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She’s at Enigma’s when it happens.
It’s 6:00 and they’re watching Will & Grace reruns. Iggy’s on her stomach in the floor and Charlie is sprawled out on the couch definitely not checking out her best friend’s ass. They’re both exhausted, because it’s so fucking hot in New York, and the Linetti’s AC conked out earlier that week so they’ve got all the fans on full blast. Iggy’s bitching about how she can’t hear a word Jack is saying but neither of them moves to turn it up because they’re like 80% sure they’ll melt if they do.
Gina walks through the door and Enigma immediately sits up because her mom’s been a little touchy about having too much shit plugged up ever since she got the most recent electricity bill (In the two girl’s defense, their horror movie marathon had been WAY freakier than intended and the only good option seemed to be leaving every light in the apartment on until Gina got back from her three day business conference. Plus, the only way they could get comfortable enough to sleep was a full Mamma Mia singalong, complete with karaoke machine and light up disco-ball. Obviously.) and they’re running like at least four fans. But Gina just sits her bag down and says “Charlie, can I talk to you a sec?”
Charlie is pretty experienced in the Disappointing Adults Department here lately, but it’s actually been a while since her last big screw-up. So she doesn’t know what to expect when Gina leads her into the kitchenette but it’s definitely not being sat down and told “Sweetie...There’s a situation,” and this is deja vu but last time it was Dad and his softest most gentle voice and finding out her mom didn’t make it.
Her breath catches in her throat and she hates the way her voice sounds as she squeaks out “Where’s my Dad.” Gina gives her a tender look and that’s pity that’s pity she can’t fucking stand being pitied and Gina’s describing some sort of active shooter situation or bomb threat or something but Charlie’s ears are ringing and all she can think is not again not again please god not again.
“He’s going to be okay. Charlotte. Listen to me. He’s going to come home.” Gina’s voice is commanding and she says it like she’s certain. And Charlie wants to roll her eyes and tell Gina not to bullshit her because she’s heard it before and Gina can’t know he will, no one knows that. But instead she nods and asks to be alone and Gina brushes her hair behind her ear and kisses her forehead and grants her that.
Crying never really stops feeling like admitting defeat.
- o -
The phone rings at 8 and Gina goes into the kitchen and talks in a hushed tone while Charlie’s stomach fills with a horrible mixture of hope and dread and panic. Iggy reaches for her hand and gives it a comforting squeeze and Gina walks in, and Charlie tries to read her face.
“That was Boyle. He’s sending Nikolaj over with a casserole.”
Charlie tries to mask the disappointment in her voice.
“Oh. Wow. That’s really sweet of him.”
- o -
She goes to bed almost as soon as they finish eating and Ava and Nikolaj give her these sad, soft smiles as she dismisses herself. And yeah she loves being the baby of the Nine Nine kids, loves her honorary big brothers and sisters and all, but in that moment she wants to tell them to fuck off.
- o -
It’s really way too hot for blankets, but the weight is comforting so Charlie pulls on a tank top and the rainbow unicorn pajama shorts Iggy got her as a joke and curls up beneath the duvet, and doesn’t move when the door cracks open a few minutes later.
“Are you okay?”
Charlie tries to sound convincing.
“I’m alright.”
She feels a weight behind her as her best friend climbs into bed, joining her under the covers. Iggy runs a finger between Charlie’s shoulder blades, down the hollow indention of her spine. Charlie gets goosebumps.
“Bullshit.”
Charlie turns over and Iggy looks her in the eyes.
“Hey. It’s me.”
They’re practically nose to nose. She can smell the Jolly Ranchers on Iggy’s breath.
“Talk to me.”
She studies Iggy’s face. The spattering of freckles who hide most of the year, but come out in the summer. The scar above her eyebrow from a tricycle accident. The groove in her upper lip. She knows this face as well as her own, if not better. She’s grown up next to this face. Why is talking to it so fucking hard.
She breaks the eye contact. Looks at the picture of the two of them taped to Iggy’s wall and bites her lip.
“I’m so. Fucking angry at him.”
And the damn breaks and she’s ugly crying and her best friend is holding her, holding her through it and stroking her hair. Neither of them has to say anything else.
- o -
He crouches down on one knee like he used to when she was little, like he’s picking her up from preschool instead of the worst weekend of her life. And just like she did then she runs to him and falls to her knees, her arms going around his neck to squeeze.
“Daddy.” She whispers and she’s crying and he’s crying and gripping her as tight as she can and if she weren’t so relieved that she gets to hug him again at all she’d groan about how he’s going to crack her ribs.
“I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry Charlie. I love you. I’m so sorry.” and she wants to tell him she forgives him and she’s sorry too but she can’t choke it out so she just nods and sniffles and holds on for dear life because he’s here and he’s okay and she still has him. She still has her Dad.