I will Not call you Father

Dayna grips the wheel of her Jeep with white-knuckled intensity as she winds through the city streets. The traffic is ebbing, and she picks up speed as she heads to the prison. It's April in Philadelphia, and it's warm enough that she has the roof down. Her short auburn hair whips around her face as she pulls up to the light, then stops. Next to her is a sports car, also with the convertible roof down. The teenage boys wink at her and make hints, since her strong features and grey-blue eyes, coupled with a killer body make a pretty picture to young men. Dayna ignores them, tapping her finger on the wheel. They think they're all that, in their posh little sports car. The moment the light turns green, her Jeep screams off from a dead stop, leaving them sitting open-mouthed with the traffic piling up behind.

"Eat my dust." she thinks viciously. She's not normally such a vengeful bitch, but today isn't going to be fun for her. Part of her wants to be her normal self, but she knows that she can't show any sign of weakness when she meets him. She has to show him how strong she's become.

Fifteen minutes later she's in front of the prison. She ought to get out of the car and go in, but she wants to leave so much. She wants to turn around and go home to Alex, the only person who loves her. She wants to run back into his strong arms and bury her fingers in his blonde hair and lose herself in his green eyes that are the color of ivy. If she were the same person as she was years ago, that's exactly what she would've done. She feels that other person coming up again, trying to get ahold of her limbs. The frightened, submissive child from her past wants her to run away again. She throttles it back into submission, then opens the car door.

The bleak building looms, but she squares her shoulders, tilts her chin up, and strides up the walk with seeming confidence. It's another fifteen minutes before she's in the reception room, waiting for him to come out. The adjacent room has one-way window; she can see and hear in, but whoever's in there can't see or hear out. She glances through it as fiddles with the edge of her old t-shirt; it's her favorite, from a Billy Joel concert. She isn't going to dress up for him; no way in hell. Instead, she draws comfort from the solid feel of her steel-tipped boots on the concrete floor, from the smell of her clothes, from the weight of the necklace she wears and the cinch of the ring around her finger. The necklace and the ring are from Alex. Having them near isn't as good as having him with her, but this is something she has to do on her own. He'd told her as much when he convinced her to come, and she knows in her heart that he's right.

The door in the other room clicks, and through it comes a stiff-faced officer. Without a word, he leads a man through it, who is followed by another officer. The man is dressed in the bright orange of the prison jumpsuits, with a pair of cuffs around his wrists. His salt-and-pepper beard is rather unkempt, but his head is bald. The features of his face are just as she remembers them, though more weathered by age; they are hard, blocky, seemingly full of malice. And his eyes are the same too, blue as shards of ice and just as cold. No joy shines in them, for even when they are letting him go he is still a prisoner. He is a prisoner of himself, always has been and always will be. In that moment when she sees him for the first time in eight years, her heart sinks. She had hoped he would be different after his time in jail, but she can tell just by seeing him that he hasn't changed a bit.

The officers silently take off his cuffs and do a body search. He stands there, still as a statue, and stares at the opposite wall while they do. But when they unlock the next door to let him through, he is disconcerted.

"Hey, what the fuck are you doing?" he yells at the backs of their retreating heads. "Don't I get clothes, and a bus ticket or something? Hey, get back here!" The first door shuts with a resounding thud, and the click of the lock seems to echo. He shrugs, and opens the second door to come through. She steels herself. He enters, and is surprised to see her standing, waiting for him. His surprise turns to hostility. "Who in the hell are you?... wait, wait..." He peers closer at her face. He doesn't have to lean down anymore, for she had gotten tall; almost as tall as him, which is saying something, because he is a tall man. Dayna wants to lean away from his bulk, but she stands firm. "Well I'll be damned if it isn't Dayna, come to see ol' Max after all this time." he sneers. She takes a deep, calming breath before replying,

"Hello, Father."

