(no subject)
Life, as has been observed, goes on.
Sometimes it limps on, and sometimes it takes a while for it to get back up to speed, but it goes. Since Mike has learned the details of what had happened while he'd been away with his ghosts, he can't help feeling regret that he hadn't been here for it. Maybe he would have been able to help. Maybe one or two people might not have been hurt. Maybe others might still be alive.
But it's not guilt. It is what it is. He can't change it now.
He's having a hard enough time changing the fact that his daughter is gumming wetly at his ear.
"Look," he says, sighing and tugging Flo away from the side of his head for the third or fourth time, shifting her against his shoulder. "I don't wanna put you down, because you'll scream. That's the whole point of this little exercise, and your mom needs her sleep. But I need coffee, so maybe we could compromise?"
Flo gurgles and smacks his cheekbone with a chubby palm. Mike sighs again and turns the heat on under the kettle, leans back against the counter and settles her down against his chest.
"You're a plague on my life," he says, looking down into round blue eyes. They're almost too big for her skull, he thinks sometimes. "Seriously. And I can't even send you back for a refund."
And he has a life. And she's part of it.
Please, God, let him never be so stupid as to lose sight of that again.
[wide open; late tags a-okay, etc. will be slowish for now because I'm still dealing with new apartment stuff and then I have class. but I needed to get this up.]
Sometimes it limps on, and sometimes it takes a while for it to get back up to speed, but it goes. Since Mike has learned the details of what had happened while he'd been away with his ghosts, he can't help feeling regret that he hadn't been here for it. Maybe he would have been able to help. Maybe one or two people might not have been hurt. Maybe others might still be alive.
But it's not guilt. It is what it is. He can't change it now.
He's having a hard enough time changing the fact that his daughter is gumming wetly at his ear.
"Look," he says, sighing and tugging Flo away from the side of his head for the third or fourth time, shifting her against his shoulder. "I don't wanna put you down, because you'll scream. That's the whole point of this little exercise, and your mom needs her sleep. But I need coffee, so maybe we could compromise?"
Flo gurgles and smacks his cheekbone with a chubby palm. Mike sighs again and turns the heat on under the kettle, leans back against the counter and settles her down against his chest.
"You're a plague on my life," he says, looking down into round blue eyes. They're almost too big for her skull, he thinks sometimes. "Seriously. And I can't even send you back for a refund."
And he has a life. And she's part of it.
Please, God, let him never be so stupid as to lose sight of that again.
[wide open; late tags a-okay, etc. will be slowish for now because I'm still dealing with new apartment stuff and then I have class. but I needed to get this up.]