Coming Home

H. P. O. V

For you, for you. It's always been for you.

"Oh, Presley, your cheeks are all flushed from the fever." Steve cups her face in his hands, and smiles warmly. "I know you're feeling gross, but you look so cute."

"Dad," Presley whines. "You are so embarrassing."

"I'm your father. I'm supposed to embarrass you."

"And when he can't," Ben adds. "I take over."

There's something about the cheery smile he has on, and the way his eyes flick over Presley, that makes me want to drown him in boiling water.

"You're very warm," Steve mumbles softly. He takes her hand and squeezes her fingers. "Have you gone to the doctors'?"

"I don't need to," Presley's voice has gotten softer due to the lack of energy. She's gotten slower, and I'd be lying if I said I wasn't worried.

I feel like a middle-aged mum.

"And why do you feel like you're above medical help."

"Because this is normal," our eyes snap toward Ben as he shrugs. "It's normal for her stomach to get all stupid after she stops taking her meds."

"Yeah," Presley helps. "They said it was because my insides get so used to the extra help, that once I stop taking the meds, my stomach reacts from not having the help."

"That's a relief," Steve exhales, visibly relaxed. "I was afraid it was something else, and you were afraid to tell me, because we all know I'd straight up kick Harry's ass."

"What? Dad what else would it be?" Sometimes Presley doesn't catch up as quickly as everyone else, and it's both endearing and the best thing I have ever witnessed.

"Oh my Goodness," Steve laughs. "I absolutely love you."

And I'd have to agree with Steve.

Presley pouts seemingly confused, and I wish I could hug her for the rest of my life. "Come sit," I hold out my hand, helping her across the carpet, and down next to me. We have to be careful with the PDA. Steve still gives me the small eye glares, and has a tendency to crack his knuckles around me.

It's all around intimidating.

I press the pads of my fingers to Presley's forehead and sigh. "You're so warm. I don't like it."

"It's hot," she murmurs softly. She toys with the neck of her jumper and leans her body against mine. "I'm so tired." Her yawn is soft and her fingers are wrapped around mine. "Dad, where's mom?"

"Asleep, she knocked out a little over an hour ago."

"Okay," her voice all together is slow, and it just makes me feel nervous. Like, a billion levels of nervous, with a heaping side of frustration.

"Baby, why don't you nap? You look awful."

"Dad, that's not nice."

"No, but it's true. Harry carry her, or hand her over."

I tend to tense up when people say things like that. Tend to get secretly angry that someone thinks they can take her from me.

"I've got her sir."

"Good," there's always a double meaning to his words. Like, he's saying something, but means the opposite. "Get her up to bed--"

"No, no," Presley begins to fuss. "No, I don't want to go to bed, dad. I'm okay right here."

"Presley--"

"Harry, please," Presley has a look she gives me that is impossible to say no to. It's hard enough as it is to say no when it comes to her. But this look, that fucking-- glassy eyed, lips frowning slightly, fingers gripping my hand-- look, is my weakness. "I get lonely up there."

"I'll come lay with you," I lean closer, ignoring the invading glares of her father. "I'll give you whatever you want-- I'll do whatever you tell me to do, baby love."

"I just want to stay here."

I have no choice. I could try and say she has to go to bed, but that'll be a fail. I could carry her, despite her outburst of not wanting to go back, but then she'll only get up and head straight for Ben. And I don't like the sound of that.

"Okay," Presley will always get what she wants. Even if I'm ever mad at her. She'll always get her way because I love her. Because she's mine. "But, here, lean on me. Use me, I'm yours to help you." I don't know if the red in her cheeks are from my words, or if they simply come from the fever.

Either way, it's incredible.

She moves to sit on my lap, but turns on her side, and rests her cheek on my shoulder. She yawns like a small kitten, and I swear I've never been more attached to a girl before.

"You are so stubborn." Steve smiles and leans further back.

"Where is-- oh hello!" Louis has an abnormally booming voice, and he smiles a lot more now. He also doesn't knock, and likes to walk in without being asked too. He struts towards me, and I think the sleep is winning over Presley's want to stay awake.

She doesn't move, doesn't even look up.

"She looks-- well, she doesn't look great." He presses his fingers against her cheeks, and frowns. "Why is she still sick? We were supposed to make people's like hard, and now we can't." Louis sounds like an over emotional four year old when he whines. I want to punch him, when he gets like that.