No more words are exchanged as Max changes into the clothes she's brought for him, nor as they walk to the car. He cocks an eyebrow as he sees the bright green, scratched-up, roofless Jeep, but says nothing. As Dayna pulls out of the parking lot and into the streets of the city, she can tell he's studying her. She stares straight ahead in stony silence as they drive. Eventually she pulls over and parks in front of a cafe.

"What are we doing here?" he asks her as they get out of the car.

"I'm taking you to lunch." she replies tersely. He shrugs and walks in with her.

"The usual, Dayna?" asks Marge, the woman who owns the cafe. Dayna smiles thinly in return and nods. Max orders a cheesesteak and a beer, and they retreat to a booth in the back of the room. A long silence stretches on between the father and the daughter, and Dayna is getting more and more uncomfortable. Fear is a presence lurking on the edges of her mind, but she is determined not to let it in. Finally, she can't take it anymore.

"So... How have you been?" she asks her father tentatively. She wishes her voice didn't sound so weak, she wishes it hadn't cracked, and she wished he didn't have this effect on her. She needs to be strong, like Alex said! She needs to be strong... He glances up sharply from the table where he is idly scratching his fingernail.

"Rotting in jail. How have you been, my dear?" he drawls, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

"I've been living my life." comes her casual reply.

"Which, by the way, you must tell me about some day." He says as their food arrived. The first thing he digs into is the beer; no surprise in that. After chugging a third of it in one go, he sneers at her food. 'The usual' for Dayna is a reuben sandwich and Marge's superb strawberry lemonade. They make a queer pair, but they are two of Dayna's favorite comfort foods. She needs the comfort right now. She tucks into her sandwich to avoid having to answer his latest remark.

They eat in silence until there is no more food, only half-empty drinks. Max finishes his beer and asks for another, then leans over the table to stare at his daughter. "So." he begins as his next drink arrives. Taking a sip, he slams it back down on the table and grins toothily. "Where were we? Oh yes, I was asking you about the life you've been living. You know, the one I wasn't privy to." Dayna's fear begins to leave her as she hears his words. It is his own fault he had been excluded. If you want to be a part of your child's life, maybe you should try not physically and mentally abusing her, and not going to jail for it. It was his own fault she'd excluded him. So she begins to tell him all about her life, since that's what he wants.

"Well, let's see. My brother- remember him? his name is Patrick?- was separated from me when we were put into the foster care system after you went to jail. I was sent from crappy foster home to crappy foster home with hardly a word from him for about two years, until I was sixteen, when a nice sixty-year old woman named Ruby adopted me. Patrick ran away from his foster family and no one's heard from him since. Ruby helped me through it. She taught me a little about what it was like to actually have a childhood, replaced the mother that we all know you killed-"

"-I did not kill her!-"

"-You drove her to overdose, it was your fault, and don't interrupt me! Anyway, I completed high school and now I'm in college here to be a teacher because, unlike you, I like children. I am currently working as a librarian to pay the bills while I go to college off a scholarship- yes, despite what you believe, I'm smart enough for a scholarship- and I live here in Philadelphia, in an apartment with a man named Alex. He is twenty-five and has a well-paying job as a writer and editor for the newspaper. And guess what? We're engaged! We're getting married next month!" Dayna finishes in a shout, holding up her hand so he can see the engagement ring. She realizes she's been yelling this whole time. Max is glaring across the table at her, and the unbridled rage in his gaze is enough to curdle milk. This is the look on his face that he used to have when he abused her the worst. This is the look she still has terrible nightmares about. This is the look that she returns with equal zeal.

"You're getting married." he states in the quiet, controlled voice that she used to fear so much. "To a man I've never met."

"It's a little late to start caring now, Dad."

"Not even a phone call! Not a visit, not a letter, not anything! Nine years I was in jail, and I never heard from you. Not even about this!" he roared. "I raised you for fuck's sake, you ungrateful slut!"

