You Can't Handle the Pain (Isaac)

Marisol was taking her sweet time when it came to getting to the shop this morning. She was in no mood to rush, nor was she really up to putting a tattoo on another pussy. God, people had such a low pain tolerance. Marisol had to admit that at one time she cried whenever she stubbed her toe, but now she had tattoos all over her and her pain tolerance had soared. She would wager breaking her arm and not shedding a tear.

Smirking in spite of herself she sipped from her coffee and continued down the street. She had one client today, a friend of Parker's that was said to stop in sometime in the mid afternoon. Of course they would find themselves waiting for her. And most people that were aware of her work did so. Marisol was a damn good artist, and many people took notice. She just wished she had the money and talent to open her own shop...okay, so maybe she did have the talent to do so... but the money and will was another story.

Moving past all the people she finally made it to the shop and let herself in. Only when she opened the door it was to find that someone was already there, and of course it just had to be him! Mari could not believe she had not seen through Parker straight away! This wasn't for her to get more business, this was because her little brother wanted her father and her to talk and try and make up again! Well Marisol knew better than that, her father was too stubborn...too...too much of an asshole!

"What are you doing here, dad?" she snapped. "Don't you have someone else to piss and moan at?"

Marisol

Isaac didn't know why he'd listened to Parker. He was now sitting in a tattoo parlor! Waiting for his daughter, Marisol, who was one of the artists.

Isaac had followed his son's suggestion to come to the shop when it had come out in the open that Isaac had wanted a tattoo for a while now, but didn't know anyone that he could trust. @#!*% , this was his body that was being discussed here, and he wasn't going to let just anyone ingrain ink into his skin. He didn't care what kind of reputation they had.

Then had come the reminder that Mari was a tattoo artist. Isaac had been initially furious when he'd seen what she had done to Parker, but then intrigued. Her work was.... incredible! And this was his own child who had done the work! He had gone from furious to proud. Once he'd chewed out Parker for having the tattoo in the first place. The boy was only sixteen, and he was sure that Quinn hadn't given permission, and there was no @#!*% way that he would do it. But, there it was.

He sighed as he waited for Marisol. He didn't have any meetings that day, but it wasn't for that reason that he was weary of the wait. He and his eldest didn't exactly see eye to eye. In fact, they usually fought like cats and dogs. Isaac wanted to end this. And he had made an appointment with his daughter to get the tattoo he'd had in mind for a long time now. He'd even brought the design for her to see. But first, she had to actually show up for them to try and bury the hatchet!

The door opened and in came who he'd been waiting for. He was instantly astounded by how much she looked like her mother.

Then she opened her mouth and shot her usual venom at him.

"Hang on," he said, holding up the hand that was holding the design. "I really am here to get a tattoo. Just like Parker told you." He just didn't mention that he wanted to make up with her as well.

Isaac

Marisol burst out laughing! Her father was going to get a tattoo?! Her father was a pussy when it came to things as body art and piercings! She knew that the moment she placed the needle down he would moan like a bitch. Setting her coffee down she wiped an exaggerated tear from her eye, as if to emphasis how stupid his request was! Marisol would mark anyone with her art, but she would NEVER give her father a tattoo.

"That was a good one old man," she sighed. "You couldn't handle it."

She looked at the design and rolled her eyes. Of course he would want something amateur. When Mari did tattoos for her family she had made a promise that they would wear her designs. All of the tattoos she had on her body were of her own creation, and the design her father had chosen looked gay. If he was going to get a tattoo it would be something original...not that she was going to give him one.

"I'm not putting that ugly doodle on your body...it would be a mockery of my practice," she continued. "If you want a tattoo it will be of my own personal design...Parker's was my creation, I do not let family have second rate tattoos... but I suppose since I am nothing to you...and you are nothing to me, I could draw that on you regardless...right?"

Old man? Isaac hardly felt old. He was forty-one, but that was certainly not over the hill. And he'd been Marisol's age when she was conceived. She was his daughter, and there was no way that he would ever think of her as nothing!

