Warning: Content ahead may be too graphic for some viewers. Viewer discretion is advised.
Indigo City. Mark Brook's Apartment. Right after the last issue.....
"What did you just say?" I growl at Mark slowly, looming over him in anger.
"I said..." Mark responds, with his voice breaking for a second, "AHEM! I said... I'm going to kill Garrison on my own."
Haha. Nice try, Mark. "There's no way in hell I'm letting you do that." I snarl. "It's too dangerous." He'll definitely get himself killed if he tries it.
"Why do you care?" Mark asks.
I'm a little taken back by that and I pause for a second trying to think of how to word this properly. "Because of your daughter." I spit out. "I'm not going to let you get killed and leave her all alone." I know the feeling of having your entire family ripped away from you, and Daisy of all people certainly doesn't deserve to know the pain of losing everyone you love. She's already lost enough as it is. "I'm coming with you." I conclude.
"That's not going to work..." Mark comments. Then he pauses for a second, thinking of what to say. "You can stay and look after Daisy." He finishes.
I can look after Daisy? What is he thinking? "No. I deserve this as much as you do a-" PWOP! I'm interrupted by the incredibly annoying "pwop" that happens when Mark teleports. "That sneaky little bastard! I should've seen that coming." I spit out.
"Haha" I hear someone giggle behind me. Then I turn around slowly to see it was Daisy. My eyes widen when I realize Mark just stuck me with.... With.... With babysitting. Dear God. I.... I don't know if I still have my fatherly instincts still in me. I stare at her, wide-eyed, and glance back and forth across the room, nervously waiting for her to stop staring back at me. This is awkward. "You're funny." She comments.
I look behind me to see if there's anyone else around, thinking no one could describe me as funny. ".... Me?" I ask, sheepishly. She nods. ....Alrighty, then. "Do you have someone that usually watches you while Ma- your dad is out?" I continue.
She shrugs. "Yeah....." She pauses for a moment. "....But he isn't exactly awake right now." She looks in the direction of the couch. I dash a look over there to see what she's talking about. It's that homeless guy I noticed passed out on the couch earlier that I have so far successfully avoided.
".... HE'S the one that usually watches you??" I ask dumbfounded.
"Yep!" She responds.
"Oh, boy. Well.... It looks like he's not very capable of watching you tonight. So... What, uh, what do you usually do around this time?" I comment.
"Wellllll, I dunno. Sometimes me and my dad watch TV before going to bed." She replies. "What do you usually do?" She asks with a smile on her face.
"What do I do?..." I pause, not knowing what to say. "Oh, heh, uh, yeah, what do you want to watch?" I avoid the question.
"Let's see what's on." She says as she walks up to the TV stand and grabs the remote and turns on the TV. Then she starts scrolling throw the list of TV shows. "Hmm.... The Ricky Bobby Show, 10 o'clock news, Late Night with Glen Meyers-"
"How old are you again?" I interrupt, remembering how I used to watch Glen Meyers with my wife, Elizabeth. It was a funny show when I watched it.
"Six" she responds. "Almost seven."
"Oh. Nevermind, then." I retort. "Don't you have some kids stations or something with cartoons for you to watch?"
"Yep!" She says as she scrolls really fast to those channels. "I just didn't think..." She looks over at me, then back to the screen, "...that you would be interested in them." She was right, I'm not interested in that, no. "Here we go!" She exclaims as she finally reaches the kid stations. "Anything you wanna watch?" She's asks jokingly.
"Heh, funny. You pick out the show. I won't be watching it." I spit back.
"Ok, Mr. No Fun. Let's see, Captain Mighty, Batman, Princess Poodle's Marvelous Misadventures, Demon Dog-"
"Demon Dog!" I interrupt. She stares at me, super amazed and confused at what just came out of the big burly Mr. No Fun's mouth. "What? It's a good show...." I continue, a little embarrassed. She snickers at me. It's just that this was what Rebbie and I use to watch all the time together.
"Hehe, okay." She comments. Still snickering at the fact I wanted to watch a cartoon. She goes and site down in a chair, while I pull up the foot stool right in front of the TV to sit down and watch. "It's a whole marathon too." She continues.
A FEW EPISODES OF DEMON DOG LATER....
I've had the biggest smile on my face the whole time we've been watching it. Not even because the show is funny, admittedly it is a little entertaining, but just because of all the memories it's bringing back. Good memories. Happy memories. It's probably creeping Daisy out a little that I've been smiling this long, it'd probably creep Mark out to see me smiling at all, and Dr. Rive would pass out at the sight of it. Dr. Rive! I forgot to tell him what's going on. But if I get up to try and call him now I'll miss the ending of this episode..... Bah, Rive knows not to freak out until it's been at least 24 hours of no communication.
"I'm hungry." Daisy randomly blurts out.
I hesitate a second. Not knowing how to respond. I'm kinda hungry too. It's been a long night. "Isn't it a bit late for you to be eating?" She isn't impressed with my response. Sigh. "You guys got anything I can just throw in a microwave?" I don't remember how to very well nor do I feel like cooking tonight.
"I think Dad has- some popcorn in the cabinet." She responds, yawning mid-sentence.
Huh. I haven't had popcorn in ages. "Alright." I answer as I get up to go make it. "Can you stop the episode so I don't miss anything?"
She looks at me like I'm an idiot. "This is a TV show.... Not a DVD." She comments back, giggling at me.
