's sound asleep. For a five-year-old, she's good about waking up alone but he knows there's a fine line between trust and too much independence for a child. They need to feel safe. They need to feel nurtured. They need to feel loved.

In some ways he likes the parallels: he was adopted, he had a single parent, he was well cared-for. He's sure he's not doing as great a job with Hotaru as his mom did with him, but he's trying. He's doing the best he can, and he's really giving it all he's got. It's not his fault she's stuck here, but while she is, he's going to take the very best care of her. The best he knows how to give: every child deserves that from someone.

And one of these days he might find the computer in charge of that portal room and have a serious heart-to-heart with it. Just on Hotaru's behalf, that is. He personally doesn't want to go anywhere and if he has to trade his ability to go back to Callisto with Hotaru's inability to go home to Japan, he'll do it.

At least he's pretty sure about that.
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