He crumpled up the design she'd scoffed at. It did hurt him that she'd thought it was a piece of rubbish, he'd put a lot of time and effort into that, wanting to have his feelings for his children and wife represented in whatever he had put on his skin.

Closing his eyes, he tried to remember when it was that he and Mari had started fighting. All that came to mind was her as a little girl, coming to him with a sheet of schematic paper, showing him a house she'd drawn. He'd been so proud of her and her talent.

"I have never thought of you as a nothing, Mari. You are my family. No matter what you might think of me, I will always love you. You are a part of me, and will be until the day I die. I don't want you to have to compromise your standards, so whatever you would like to put on me, I'm sure that it would be amazing."

He waited for her answer for a few seconds, then added, "I remember. The day you brought me your drawing."

Marisol ignored her father and went to setting up her work station. Of course she had heard him, but that didn't mean she wanted to acknowledge it. Her father and her used to be as close as they came. Mari had at one time looked to her father like he was a God, but now it seemed that he had fallen off of Mount Olympus in her eyes. He would never be able to change all the time he had given up, and Marisol wasn't stupid enough to ask.

"Whatever," she grumbled. "Are you going to come over here so I can bloody do this or not?"

Her father had nothing to worry about, Marisol wouldn't put anything on his body that he would come to regret...nor would she endanger her rep by doing something so stupid.

"So...where do you want this thing?" she sighed. "Be sure to pick a spot that has plenty of fat...I mean, I can give you a tattoo wherever, but some places are going to hurt more than others."

Isaac frowned briefly. Dealing with the pain of being a parent to a child that hated your guts was worse than any pain that he would ever suffer in his life. It hurt so badly that at times he felt he couldn't get through a day without screaming. He honestly wished that he could find a Time Turner and go back to when he'd not been so busy that he couldn't be with his children. But it was too late, he'd made his bed and he'd have to sleep in it, no matter how much he hated it.

He lifted his chin a bit and moved over to her, sitting in the chair silently. He didn't really care where she put the tattoo. She could put it across his ass for all he cared. Nothing could hurt as much as he did, knowing that he had no one to blame for her not wanting to be in his life but himself.

He looked over his body for a moment, realizing that he was going to have to give her an answer, or she'd just through him out, and settled on his right shoulder. Even though she'd said for him to pick a place with a lot of fat, but that was where he was going to tell her that he wanted the tattoo.

"My right shoulder," he said softly. "But I don't really care. You could have chosen. It wouldn't have mattered that much to me if you'd not given me the choice of where to put it."

Marisol rolled her eyes once more, something she did often when her father was around. Closing her eyes she briefly tried to envision the art she would put on her father. Sometimes this would make people freak out a bit, they thought that she was thick enough to actually draw it on this way. Well she wasn't, of course, this was for her to just get a visual of what belonged on her father's shoulder. She supposed that it would be just as beautiful as the rest, even with the cold fury bubbling up inside of her.

Her father had always had a thing for Lions, and Gryffindor. Marisol always thought she had disappointed him by being put into a house that wasn't in his line of sight. However it was the image that stuck in her mind the most and she knew that once there she would never be able to draw anything else. Taking a pen she began drawing the outline on the skin. This didn't hurt, it was just so that she could keep her drawing in line. After that was done she took out a needle and turned it on.

"I'm starting," she said in monotone. "Any last words?"

But before he could say anything she had started and the buzz of the needle began screeching through the shop.

Isaac felt the initial sting of the needle, and wondered if that was going to be all the pain that there was. It wasn't as bad as some people had told him that it was. It felt to him like he was just getting a multitude of shots. Granted it was like a million, but it didn't really bother him.

He didn't bother looking to see what she was putting on him, as he knew that he wouldn't be able to tell yet anyway, so he just looked around the room silently, not even moving his head all that much as he knew that he'd have to keep his arm as still as possible. Then he realized he was being slightly silly. His head had nothing to do with the movement of his arm. He turned to his left to see the wall and was astounded by the quality of Mari's work. He wished that he'd paid more attention to his daughter's constant working on her art, and not been such a flaming asshole about her studying more. Clearly she had talent. And he'd known that all along. He'd just wanted her to have a chance at something else if the world didn't see that like he did.

