Ducky and Daddy - Snippets

You're allow to fall apart with me

It wasn't a dramatic day.

Nothing had shattered. Nothing had caught fire. Nothing had even really gone wrong.

But Ducky was worn thin. That soft, aching kind of tired that didn't come from too much doing, but from too much holding it all together.

And Daddy noticed.

She didn't say anything when she came home. Just dropped her bag by the door and kicked off her shoes. Her cardigan slid from her shoulders a little too easily. Her eyes were tired. Her mouth tried for a smile—but it didn't quite reach.

Daddy watched her from the kitchen, mug in hand.

"Rough day, sweetheart?"

She shrugged. "Just... long."

He waited until she came to him—like she always did, eventually—and wrapped her arms around his middle, face pressing into his chest like she was trying to disappear inside him. He set the mug down and wrapped his arms around her, slow and strong.

She didn't talk.

Not for a long minute.

And he didn't ask her to.

When she finally spoke, her voice was small. "I'm just tired of holding everything up."

"I know."

"I feel like if I stop, I'll fall apart."

Daddy kissed the top of her head. "Then fall apart, Ducky."

She sniffed. "You always say that like it's okay."

"That's because it is."

She shook her head into his shirt, voice going watery. "I don't want to be a burden."

"You're not, my girl." He rubbed a big, warm hand up and down her back.

"I want to be your good girl—your soft girl. Not some mess that needs fixing."

Daddy pulled back just enough to tilt her face up to his. His eyes were warm and firm.

"You are my soft girl. Even when you're messy. Even when you cry. Even when you're tired and grumpy and brattier than usual."

She sniffled, and a tiny huff of almost-laughter escaped. "You always know."

"I always see you, baby."

His thumbs brushed away the tear streaks as they came.

"You're allowed to fall apart with me," he murmured, voice low and even. "You don't have to be okay first. You don't have to earn affection. You get to be a mess sometimes. And you still get held. Still get loved."

She stared up at him for a long second.

Then she broke.

Right there, in his arms, sobbing in a way that had nothing to do with what had happened that day and everything to do with what she'd been carrying.

And he held her. Rocked her. Kissed her hair. Murmured low, steady things into her ear. Things like, "I've got you," and "That's it, baby," and "Let it go now. Daddy's here."

When her tears ran dry, and her body went heavy with the kind of relief that only came after a storm, he picked her up and carried her to the couch.

Blanket. Tea. A snack.

And his arms holding her.

There to rub her back. There to curl around her while she lay against his chest. There to remind her, over and over, that she didn't have to do it all alone.

She just had to be and Daddy would take care of her.