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The night air outside was cool against her face. The greyish smoke from her cigarette acted as a little beacon, rising above her.
Fig liked the night. Most assumed it was because it gave her time to think, or something like that. That’s what Adaine had asked when she’d mentioned it to her, but that wasn’t it. No, the night meant that she could be alone for a little while. No badass-ing needed, no part to play. In the day, she might’ve been Fig Faeth-Insatiable, slayer of beasts and skilled bard. But in the night, she was Fig. Just Fig. In the night, she was sixteen years old, hadn’t taken off her eyeliner, and was smoking outside her very-nearly-but-not-quite-father’s apartment.
At night, she could just be.
After just recently reestablishing any sort of relationship with Gilear, she wasn’t so eager to lose it again, so she, her mother, Gorthalax, Gilear, and Jawbone (so they’d have some sort of neutral party) had figured out something of a schedule for her. To her, they were Mom, Technically-Speaking-You-Are-My-Dad, Also-Dad-Sometimes-But-It’s-Complicated, and You’re-Dating-My-Mom-But-I-Already-Have-Two-Dads-And-You-Adopted-My-Best-Friend-So-This-Feels-Weird. (Or Gorthalax, Gilear, and Jawbone, for short.)
Every Thursday afternoon, she’d go over to Gilear's apartment, then leave Saturday morning, unless she was busy with quests. She tried not to be. Once a month, she went on whatever adventures her biological father had for them, but she had to call her mother, at least once a week, to let her know she hadn’t died or anything. Given her line of work, that wasn’t an impossibility.
But Fig didn’t worry about it too much. She had a family. She had a demon’s blood in her veins, she’d fought men and beast alike, her girlfriend was a phoenix librarian, but she had a family.
It was just…
Complicated.
She still felt a twinge of jealousy, from time to time. Like when Adaine and Aelwyn would tease each other in Elvish as they were headed up the stairs to their room, or when Riz would show off old photographs-- he had his father’s nose and sharp teeth, and, when he was excited, his ears perked up the same way his mom’s did. Gorgug never seemed bashful of his tusks coming in. Fabian and Kristen had their own problems with their parents, maybe worse than hers, but at least they knew their heritage beyond much doubt.
Fig could barely speak Elvish. When she did, it was never in the smooth, easy way that the Abernants did. It never had come naturally for her, for reasons she now understood. Their Elvish sounded like a song. Her’s sounded like a kindergartener playing their first recorder.
She didn’t see much resemblance between her and Gorthalax, besides the horns, and… everything else. She and her mother laughed the same way, but she also wore the same lopsided grin after telling a joke that Gilear had when she was younger. It was confusing, and didn’t quite fit. Seemed to track, giving everything else.
Her horns, of course, had been a point of shame.
So, outside the apartment, she leaned against the balcony railing, taking a long drag from her clove. It was a bit cold, but she was too stubborn to go inside again. If she went inside again, she’d forget the world that existed outside. Even for just a moment, she didn’t want to let it go. Here, Elmville looked like one of those little model towns that housewives put up around the winter solstice. She could almost see the Black Pit across the train tracks. Her old house, even farther than that. She was going to squint to see what else she could see when she heard the click of the glass door sliding open behind her.
“Figueroth, my daughter.” Gilear’s voice sounded over the noise of distant trains and animals rooting through the dumpster. “I’d thought you’d gone to sleep already, on the pull-out couch I’d prepared for you.”
Fig shrugged. “I’m not tired yet. I’m just gonna finish this and then I’ll go to bed, okay Gilear? You should probably go to bed, though, I’m not gonna be too late, promise.”
There was a beat. For a moment, she thought he was going to start a half-hearted attempt to get her to just stomp the thing out, and quit cold-turkey, or tell her that it was going to rain, or something, but he didn’t.
“...I’d hoped we could watch something on television before bed. I’ve got frozen yoghurt in the freezer. Vanilla for me, strawberry for you-- I know that was your favorite ice cream flavor, but I’ve found that the yoghurt is just as good, if not better.”
She lifted the cigarette to her lips, not even trying to hide her laughter. “... Thanks, Gilear. But you can have it for me.”
“Right.”
The two stood there in awkward silence for a moment before the older elf dared speak again.
“Figueroth, can we speak… honestly, for a moment?”
“Depends, is it about any of my friend’s moms?” She asked, raising a brow. “Because if so, absolutely not.”