"Oh. Right. Forgot about that." I say embarrassedly as I open the popcorn box, take the bag out, remove the plastic, and then place it in the oven. The coolest thing was, is that once I got started, I didn't even need to look at the directions- I remembered it all! I probably should've read the directions though, because I guess you're suppose to take it out when the popping slows down, not when the timer goes off. I can smell it burning as I take it out. "Sh!t. Sh!t. Sh!t. Sh!t." I open the bag to see nothing but black popcorn.... And hot oil spitting out at my face. "Ah, f*ck!" Then I quickly realize I'm swearing like a sailor in front of Daisy. I turn around to see if she saw my little show. Nope. She's sound asleep in the chair. After a few minutes of debating whether to put her in her bed or leave her there, I decide she should probably go to her bed. Especially considering the weird position she fell asleep in on the chair, her neck will be killing her tomorrow if I leave her. So I walk up to the chair and poke her a few times, trying to get her to wake up and go to her room. She's doesn't budge. Crap, that leaves only one other option... I tuck my arms underneath her, lift her up, and start carrying her to her room. She latches onto me, wrapping her arms around my neck, just as Rebbie used to do. I smile. Remembering the first time I lifted Rebbie up as a baby, how tiny she was. The first room we reach is hers, so I put her down on her bed and tuck her in.
She half-woke up from being carried. Suddenly and randomly I remember I was cut off before I could tell Daisy an important thing about her mother, and with her about to fall asleep now and with me most likely being gone by the time she wakes up, this might be my only chance to tell her. "Daisy...." I start. "I tried telling you this earlier, but I was, uh, interrupted.... The, um, the last thing your mother ever said to me was to tell you this message...." I continue, and now having the memory bright as day in my mind I finish, "She said, 'Mommy loves you and she always will. I passed away in peace, and I'll always be watching over you.' Her last request was that I find you and tell you this message. She never stopped thinking about you, Daisy. Never forget her. Or what she did." Daisy's eyes fill with sorrow. She whimpers. Then starts to cry. I pat her back and then she plunges into me, needing someone to hold onto. "I'm sorry, Daisy. I'm sorry I couldn't save her." I just manage to spit out. I mean it, but it's hard for someone.... Like me... To say something like that. But I am sorry. Sorry I couldn't save Mary Brooks, beloved mother, wife, and savior of a race. Sorry I couldn't save Elizabeth Wolffe, beloved mother, wife, and fighter. And most sorry that I couldn't save Rebbie Wolffe, my most prized possession, my beloved daughter, my everything, and a martyr. And Mary was right. Daisy has a stark resemblance of Rebbie, personality wise and looks wise. After a few minutes to calm her down, Daisy is lying back under the blankets again. She needs to get to sleep. "Goodnight, Rebbie." I whisper into the darkness.
"Who's that?" Daisy asks half asleep. I stop dead in my tracks. I.... I didn't mean to say that. It- it just came out.
"It's uh.... It's nothing" I respond solemnly as I turn away from her.
"Ok, then." She says as she rolls over on her side. And then I could've sworn I heard Rebbie's voice say, "Goodnight, daddy." I glance back in shock, listening and watching closely for any movement or noises, but all I hear are the short and steady breaths of Daisy coming from the bed.
So then I walk back into the living room and just stand there, spaced out, staring at the TV. Thinking about Rebbie.
"Die you little ratsh*t!" Someone screams as I turn around to see where it came from.
"What the he-" BANG! I get a frying pan to the face. "Jesus!" It's that bum that's been sleeping on the couch! Another hit to the face. "What-" another hit. "The f*ck-" I grab his arm this time, stopping it from hitting me. "-ARE YOU DOING!?!?" He looks up at me in anger and surprise.
"Leave Mark and his family alone!" He shouts as he sends an uppercut with his other arm right into my chin.
Screw this. "Enough!" I shout, throwing him to the ground. "I wasn't trying to hurt anyone! You, on the other hand, are making me rethink that decision!" I snarl.
"If you ain't trying to hurt no one why are you here?" The hobo asks, not believing me at all.
"I'm here because I got stuck babysitting while you were passed out on the couch. You don't believe me? Why would I have just tucked in Mark's daughter instead of killing her? Why wouldn't I have killed you while you were dreaming on the couch?" I respond.
"Oh...." He responds. "Man. I wish I could've seen what drove Mark to stick a guy like you with babysitting."
"Uh huh." I stare at him. Trying to get a read on him. Then I scan through his mind really quick. He's a regular human, that's for sure. But I don't think Mark would appreciate me leaving a mess in his apartment. Besides, this guy is a good man from what I can tell. A drunk. But a good man. "He seems to have a tendency to pick unlikely candidates for baby sitting." I joke back, nodding at him.
He looks himself over. "Hah! You gotta point there. Hey, is that popcorn I smell?" He responds.
"No. That's an attempt at popcorn you sm-" before I can finish he's already started devouring the bag. "Wha.... What are you doing? You do realize that is all burnt, don't you?"
"Tastes fine to me." He responds as he reaches into a brown bag, that I'm guessing is his. "Here." He says as he tosses me a beer, "Drink up. I've got plenty more."
"Oh.... I uh. I don't drink." That's a lie. I used to. A lot, actually. Mostly when I was out in the field. I just haven't done it in a long time.
"Well there's no better time to start then with ol' Snipes here." He retorts as he opens a bottle for himself.
".... Meh." I say hesitantly. Then open my bottle and take a gulp. It's better then I remembered.
SEVERAL BOTTLES LATER....
"So.... Snipes? What's.... Whats up with that? Like, the-the thing from Up, a snipe? Is-Is it your real name?" I ask him.
"Whaaaat? Why should I answer that when you haven't even your name told me?" He responds.
"Oh ho ho, you got me there." I respond as his head suddenly drops back. He passed out. "Looks like it's just me and you, Alex" I joke. Then pause for a second and continue with a realization, "Isn't it always?"
And then... Blackness.