Scared Of A Little Lightning?

[Glen Hawkins]

"She does not."

If there were a larger understatement, Glen could not bring it readily to mind. To describe his wife as afraid of fire was to do her a disservice; there were very few things that genuinely inspired fear in her, and fire was not one of them. It was not wariness that drove her to shuffle just that little bit further away on the sofa when the hearth was alight, that made her favour the perch most distant from the camp fire, that made her cling to Glen just that little bit closer whenever the flames cracked away. It was not even the fire that she feared: it was the memories it conjured, of a life she'd left behind and desperately wanted to forget, but that haunted her every where that she went.

They had spoken of it many times before, Glen's guilt over inadvertently inflicting such things upon her usually serving as the trigger. Every time, Sandra assured him that he should not stop, should not change, should not try to spare her from her "fear". She wanted to face it, the same way she faced everything else; but she'd made him promise that he'd never let her face it alone, and he didn't intend to.

He let out a half sigh, his expression falling into a saddened frown. "It isn't my story to share," he admitted, "But there are things about fire that bring back memories, painful memories, that your mother doesn't want to contend with."

He placed a hand gently on Kara's shoulder; forced her and himself to look each other in the eye. "That's why she's upset, you know," he continued. "She only seems angry because she's trying to hide it. The fact that you're breaking rules, causing damage, doing things she's asked you not to: that doesn't mean anything next to the fact that you're playing with fire, something that causes her so much discomfort. Seeing you be so reckless with it, so nonchalant; it doesn't just upset her, it hurts."

His hand strayed to her cheek. "That's why you need to stop, Kara. Not because of rules. Not because of me. You have to stop so we can help your mother fight those bad memories away."

[Kara]

Guilt Level: Dad. Well, at least she wasn't gonna have to fake looking like Dad had actually been stern with her. He hadn't been, of course, but if anything it had a worse effect than his earlier warning had. Being told not to do something was easy to handle, this... this wasn't. She wasn't just sorry anymore, she genuinely felt bad.

The storm rumbled its agreement with her feeling, making the pout that formed all the worse. It would get better, the storm would go away eventually and so would the feeling like she'd done something really mean to Mom, but for that instant...just... ugh. Even the thought of marshmallows and fireworks couldn't push past the little wall of ickyness. Only one thing would help.

Kara quickly hugged Dad again, if for no other reason than he wouldn't have to watch her standing there fighting the battle of the tears. "We should make Fire and Thunder fight each other...like, when the world ends... and they can die like Loki and Heimdallr and then we won't have to be afraid anymore."

[Glen Hawkins]

A smile tugged at Glen's lips.

It warmed his heart every time Kara made reference to one of the stories he had told her. At a very young age, Kara had begun to demand that she be read to before bed, and at first Glen was happy to oblige: but he soon came to regard the watered down, neutered versions of famous tales grated on his sensibilities. While not a lover of great works of literature, Glen had a passion for folklore, and for the way that stories could evolve and change as they were passed from generation to generation, modified and improved by the creative flourishes of each storyteller. Those personal touches where what kept tales alive, instead of letting them persist as stale and faded relics of times long past. Many people voiced their ire at the way the media and cinema recycled old ideas and revisited the same stories: but to Glen's mind, that was the whole point. Why would anyone wish to hear a story repeated verbatim countless times when instead they could experience it given new life by a fresh mind and a fresh voice?

And so, Glen had abandoned the Disney tales, the simplified and illustrated editions, and instead had told Kara the stories as he remembered them, with his own brand of flair applied. There were mistakes, contradictions, errors where his memory had become crossed or confused or simply lost; he improvised, he adapted, he merged; he plundered every corner of folklore, every era of cinema, every age of literature and drama that he could recall; even his own life at times, reimagined beyond recognition of course. Each night was a new story, sometimes with familiar characters, sometimes without. Each night the tales succeeded in lulling Kara to sleep, and part of him believed that's all they were; but at times like this, when Kara showed that she had listened and enjoyed enough to commit details to memory, Glen became proud beyond words.

