Mountains of gratitude to honeywldcat for her editing of this entire series.
*
"I've got a present for you." I said, plopping down on the couch next to Dani.
It was Father's Day. I had texted my father wishing him the best. Dad wasn't much of a talker, and I learned years ago that a call was rather pointless. All Dad really wanted was to know I was thinking of him on his Hallmark Holiday.
Danielle, however, was another matter. She was down and in the dumps from when we first woke up. It was simply another reminder that she didn't have a real family. Or, at least that's what she thought.
Little did she know that in the hours that I was in "lab," I was busy on the internet, at the library, and on the phone to the city, county, and state offices trying to track down her family. Most things were a matter of public record and searching around through them was easy, but bureaucratic and time consuming.
"A present? What kind of present?" she asked curiously. I handed her a card.
"A father's day card?" she asked, looking at me with terrible disappointment. "Did you really need to remind me that I don't have a dad?"
That nearly took the wind out of my sails. I thought my gift had been clever. She had clearly missed some part of it.
"Look inside the card." I urged. She opened it, and a small slip with an address fell out.
"What's this?" she asked, clearly confused.
"I've haven't really been going to lab in the afternoons," I confessed. "I've been moonlighting as a private detective. I've been digging through every bit of information that is a matter of public record that I could get my hands on."
She continued to look at me confused, but no longer sad. I took a deep steadying breath. She would have too, if she knew what I was about to tell her.
"This is the address of your biological grandfather. The card is for him."
I waited for a response from Danielle. I really didn't know what to expect. I wasn't expecting her to stare at me unblinking for a solid minute before she spoke.
"Really?" She was going to cry. Dammit, I hate making her cry, even if it's because she's happy.
"Really," I nodded. "I've already spoken to him several times, and he really wants to meet you." Tears were welling in her eyes but refused to fall. "He's here in town for a couple of days, if you want to meet him." I offered.
I didn't see the tears fall, mainly because that would have been physically impossible. She had flung herself at me giving me the biggest, tightest hug ever. Shit, when did she become She-Hulk? She was crushing me with all her strength, and either she was trying to head-butt me repeatedly, or she was trying to shower my face with kisses.
As I half fended her off, half tried to accept her kisses, she abruptly stopped and kissed me gently and deeply, each hand on either side of my face.
"Thank you." She whispered, tears lining her flushed cheeks.
"Don't thank me yet, thank me after you've met him."
"What's his name?"
"Charles, but he prefers Chuck. Chuck Victor."
"Danielle Victor." She said. "My real name is Danielle Victor."
"Yes it is. Now Ms. Victor, care to go meet your grandfather?"
We hopped in my car and I drove her to the hotel. I may have a car, but with the price of gas being what it is, I'll be damned if I drive to somewhere I can walk to. Danielle was of this opinion most of the time, too. It was good exercise for the both of us to walk and kept her legs nice and toned, which was far more important to me than "being healthy."
Danielle practically vibrated in the front seat. Her expressions were cascading wildly between excitement and nervousness. She was silent for the most part, looking out of the window and the windshield.
"Do you want me to come with you?" I asked cautiously.
"I need you to come with me," she said looking over at me. "I'll need you in case I hate him." The rest of the short trip passed in silence for the two of us, save the unremarkable noise from the radio.
I hadn't considered the possibility that she may not like her grandfather. I was under the impression that she would want to replace the void left by her rapists arrest with her real family. I had pictured a tear-filled reunion, like something out of a made for TV movie.
But this isn't TV. This is real life, where things don't always have a happy ending. There's no cheesy violin music in the background. Some wounds don't heal. Some wounds don't show up until long after they're inflicted.
I parked and we made our way up to the hotel room.
"Are you sure you're ready for this?" I asked in the elevator.
"I don't know. I really want to be. I really want to have a real family. I want to like him."
"I think you will." I squeezed her hand. "He seems like a really nice guy."
The doors opened and I led her down the hall to his door.
"Here we are." I pointed out. She reached out and touched the door.
"My grampa is on the other side of this door."
"And he won't know you're here unless you knock."
She looked back at me uncertainly. I smiled in what I hoped she would perceive to be an encouraging way.
Tentatively, she made a fist and raised it to the door, hesitating. She backed her hand away, pulling it towards her chest. She held it there for a moment, looking at the door, almost as if she could see something I couldn't. Suddenly, she returned her hand to the door and knocked politely three times.
Not twelve seconds later, the door opened slowly.
Before us stood a short, well dressed man. It was clear that he was wearing his one and only set of "Sunday Best" clothing for the meeting. His hair was thin and grey, sweeping lazily back over his head like the imaginary greener field everyone always sees on the other side of the fence.
He was what some would call "wiry." He was thin, but not from lack of work. He had informed me that he was a carpenter, and I knew carpenters got quite a bit of work done. Judging from the part of his hand I could see, the skin was rough with wear and thick with callous.
He immediately put you at ease. He was the dictionary definition of "kind old man." His face was lined with both years of toil from his profession, but also many a laugh that comes with it. He had the kind of face that if this were indeed a made for TV movie, he would be killed by the villain to hurt the heroine.
But it was his eyes that were the most striking feature. Or, at least they were to me. They were exactly like Danielle's; turquoise.
"Grampa?" She asked slowly, a deep, questioning look in her eyes.