He let his gaze wander back to the wall in front of him and wondered if he should try to break the silence that had formed. It was uncomfortable to him, and he was sure that she could possibly be feeling the same way. But he didn't want to make conversation just for the sake of making it. He wanted to talk to her about what he'd come to talk about. How he felt about her, and her choice of career.

"Mari, I'm sure that you don't want me talking to you right now, but I want to say one thing, then I'll shut up." He turned to look at her as she worked on his arm.

"No matter what I've said in the past, I am proud of you, honey. You have an immense talent, and it shows in your art." He fell silent and turned his head back to front.

Marisol found herself nearly breaking the needle into her father's skin. She hated that he was trying to make up for his wrongs, it just left a bad taste in her mouth that she could not find it in herself to forgive him. She just had too much hate in her, and she had heard this story before. Her father never stuck with it. He always said that he wanted to build a better relationship with her but when the opportunity arouse he would claim that he had too much work or another family needed him. She was always the one with the shortest stick in his eyes, and she did not believe he was proud of her...why had it taken him so long to say it then?

Shaking her head she remained silent and just continued with the design. She would do the outline first and let it scab over a bit, and then she could begin the coloring another day...unless her father refused to return and let her finish. Sighing she took a moist cloth and dabbed a small opening that had occurred from her pressing the needle down. She had to admit her father was handling the pain rather well, even though she hoped he asked for a second one. She wanted to show him several areas where the pain was all but too much to bear. However she knew that her mother would never allow him to get a second tattoo, Mari was surprised that she was even drawing this one.

Dabbing it once more she sighed and sat back for a moment, clearing her throat as she did so. Her throat was sore, and she knew that she was starting to catch something, however illness never affected her work. Marisol recalled being at the shop one day with a fever of one hundred point two and she had still made her quota for that day.

Isaac had turned his head back to the front and gotten lost in thoughts of when Mari was little. He didn't initially notice when she stopped working on his arm. It sank through a few seconds later and he turned to look at her.

She looked as if she were coming down with something, and his parental instincts went on full alert. He wanted to reach out and put his hand on her forehead, but knew she'd probably just smack his hand away.

God! Why the hell did I let her slip away from me? Why didn't I tell her how proud I was of her every day of her life? When did I let her down, and why didn't she just kick my ass to tell me that I'd done it?!

He felt a tingle in his nose, another in his eyes, and had to look away from her to keep himself from crying. He didn't want her to feel that she had to take pity on him for his fuck ups. That was his burden to deal with. He was the one that had screwed their relationship over, not her. And he would have to deal with it if she never forgave him or accepted him into her life again.

His head turned back to her automatically when she cleared her throat. That was it. He knew she was starting to get sick. Before he could stop himself, he reached his left hand out and rested it against her cheek.

"Oh, Mari. You're burning up!"

He turned in his seat to face her, his hand moving to her forehead now.

Marisol cursed softly, he had almost ruined her masterpiece, however she had been lucky enough to pull the needle away fast enough. Her eyes widened a bit as he pressed his hands to her forehead and told her she had a fever. Her father had never had time for her when she reached her teen years, if she had been sick he usually asked her mother to take care of her. Closing her eyes she gently pulled away and pushed him to sit straight once more.

"Stop it," she sighed. "I'm fine...just let me finish this damn thing so you can get out of here."

Marisol knew that she would be taking care of herself while she was sick, she had no expectations of her father taking care of her ever. So she would finish this and stay for a bit to be sure she had no more customers. Taking the needle once more she continued again. She was never one to let a tattoo just sit. She could at least finish the outline and finer details before he went off back to work or whatever was keeping him.

"The outline is almost..." she broke off to cough. "Almost finished."

Swallowing hard a bit she managed to finish the outline, but her body was starting to show signs of exhaustion and her temperature rose with the last sketch she had finished.