“...it is not.”
“Then what’s up?”
He stepped outside fully, letting the door close behind him. Silently, Fig hoped he’d remembered to unlock it, but somehow doubted he did. He stood beside her, leaning over on the railing. Up close, he looked tired, in need of a shave, and she could see a stain on his pajamas out of the corner of her eye. That is to say, he looked like Gilear.
“I… understand that it’s been a difficult two years now.” He began, fumbling his words in the way that only he did. It was like watching a car wreck in slow motion. “But I think now, we’ve reached some kind of peace.” He turned to her, like he was expecting something.
“... Gilear please don’t ask Mom out or anything.”
“What? No. No, I wouldn’t. From what I hear, your mother and Mr. O'Shaughnessy-- that is his name, correct?-- they are very happy together.” He shook his head. “No, I only wanted to ask you something.” He took a breath just as Fig let one go. “Gorthalax, he is your father, biologically speaking. And your mother and I divorced, but I am still one of your legal guardians.”
Fig shifted. This turn always left a foul taste in her mouth, one the clove didn’t cover up. She turned her gaze again to the town below. “...yeah.” She said, becoming Fig Faeth-Insatiable, slayer of beasts and skilled bard, just for a moment.
“I haven’t had… many, or any real discussions with him about this.” He said, tip-toeing with his words. “...do you call him ‘Dad’, when you are with him?”
Shit.
Shit.
She became Fig again. Fig who is sixteen god-damn years old, trying to make up for her mother’s infidelity.
She was Fig, who couldn’t.
...shit.
“I…” She began, crossing her arms against the railing. “Not really. No. It’s just Gorthalax. I mean, he always introduces me as his daughter, but it’s not really… y’know?”
After a moment of quiet, Gilear nodded. “I do, and yet… might I ask why?”
It was her turn to be quiet. Fig shrugged. “He’s not really Dad to me. I don’t really have one.” That sounded meaner than she meant it. “...And that’s fine. Gorthalax and I didn’t meet until fifteen years after I was born, and it’s still kind of… I don’t know. And I grew up with you, but… I don’t know. You always call me your daughter, but I’m not.”
The ‘you have told me to my face that I am a demon and am no longer welcome to call myself a part of your family’ was implied, but unsaid.
“And that’s fine, it’s okay, I get it now, but… I’m not. It’s just Mom and her boyfriends, past and present.”
There was a lengthy silence between them, neither one willing or ready to bridge the gap between them.
They were friendly, but not family.
Fig coughed.
Gilear cleared his throat.
Fig took a smoke.
Gilear nudged her arm.
“...Have I ever told you about when your mother first told me she was going to have a baby?”
“...Don’t think so. Do I wanna know?” Fig asked, stomping out her cigarette.
He didn’t reply, and just went right along with his tale.
“It was in August. I’d just gotten home from work, and your mother, she’d pulled me into the kitchen.” He said, gesturing with his hand as he spoke. “And she told me, so I got to work with her, right away, turning my old office into a bedroom.”
Stories about her when she was younger always ended up the same way. You were so well-behaved back then, or what happened to that little girl?
“But that whole time, I was so excited to meet you, Figueroth, I was so excited. I thought, oh, maybe she’ll be a ranger, like her mother, or maybe she can go into wizardry. Maybe she’ll be a little barbarian.” He said with what almost sounded like a chuckle. “I kept wondering, just who is this little girl going to be?”
There was another pause, another gap between them before Fig felt a hand on her shoulder. The two of them turned to look at each other. Tears swam in both their eyes, and Gilear had a sad sort of smile on his face. He brushed a bit of her hair away from her face.
“Fig.” He began in a soft voice. “I am so glad that she was you. None of this is your fault. It’s mine, for making you feel as if it were.”
She bit her lip. She blinked, and she wasn’t sure what happened, but when she opened her eyes again, she had her face buried in his scratchy terry cloth robe, her shoulders shaking with her breath. She felt him hugging her back, his gentle hand on her shoulder, rubbing softly.
“I love you, Fig. And I am sorry I have not said it sooner.”
“...I love you too, Dad.”
It was a little eternity before either pulled away, neither quite looking at each other for a moment.
“So…” Fig began, brushing her hair aside. “Wanna go make fun of people on Fantasy Wipeout?”
Her father smiled back at her, offering his hand as he slid open the glass door back into the apartment. “I’ll go get the yoghurt.”