"Raised me?! Raised me?! You made mine and Patrick's life a living hell, how do you expect me to be grateful for that? You didn't raise me, you tried to ruin me! I was lucky to have survived some of the beatings you gave me! No, Ruby raised me, and when she died of cancer I mourned her more than I mourned you when you went to jail! What in fuck makes you think I'd include you in my life after what you did?!"

"I'm your father!"

"That didn't make a difference to you! You opted out of my life when you started beating me! I'm lucky you got caught, or I know I would be dead by now!" They are both standing now, their faces inches apart, quivering with rage, she glaring defiantly up at him and he glaring daggers down at her. Dayna takes a deep breath and lowers her tone of voice.

"Now I'm offering you a chance to opt back into my life. I've had a long time to think about it, and being with Alex has helped me to find it in my heart to forgive you for what you did. I want to have someone to walk me up the isle and give me away. In short, I want a father. But I can't let you do that until I know you want to treat me like a father should treat a daughter. Are you ready to be my father?" She asks. The veins in Max's neck and forehead are standing out like snakes, his cheeks are practically purple with rage, and he hasn't moved a muscle. Dayna stands uncertainly, not knowing what he's going to do next.

"After this? ...Never." He whispers. Dayna had expected him to scream and storm, and she was taken aback by his sudden quietness.

In her surprise, he takes the chance to attack.

With his fists swinging and a bestial roar issuing from his lips, he lunges at her. He strikes her in the shoulder and she falls from the sheer force of the blow. But before he has a chance to pounce on her, she swings her legs around in a scything motion, to throw him off balance. Despite his comparative bulk, he loses his feet. Catching himself on the edge of a table, he pushes himself back up. The Dayna that faces him now is not the frightened, clingy, submissive little girl he used to torture. She is a grown woman with a stance like a cat and a frightening confidence. But in his enraged state, he doesn't register the danger lurking in her eyes. He just lunges again.

This time she parries his clumsy blow, using his own momentum to shove him, hard, into the counter. Marge, who had been watching the scene with mounting anxiety, screams and runs back to the kitchen to call the police. Max stands back up, groaning, with blood and reflexive tears streaming from his nose and eyes.

"You- you-" he stammers. "You broke my nose, you bitch! I'm gonna kill you!"

But this time, he doesn't rush blindly. He shuffles in a circle around her, is body low, his eyes intent on Dayna's every move. She circles, too, her hands raised in a guard position, pacing on the balls of her feet. Suddenly, he charges in low and fast. Dayna ducks, checks him with her shoulder, then knees him in the stomach before he can wrap his arms around her waist. The air is knocked from his lungs with a "whoosh", and he is bent over double. She takes a step back, and kicks him in the head with a roundhouse. Unfortunately, she misses, and her boot glances off with only half of the effect. All the same, he falls to the ground again. Dayna stands over him, with spatters of his blood all over the counter, the table, and the floor, and despite herself she can't feel any remorse. She came here ready to forgive and forget, but she'd forgotten all he'd done to her; she'd forgotten who he was, and who she was. Alex had convinced her that there was still room in her heart, but he'd been wrong about her.

"Did I mention," she says as she savors this moment of revenge, "That I've been taking martial arts? This is the part where I tell you to stay down."

"Like fuck I'll stay down." Max wheezes as he rises to elbows. She kicks him in the ribs, and the crunch of them breaking is almost satisfying. With a scream of pain, he falls again. The blood from the gash in his forehead, his nose, and the new cut on his side spatters the floor, flecks of red running onto the polished boards. She ought to be disgusted with herself, she ought to be horrified with what she's done, but she's not. Maybe she and Max are just the same; like father, like daughter. But that thought reminds Dayna of what she must do now. She steels herself for what she has to say.

"Marcus Thorion," she says formally, to get his attention. He looks up at her, the blood smearing his face and a haze of pain glazing his eyes. " From now on I will not call you father." she spits the last word at him like a curse, and he cringes. Then she turns and walks away, leaving Max behind and her past behind with him.