"There...I can do the coloring next time you come in," she wheezed. "You can go now...It's on the house."

Isaac looked at the branding that was now on his shoulder. For what he could see, it was amazing, even if it was only half finished. He examined it in the mirror and was rendered speechless. He slid out of the chair and moved closer to see the details better. His arm was bleeding slightly as the needle had penetrated his arm, but it wasn't enough to cover his daughter's talent.

He turned back to face her and grimaced. She was sick, and obviously didn't want him to help her. Well, that was too damn bad. He wasn't going to just go on his way this time. He'd not had anything to do this day, and he'd wanted to spend it with his daughter, if she'd have him. It didn't seem that she wanted to, but he wasn't going to give her a choice this time.

"Why do you think I have to go anywhere? I have the whole day free. And I'm not leaving you while you're sick. If you don't have anyone else to see today, I am taking you home, putting you to bed, and watching over you. And as for this," he moved his freshly tattooed shoulder a bit. "If you don't want me to pay for it, I won't argue, but I insist on being there to care for you. You have a temperature, and from the feel of it, it's rather high. You need to be in bed, and I'm not goint to take no for an answer. I'll wait for you to lock up, and I'm taking you home."

He moved over to the seat where he'd originally been and sat down to wait.

"Just let me know when you're ready."

Marisol sighed and decided not to argue anymore, mostly because she felt too ill to continue with her rant. So while her father sat there she waited to see if any of her clients would show up. A couple of hours passed, and Mari found herself with several people. Her father sat there as she finished them up and her illness grew progressively worse. However she continued to work through it, not stopping until it was an hour before closing time. Sitting down she shivered violently and coughed into her hand. Now she was sure she was done for the day. Standing somewhat weakly, she went around the shop and cleaned up. Everything was in order by the time she had finished and she turned back to her father.

"Wow..." she whimpered. "I can't believe you're still here."

She didn't know what to make of it. Her father had sat in the tattoo parlor all day, not moving from his seat or leaving for anything. Mari just didn't know what to make of it. She stared at him through, glassy, fever ridden, eyes. Maybe...maybe she could let him take care of her...just this once, seeing as she was very sick.

"I've locked up..." she continued. "So you can go home now...I'm fine..."

But she was going to test him before she made the mistake of letting him back in once more.

Isaac had passed the day completely content to wait for his daughter. He watched each of her clients come in and have their tattoos done, and though he knew that she was sick, he also knew that she was as stubborn as he about her work. He'd once gone to a site with pneumonia for three days before having to be put to bed when it became a risk to his life. But what no one knew, was that if he didn't go to work, he was risking losing the job, and then having to face his family and telling them that they were going to be without money for a while. He'd never wanted them to have to suffer for anything. He'd always refused for his wife and children to ever have to do without the things they needed.

He'd been enthralled with the detail that she put into her creations. And he got into a discussion with a few of her customers while they waited for their turn. One of them had been there about six times within the last few months, and had a tattoo for each turn under the needle. Isaac was impressed with each one that he'd been shown. It made him swell with pride that it was his Marisol that had done these.

When the last person had left and she'd cleaned the shop, he saw how exhausted she was, watching her cough into her hand. She said that she couldn't believe that he was still there, and that he could go home as she'd locked up.

Isaac stood and folded his jacket over his arm. He was going home, all right. But he was going to her home. He'd not changed his mind in the least about taking care of her. He wanted to do it even more now that he saw exactly how ill she really was.

"I'm ready to go when you are. I want you to get to bed, so I can make you some soup, or hot tea. And then I'm going to make up a place for me in your living room. I'm staying with you tonight, and for as long as you are sick."

Marisol wanted to break out laughing! Her father actually wanted to baby her?! Was he high?! Marisol never let anyone baby her anymore, she was an independent woman that took care of herself. Covering her mouth with the inside of her elbow she let out a noisy cough. She supposed that she could let him come to her home...if only for a couple of hours till he got sick of her coughing and the boredom.