"Loki and Heimdall did indeed fight each other to their mutual death; but a battle of the master of mischief and illusion against the watcher who sees through any deception is hardly a contest. All things being equal, Heimdall would cut Loki down with a single blow from Hofud. Alas, things are not equal when one battles the trickster; Heimdall will fall because Loki is a liar and a cheat, not because of his prowess as a warrior."

Flames began to spread across the hearth as Glen talked; not yet enough to set the waiting log alight, but enough to begin to slowly fill the room with surplus light and warmth.

"If you want an example of a more noble fight to the death," he continued, "You would do better with the story of Thor and his last great battle against Jormungandr. While the World Serpent is a beast of the ocean, not a creature of fire, they are kindred forces: both capable of great devastation if left unchecked; both driven by their instinct and nature rather than any malice or malevolent will."

"While his brothers and comrades do battle with wolves and giants, the Thunderer will stand alone against the Serpent, the full force of the storms at his command clashing against the unbridled animal rage of his foe. Their conflict will lay waste to entire worlds, and while there is no doubt that Thunder will triumph, it will cost every last ounce of his might and strength. He will walk one final journey; make a few last steps; and then he will fall to his knees, and the last of his brothers and sisters to shoulder his responsibilities and defend the world in his stead."

He peered through the window, watching lightning race across the dark canvas of the clouds as he spoke.

"You have nothing to fear from the Thunderer, Kara: he lives only to protect you, and the rest of us, from now until the end of the world."

[Sandra Hawkins]

Sandra smirked as she listened to her husband finish his story, her arms bundled with clothing that she had gathered several minutes ago. Time had been given to let Glen speak to their daughter, moments that she knew would best be handled in his own way while she was not present. Their methods of parenting were as different as night and day and it proved far more often than not the one that worked best with Kara had been the more bright of the two. It was something Sandra never really had gotten used to - The concept of becoming a mother, of being responsible for the well being of another individual so wholly, of helping to shape their life so that they could one day do the same to the generation following. It was terrifying some days, far more so than anything she had ever experienced. She was grateful she never had to face it all alone.

"All right, you two." She shook her head slightly, surprised that they already hadn't raided the pantry for sweets.

Kara was the first to move, still looking pathetic in her damp clothing though now wearing an expression that told Sandra that Glen had once more managed to get through to her regarding the gravity of her actions. She quickly set about redressing the girl, something she had perfected the speed of to a science due to endless days of her daughter's uncooperative wriggling.

With one task finished she quickly went to drop off the damp clothing with the rest of the towels for later and retrieved the blanket she had readied earlier and wrapped it around Kara's shoulders. Only then did she let herself anywhere near Glen with the pair of pants he had asked for. She knew very well that there would be little she could do to escape his hold once she was close enough to be pulled into it once more. Not that she would ever complain, it just meant that Sandra had learned how to time her actions to try and get he most done before lost the will to move.

A small glance was cast back at Kara as the girl climbed into one of the chairs and practically buried herself amidst the folds of the blanket. Safe for now. A gentle smile was offered along with the clothing to Glen. "My hero."

[Glen Hawkins]

Glen smiled, though the expression flickered a little with unease. It was not the first time he had been described with that word, but as ever he felt distinctly undeserving of it. Sandra celebrated the smallest of actions, taking each on their individual merits without subjective context; but Glen couldn't help but dwell on the failings and misdeeds that to his mind he was still making amends for.

Besides, the resolution of conflicts and discomfort between the women he loved was not an act of heroism: it was the act of a father, and Glen regarded such not as a duty or as an obligation, but as a wonderful privilege.

His fingertips brushed a stray strand of hair away from Sandra's face: the only contact that he trusted himself to make; the only contact he could manage while holding the rest of him at bay. Thoughts and actions streamed through his mind: feigned difficulty with his buttons so that she might intervene; a plea that she might help him remove his wet clothes; an admission that the shirt was ripped anyway, so that she might feel compelled to tear it from him. It would take but an instant to sweep her up into his arms; a few instants more to weave through the house to the locked safety of her room. Glen liked the blouse she wore, and it would be a shame to damage it; but he would buy her a new one. it would be worth it.

