[It's very quiet, the kind of quiet that comes from being afraid her words might break if she puts any more weight on them. It's such an odd little thing, far more circumstantial than the result of any innate inclination or resemblance. And yet.]
Before. Before Dad went all Magneto. There was a creek by our village.
I never knew if it was just one more thing that made me different, or if I learned it under duress putting up with the rest of you.
[It's not bitter, just a little rough, almost normal familial exasperation and chagrined humor. She suspects that it's the latter. Anya isn't patient when she has better options. But she is very, very capable of waiting.]
But you don't see her much anymore?
[It's gentler than it might have been, sympathetic, even.]
[ He almost tells her Wanda is at least more patient than him, but really, even she has her moments. And then there's that question, and banter doesn't seem to matter so much anymore. He nods, hesitant but agreeing. He shouldn't hide from this. (It hurts to think about, but isn't that pain well-deserved?) ]
No. Her mother remarried, [ Left him, had their marriage annulled, and then remarried, ] and they moved to another galaxy, which makes for a difficult trip even for me.
[ Not that Luna would speak to him if he were there, but he said that, before, that he'd screwed it all up, and as much as he wants be open with Anya he can't help but curl in on that detail, like the less he says it, the less true it becomes. ]
It was warranted. [ A wince, with that admission.] I was never much of a husband, and as a father...
[ As a father, he'd almost thought he could have been okay. There were moments, certainly. But not enough. ]
She loved me unconditionally once, the way young children do, and that should have been enough. I should have simply loved her back. But it wasn't enough, I wanted– more for her, you understand? I wanted her to have the same gifts I had, that her mother had, and it seemed cruel that a mere accident of genetics should deny her that.
[It's really, really hard. She wants to stamp her foot, to scream of course you should have just loved her, to demand to know what the hell he did in a voice as cold as the glaciers she used to hide on. But she's trying to understand, since he's telling her, trying not to punish him for the regret in his voice, for his honesty. And this is not about Anya's old furies.]
Did it seem cruel to her?
[Because it might have, Anya thinks, it might have been terrible all on it's own. She likes power, she likes to win. But all the allure an ability might have had for its own sake was nothing compared to feeling like she wasn't enough for him, like would never and could never be good enough without one.]
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fridgetothefire) wrote2013-06-09 09:15 pm
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[It's very quiet, the kind of quiet that comes from being afraid her words might break if she puts any more weight on them. It's such an odd little thing, far more circumstantial than the result of any innate inclination or resemblance. And yet.]
Before. Before Dad went all Magneto. There was a creek by our village.
no subject
[ A fond smile, there; like any child of his would be patient. (Not that Crystal was much better.) ]
no subject
[It's not bitter, just a little rough, almost normal familial exasperation and chagrined humor. She suspects that it's the latter. Anya isn't patient when she has better options. But she is very, very capable of waiting.]
But you don't see her much anymore?
[It's gentler than it might have been, sympathetic, even.]
no subject
No. Her mother remarried, [ Left him, had their marriage annulled, and then remarried, ] and they moved to another galaxy, which makes for a difficult trip even for me.
[ Not that Luna would speak to him if he were there, but he said that, before, that he'd screwed it all up, and as much as he wants be open with Anya he can't help but curl in on that detail, like the less he says it, the less true it becomes. ]
no subject
[One part amusement to three parts sympathy. She jostles his shoulder lightly, affectionate contact that is as brief as she knows how to make it.]
I'm sorry.
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It was warranted. [ A wince, with that admission.] I was never much of a husband, and as a father...
[ As a father, he'd almost thought he could have been okay. There were moments, certainly. But not enough. ]
She loved me unconditionally once, the way young children do, and that should have been enough. I should have simply loved her back. But it wasn't enough, I wanted– more for her, you understand? I wanted her to have the same gifts I had, that her mother had, and it seemed cruel that a mere accident of genetics should deny her that.
no subject
Did it seem cruel to her?
[Because it might have, Anya thinks, it might have been terrible all on it's own. She likes power, she likes to win. But all the allure an ability might have had for its own sake was nothing compared to feeling like she wasn't enough for him, like would never and could never be good enough without one.]