"Okay, whatever," she sighed. "We can use the Floo."

Taking him to a fireplace that was in her bosses office in the back of the shot she pulled out a small vial of Floo Powder she always kept with her. She worked for muggle's after all and if they saw her carrying around a tub of what appeared to be sand, she knew that it would be trouble.

Tossing a handful onto the hearth she said the address of her home, and stepped through. She knew her father would be following close behind her, as she had left the last of the Powder in his possession. Stumbling out of the hearth into her living room she coughed into her palm. God, her chest hurt so much and she was shivering even after that warm spin in the fireplace.

Moving from the mantel she sat down on the sofa and placed her head between her knees...Merlin, she could not remember the last time she had actually puked. Somethings were definitely better left forgotten.

Isaac stepped through the Floo flames after Mari and let them take him to her flat. When he arrived in her living room, he found her sitting on the couch, her head between her knees. This was worse than he'd thought. She needed to get into bed before she needed to be hospitalized. He moved over to the couch and crouched in front of her.

"That does it. You're going to bed. Now. If you're going to be sick, I'll get you a bucket, or a rubbish bin. But I'm not going to have you dealing with pneumonia like I did. It was a horrible experience that I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy, let alone my daughter."

He didn't think twice, but lifted her into his arms and carried her through the rooms, looking for her bedroom. When he found it, he took her into the room and lay her on the bed.

"There. Now, you stay there, and I'm going to find out exactly what your temperature is."

He went off to her bathroom and found a thermometer in the cabinet. Taking it back to her, he slipped it into her mouth before she could argue, and waited the little bit of time it took for it to beep.

"One hundred two. That's bordering on dangerously high, Mar-bear. We need to get it down, as soon as possible." He set the thermometer on the bedside table and lay his hand on her forehead again. It felt even warmer to him now than it had been a few hours ago.

Mari had been surprised when her father lifted her from the sofa and carried to her bed, but when she had heard her old nickname come into play she felt like she might break down into tears. Her father had stopped calling her that for so long, and just to hear it so randomly broke her heart. Looking away from him she swallowed hard. Her temperature was a bit high, and she could feel it as her body began to sink into one of the world's worst cold sweats. Shaking her head a bit she looked up at him.

"Dad..." she whispered. "Why...why now? Why couldn't...couldn't you have just stayed this way when I was younger? Why did you always run from me?"

She felt the tears come back and before she could stop them they were rolling down her flushed cheeks. Closing her eyes she gasped a bit as she began to cry. It had been forever since she had cried for her father, cried for what they had lost, what he had taken away from her.

"Why did you leave me?" she whimpered. "Why...why did you stop caring?!"

Isaac wanted to sink into the ground and vanish. She was right about one thing. He'd not been part of her life the way he should have been. He had no one to blame but himself. He'd just been getting his own contracting business off the ground and it had become the focus of his life for a long time. He'd made a success of it, and his family now never really need worry about money ever again, but it had cost him his two eldest children, as Kennidee had been born after he'd gotten established

He was trying to work through his relationship with Parker as well, and thought that he was making a little bit of head way, but he also missed his Mar-bear. She was his first, his beautiful princess. He'd loved to spend time with her as a child, playing games, drawing on old schematic papers, and cuddling her when she was sleeping, or as she was now, sick. He missed it so much. And it saddened him that he'd missed much of her most impressionable years by not being there for her.

But he'd never stopped caring. If he'd known then what he knew now, he certainly wouldn't have let it go on as long as he had. He would have instantly gone to his daughter, hugged her and done whatever it took to make sure that she knew she was loved. To make damn sure that she knew he'd always be there when she needed him.

But he'd failed. And it was all his fault that he'd not been there. He wanted to change that now. And he would do it if it killed him!

He wiped the tears that he now realized were falling down his cheeks away.

"Oh, Mari. I am so sorry. I never meant to make you feel that way. I deserve whatever you do or say to me, but believe me, I am never going to leave you to doubt me again. And if I do, you can literally rip this back off my arm. I will submit to it willingly."