With all the effort it took for Glen to wrestle his mind away from that train of thought, Glen wondered if it might not have been easier to roll the moon out of orbit with his bare hands. The longing ache in his muscles certainly made it feel like he'd attempted such a task.

Glen shed his shirt and clambered into the fresh jeans as swiftly as he could, and was immediately grateful for their assistance in concealing his thoughts and intentions. As he stood struggling with the far-too-many buttons however - zippers, it seemed, had fallen out of fashion's favour or late - his self control shattered. A hand trailed down Sandra's arm and drew her into his embrace; he placed a gentle kiss against her forehead, and spoke softly enough so that only she would here.

"Kara has had a long and stressful day," he pointed out, resting his cheek atop Sandra's copper curls. "Perhaps it would be wise if she had an early night."

[Sandra Hawkins]

Duty was weighed against desire in an unfair contest. The responsible part of her knew there was dinner to finish making, a daughter to see to who had school the next day, packing to finish for her business trip - The same trip that would take her away from her husband's arms, leaving her with two nights of going to bed and waking up alone. Yet here he was now, with her, making small unspoken suggestions that would require her to do nothing but ignore the rest of the world and give all her attention to the man most deserving of it.

A sly smile spread across her lips and a breath was taken in preparation of letting the ill advised agreement be spoken. But it was the storm that made it's sudden disagreement with the situation known firstly. What had been a dull far off rumble suddenly re-awoken with a loud roar that echoed throughout the house, bringing a cringe of annoyance to Sandra and a sudden muffled scream from the bundle of blanket on the chair.

And then the lights went out and plunged the house into darkness.

Sandra let out a small sigh. "I did not do that." Her whisper managed to carry both the amusement and hinting of disappointment she felt.

[Glen Hawkins]

"Are you sure?" Glen teased, his cheek brushing past hers, a few stealthy kisses left in a trail along her jawline. "It wouldn't be the first time you've been pressed against me and had a blackout -"

A flash of light, a loud crack of thunder a split second later, and a whimper to follow was enough to drive any untoward thoughts from Glen's mind. His head fell, though he couldn't help placing one last kiss against Sandra's shoulder. He was acutely aware of the fire crackling behind him, the only source of light left in the room, and could feel the way that Sandra subconsciously tensed ever so slightly at the prospect of it. He frowned, and mused his options.

"Power could be out all night," he observed quietly, as much to himself as to Sandra. "Even if it isn't, we won't get her to sleep on her own tonight with this storm going on."

He pulled away, hand lingering in contact with Sandra's for a residual moment. "Grab the bedsheets and the sleeping bags?" he asked, gently offering his wife a way to retreat from the fire that made her so uncomfortable with a perfectly viable excuse intact. "I'll look after Kara."

[Sandra Hawkins]

She nodded once in silent thanks before letting a wry smirk form on her lips. "Indoor camping. I suppose that means you'll want extra sheets then? I'm sure you can find someone to help build a fort with them."

Her eyes wandered to where the bundle of blankets huddled, waited for the moment when they parted and a pair of amber eyes peered back at her. Despite the slight tenseness that came from seeing the flames reflected back in the girl's vision, Sandra couldn't help but smile at her daughter. She and Glen had done everything in their ability to guarantee security for their family far before Kara had been born, even still there had been a time when Sandra had seriously considered not having any children, of not risking subjecting something so innocent to the world that her husband had help her flee from. Yet in the end, her mind had changed, willing to bet on Glen's strength and her own cunning to overcome anything the world may have thrown at their child. Sandra had never regretted the decision.

Another quick kiss was stolen from her husband before she turned and headed towards the darkness of the rest of their home. A last glance was cast at Glen, a small wink accompanied it, and then she slipped into the shadows.