Lost Chances
 

It's raining again.

That's the funny thing about Cascade weather. It's mercurial.  Bright and sunny one day, raining the next.  Kinda how I imagine Canada to be.

I turn the photo over in my hands one more time, looking at the brightly coloured image.  I'm so afraid to even hold this image, I keep it hidden in my room, in my draw, under a pile of socks.  I can't let anyone else see it.  It's proof, evidence I can't live with or without.

Her and me.  Side by side, a gag we did once at the arcade, jam five dollars into the machine and have your strip of photos taken.  One of her in my lap, one of me in hers.  One of us both shamelessly making monkey faces.

And the one I hold in my hand.  I remember it so clearly.  I was busy mugging away at the camera and she turned, catching my face with two fingers, turning me to meet those incredible eyes.  Brown meets green and she took my breath away.  And it shows, in this photo.

A few tears drip down my cheek to splash the glossy surface.  A photo booth, something she dragged me into on impulse gave me the only remaining memory I have. It was like the movies, endless summer.  But now it's raining again.

Huh. Cascade.

Sandburg reckons Cascade is blessed by the rain gods.  He said that in his usual mock-serious way, eyes dancing with mischief.

He juggles it so well.  Flicking from his partnership with Jim, to his work at the University, to helping others, always cycling back to Dayna, my daughter.

No.

I left it too late.

Dayna isn't my daughter anymore.  Any claim I had through a tenuous chance of being part of what brought her into the world has dissolved over the long months of my hiding.

Dayna isn't mine anymore.  She's Sandburg's.

Completely.

I realised it in the bullpen, After that barfight, when Blair came in, face puffy with bruises, looking like some sort of psychotic smurf.  She called him 'dad'.  Him, not me.

The ties are too strong to break now, even if I thought I could, even if I thought I had that right.  I felt my heart spike in my chest like it was tearing it's way out.  It took every ounce of self-control I had to wait until they had left before bolting to the bathroom and bawling like a child.

Like a baby.

My baby.

Some part of me breaks and I cry anew. The rain outside is oddly comforting, like someone else shares my pain.

Dayna my Dayna, both my Daynas lost to me know.  The thought circles my head like the lyrics to some obscure song.  I can't help thinking what could have been?  If I had come forward, maybe things would have been different.

She wouldn't have been poisoned by that nut for starters.

That scared me.  I couldn't even summon the courage to look in at her in the hospital.  Didn't want to see what had happened to her because of my cowardice.  Because I foisted her off on Sandburg and Ellison, the two men who seem to attract more trouble than your average superhero.

No.

That's not fair.

Blair is a better father than I could ever be. He would never tell Dayna to go play in her room, go away, I'm too busy.  He would make time for her, always.

I remember visiting him in the hospital, with most of Major Crimes.  Yeah, safety in numbers.  Seeing him sitting there, holding her so tightly I thought they would both break like finely spun crystal.  Jim, Corrinne, standing silent guard like twin watchmen from some prehistoric tribe.

It scares me sometimes.  Blair would give his life ten times over for her.  So would Jim.  Hell, even Corrinne, that woman has a strength that burns from within.  I don't know if I could.  I never gave myself the chance.

And now it's too late.

Slowly I turn the coffee cup in my hands, letting the hot liquid warm my chilled palms.

I threw my daughter to the wolves.  Blair could so easily have turned her over to Welfare, pushed her through the system, so long, nice to have seen ya, kid.   But he didn't.  Blair took her in, Blair is bringing her up.

And a part of me knew he would do that.  I knew he could never turn his back, never walk away.  I manipulated him into a corner with my own selfishness, my own cowardice.

Angrily I threw my coffee cup against the wall.  It smashed into a thousand fragments, white pieces dancing on the floor as I step past them. Pressing my hand to the window, I look past the rain sheeting down and wonder what they're up to.  I wonder what my daughter is doing?

Jim's playing with Dayna.

Sometimes he acts like it's a big chore, taking over domestic duties when I'm snowed with Uni work.  But one look at his face and anyone can see it's a big macho bullshit act.  Anyone watching them can see that attachment, the delight, the love.

It's even more obvious to me. I mean, come on, I'm an anthropologist, a trained observer. But my field of study has kinda narrowed down to mainly two people.

Jim and Dayna.

Putting my marking pen down on the table, I lean back in the chair and just watch them.  I can't help it, a smile quirks my face.

Big mean ol' Jim Ellison, the ex military Sentinel who can knock the shit out of your average badguy with a single punch seems quite content sprawled on his stomach on the rug playing, well, Jungle Gym to a wildly giggling nine month old who is gleefully pulling out chubby handfuls of his remaining hair.

I watch as Dayna slides off his back with a soft thump, eliciting a cry that is quickly silenced by a tight hug and a soft kiss, followed by a resounding raspberry that makes *me* want to giggle.

Jim playing babysitter. It's a good thought.

Corrinne's got a date with her new fling of the week, Elizabeth.  (And Jim calls me hormone driven!)  They were planning a romantic picnic in the park, which, Cascade being Cascade, has probably now turned into a fireside lunch followed by the carnal activity of your choice. I swear, that woman has the most evil mind I know.

Some people wonder why I let a lesbian look after my daughter.  Some people think it makes me a bad parent.  I've caught a lot of stares and whispers sometimes, and I know Jim has too.  He never says, but sometimes he gets back from work with his jaw wound so tight he's bucking for dentures.

I don't see the reasoning behind it.  She's the right woman to look after Dayna.  I think her mother would have approved.  Hell, Dayna probably would have been first in line at the local bar, stupid things like a person's sex never bothered her.

Corrinne kinda reminds me of Jim.  I'm not sure why - apart from her obvious skills.  Something about her seems...calm, in control, but she's not afraid to show her weaker side.  In some ways, that makes her stronger than Jim.  And I know, deep down, that if something happens, if Jim or I weren't there, she would protect Dayna.  With her life.

Whoa, I reach out and trail my fingers across the counter.  Touch wood.  Not exactly, but the sentiments the same.

I wish bad things never had to happen.

I wish I could protect my daughter from everything wrong in the world.

I wish this family moment could go on forever.

Well, not the paperwork, but...

My daughter.

Family.

Goddess, when did this happen?  When did I go from, "I love you Dayna, but I want you to know your real family" to "I am your real family." ?

It scares me sometimes, how much I love her. How easily she fits in to everything I love, Jim, Naomi, work, my studies...it's all coming together like a giant jigsaw puzzle, pieces slotting in to neatly it frightens me at times.

It scares me how much I want to keep her.

I caught myself putting money aside the other day, thinking of setting up a bank account, storing it up for when she wants to go to college, or whatever, a little nest egg for when she's grown.  I'm setting myself up again, like always, never seeing the big fall just around the corner.   Like a house of cards, the slightest breeze, and I'll topple over, spilling all over the table.

But if that breeze takes Dayna away from me, will I be able to rebuild?  Bounce back, go on as always, like a million times before?

I don't know.

I look out at the rain spattering on the balcony and smile as another raspberry echoes across the Loft.  Idly I wonder who the father is.

A part of me - a big part, I'll admit - hopes I'll never find out.

All Content Copyright © 2001 Taleya Joinson
Last modified: November 12, 2010