Mari blinked sending the tears that had been pooling in her eyes down her cheeks. It was different to hear him say it, compared to see him actually doing it. She wanted to know that he was going to be there for her, that he was going to stay with her even when she got under his skin. Too many times had they gotten into tiffs and he had just walked away from her, he had just left here there to drown in a pool of her own tears and morbidness.

"I...I'll believe it," she whimpered. "When...when I see it...."

Cringing as another cough escaped her diaphragm she sat up and began to gag. It burned to cough and she could taste bile in the back of her throat she it just continued to rip at her chest. God, it couldn't be pneumonia, maybe if she was lucky it was just a really, really, really, really bad chest cold. Marisol couldn't afford to miss more than a day or two of work...if she lost clients then she lost money, and that meant she would not be able to pay the rent for her apartment.

Feeling the stress grip her body as well she coughed and felt bile immediately rise in her throat and come out her mouth. It wasn't a lot, but it was enough to make a mess of her and the bed. Cringing at the taste she spit another disgusting mouthful out onto her lap and cringed.

"Ohh...gross..." she whimpered.

Isaac sat on the edge of Mari's bed, bringing a bin with him as he did. He set the bin as close to his daughter as possible, then cleaned what she had already brought up from the bed. He knew that she was still wary of him, but he felt that he was needed, at least for the moment. And he was going to stay, no matter what she said.

"Baby, from the look of it, I believe that you've got pneumonia. I had it years ago, and I know how horrible it is. You need to stay in bed and let it run its course. Of course there may have to be some medication if it gets much worse, but that's better than having this put you in Mungo's, isn't it?"

He went to the bathroom again and brought back a warm washcloth, that he used to clean her face gently. This felt much better to him, reconnecting with his eldest, even though it had to be under less than ideal circumstances. He would much rather have been able to take her to dinner and maybe get her to talking, but if this was the way it was to be, Isaac would not turn it down. He loved his child, and he wanted to take care of her now.

When he was finished cleaning her face, he smiled.

"Mari, have I ever told you how much you look like your mother? You, your brother and sister were all so lucky to take after her more than you did me."

Marisol didn't say anything at first, because she couldn't the pain that came after vomiting was nearly unbearble. Her chest felt like it was on fire, and she knew that her father's assumption had been right. She had pneumonia, DAMN IT! That meant she would be bedridden for days! God, what would happen to the store?! Her boss was such an asshole, he would fire her for any reason that wasn't death! She had to go to work tomorrow, pneumonia or not! She was sure her dad would leave the next day, even if he promised to stay with her through her recovery she did not believe him. There were many things that Isaac Collins had promised her in life and most of them had been hollow ones at that.

Pushing the bowl onto her bedside table she closed her eyes and pulled the blankets up to her chin. She didn't know what to say to her father about her looking like her mother, when most people that saw her next to her dad thought that she looked like him. Everyone thought that she was the spitting image of Isaac Collins, she looked and acted just like Isaac Collins, everything she did reminded people of Isaac Collins.

Turning on her side away from him she closed her eyes and tried to go to sleep, but she couldn't...she couldn't sleep...she could still feel his gaze upon her...still feel his eyes staring at her back.

(OOC: A little late but here's Mari's house... Apartment )

Isaac's phone rang in his pocket and he pulled it out with a bit of irritation. He didn't want to be bothered by the office now. He looked at the number and opened it with a terse 'hello'.

"Kyle, dammit, I don't want to hear it. I said that I'm not working today, and I meant it. As a matter of fact, I'm not going to be there for the rest of the week. No! Absolutely not! My daughter is sick and I'm not leaving her side until she tells me to fuck off, Kyle, now you figure out the details and leave me alone!"

He snapped his phone shut as soon as the last word had left his mouth and turned his attention back to Mari. She appeared to be trying to sleep, so he reached over to tug the blankets a little further up over her, and leaned down to kiss her temple. He moved to a chair that was near the bed and settled himself with a game that was on his phone, muting it so that it wouldn't disturb his daughter while she was sleeping.