I want to sock him all the time, actually.

"I think she's alseep," Steve murmurs fondly.

I look down and my heart melts, and my stomach flutters. "Sleep tight, my little, baby kitten." I turn red, completely blood red, when I look up and see everyone starring at me amused, and giggly. "Please tell no one I said that."

"I'm going to fucking tweet it for putting us through so much." Louis' the devil with fuzzy hair.

"She looks so young right now. Kind of like the first time I met her." Steve has a glimmer in his eyes, and a small smile on his lips. He looks down at Presley, and chuckles softly. "God, I fell in love with that little girl, and her mother at the same time. Same with Caleb."

"Yeah? Was she a troubled child? More devious than she is now?"

"I first met Presley when she was about to turn four. She was this tiny little thing, with the cutest little cheeks, and the brightest eyes." His face goes soft and his lips never frown.

"Did she like you right away?"

"No," Steve sighs, thinking about it. "I don't know, actually. She was terrified of strangers. It took about a month for her to actually speak to me. Other than the few 'hi's', and 'byes.'

"Really?"

"Yeah," he leans back and scratches his head. "Susan said Presley didn't do well with people she didn't know, especially men. Russell-- fucking bastard traumatized her."

Russell brings back terrible memories of bruises and an innocent Presley. I don't like Russell. I wouldn't mind if he got run over, over, and over by a car, until there's nothing but dust.

"The first thing Presley ever called me was daddy."

"Daddy? No way."

"Swear," he says, snapping his eyes at Louis. "It was more of a cry for help."

"What happened?"

I'm almost afraid to ask. I almost want to get on a plane, find Russell and beat him until he is unrecognizable. But for now, I simply tighten my fingers around Presley and kiss her head.

"We were going out for dinner-- this was over fifteen something years ago. I believe it was Presley's birthday, and we had planned a little dinner celebration with Caleb and a few of her kindergarten friends."

"That sounds fun," Louis tuts.

"It was supposed to be, yes." His face twists, and his inhales deeply. "Luckily Caleb and I had shown up early or else who knows what would've happened."

"What did happen?" I know I'm not going to like this story. I don't like anything having to do with Presley's biological father.

"I don't remember exactly," Steve starts off slowly. "When I had shown up, Russell was about to run off with a three year old Presley. She had started screaming, 'daddy', when she saw me."

"He had tried to run off with her?" I instinctively tighten my hold around her, and thank whoever is up in the sky for changing the way things ended.

"He had shown up drunk, off his face, started throwing things, and I don't know if he had hit Susan or Presley. They wouldn't tell me, and Susan refused to say anything. I guess, Russell had gotten upset that Susan and I had been seeing each other, and that Presley had grown attached to us."

"So he was jealous?"

"Yeah, he grabbed Presley, ran out, and tried to get away. Luckily he tripped, and I had the chance to grab Presley, hand her over to Susan, and begin to pummel his face."

"Good for you!" Louis cheers. "Would've done the same myself."

"Ever since then, Presley has been my child. A year later Susan and I got married, and I legally adopted her a few months later."

"You're a good dad, sir."

"I try to be," he sighs. "It's not easy, and I've made more mistakes than I care to admit. But there is not a day where I regret making Presley my child. She is my daughter, blood or not."

"Good for you." Louis smiles.

Ben has remained oddly quiet through all of this. Only nods in a few parts, but stays silent. I wonder if it's because he's already familiar with all of this, or if it's because he doesn't know what to say.

"She turned out okay," Ben finally speaks. "Despite a few bumps in the road, she turned out just fine." I'll ignore the small dig at me, and I'll try not to glare at her best friend. But I'll remember to spit in his food one day.

"My kid turned out incredible, nonetheless. She seems optimistic about the future, and it's the first time in a long time,that I feel like she's going to be okay."

"She'll be okay, sir." I've made this promise to myself, to everyone around us, to her. I've made this promise, and I fully intend to keep it. "I won't stop until she's okay."

"I know, and I'm rooting for you, kid."

I hope everyone is rooting for me too.

Notes

Donald Trump is a cold hearted, disrespectful, shit.
Today my brother was given the right to get married. Today marriage became equal. Today is a day full of love, love, love.