It rang again just as he got past a part that had been giving him trouble for the last week and he clenched his teeth. He answered it quickly and listened to Kyle's frantic rambling on the other end of the phone, rolling his eyes as he did.

"Kyle, shut up. I said that I wasn't going to be in the office for the rest of the week. Are you an architect or not? Well, if the client doesn't want to deal with anyone but me, then just tell them that I am currently unavailable and will contact them when I can. Kyle, how much am I paying you to be my assistant now? Well, I'm only going to say this once, so listen up. I am unavailable to everyone except my family this week. And if you phone me again, that amount you just said? It will drop to zero."

He snapped the phone shut again without another word and settled back in his chair once more, and looked down at his shoulder as he felt a little sting when it rubbed against the chair.

"Hmmm. I wonder what you'll look like when you are finished," he whispered to his tattoo.

Marisol had heard her father and rolled her eyes. That had all been a show. He couldn't walk out of the room and say that, no, he wanted to do that right there so she could hear. Well it would take more than just one week off of work to make up for all the years he had missed. She was not going to indulge him and his need to be pitiful.

Snuggling deeper into the blankets she closed her eyes and shivered. She wasn't feeling any better, and after about an hour of uninterrupted sleep she woke up to find herself even more embarrassed than what she would have been ever in her entire existence. Standing from the bed, her body shaking and coated in a thin layer of sweat she began pulling her bedclothes off. Ripping the sheets from the mattress she tossed them into her hamper as well as the wet clothes she was wearing. Quickly wiping herself down with some toilet paper and a wet wash rag she got dressed once more and leaned against the wall. Her bed was still unmade, but she wasn't sure she had the will or energy to pull it together again.

Sliding down to the floor she closed her eyes and began to fall asleep against the wall. Her body falling limp and her head lolling to the side as she finally gave into her exhaustion and fatigue once more.

Isaac had just been to the point of dozing off when he heard Marisol get up. His eyes snapped open and he watched as she stripped her bed and then herself. She seemed to have forgotten that he was there as she didn't display any modesty whatsoever. He wasn't embarrassed, having seen her naked when she was a little girl, but he was a little worried. What had happened to make her do this?

It wasn't until she had turned to throw the bedclothes and her own into the hamper that Isaac realized what had happened. His eye caught her leaning against the wall, and sliding down it, clearly tired and still feverish. He wasn't going to let her sleep on the floor. She needed her bed. He stood and pulled out his wand, cleaning the mattress and looked around to see where she kept her sheets and blankets.

When he found them, he made the bed for her, and went over to where she was against the wall.

"Come on, Mar-bear. Back into bed," he whispered gently, lifting her into his arms and placing her back under the covers. His phone started ringing once again and with only snort of irritation, Isaac took the phone from his pocket as soon as his daughter was tucked in and flipped it open.

"You're fired, Kyle." He snapped the phone closed again and tossed it to the chair where he'd been sitting just a few short minutes ago.

"Go back to sleep, Princess. I'm just going to get you a glass of water from the kitchen. Is there anything else you would like?"

Marisol shook her head and closed her eyes once more. She was tired and she was not willing to talk to anyone else. She just wanted to pass out and never be spoken to again. She was so sick that she couldn't even control her bodily functions anymore, how embarrassing. Remaining silent, because she was too embarrassed to face her father she tried to fall back asleep. But her stomach continued to roll inside of her and her chest burned; she was so, unbelievably, miserable. Closing her eyes she sniffled and clutched her stomach, crying out a bit in pain. Turning her back to the wall she let her head hang slightly from the bed.

She could see her father's shoes but that was it and she had almost forgotten to answer his question. And yet she couldn't think of anything that he could possibly give her to make her feel better. Perhaps if he offered to kill her it would soften the blow to her pride, but she really doubted he was willing to do such a deed and go to Azkaban for it.

"Water...I guess..." she whispered, her throat raw. "Maybe some aspirin?"

Mari's Clean Jammies