Holding On

[intheheart]

Title: Holding On
Rating: PG.
Summary: Hugh gets a phone call.
Date: June 26th, 1999
AU: Sunny
Notes: Hugh is irritatingly hard to write.


"...and for heaven's sake, Jamie, no more tree-climbing. I'm getting pretty sick of patching you up."

The boy, now sporting an ace bandage on his left wrist, grinned unrepentantly up at Hugh. "But Dr. Marhenke, the tree insulted my honor! I have to beat it."

"You've been watching too many samurai movies," Hugh told him severely, trying not to grin. "I guarantee that your honor will remain unbesmirched unless I see you in here again with another broken limb."

"Okay," the boy sighed, in that put-upon tone that children universally adopted when told to give up some pleasure of theirs. He added, "But my wrist isn't broken this time. What's besmirched mean?"

"Ask your mother," Hugh said, ushering him out of the examination room. "Or better yet, look it up. Mrs. Engle, it's just a sprain, but keep him out of that tree or it'll get worse."

Mrs. Engle, a harassed-looking woman about Hugh's age, sighed heavily. "Believe me, I have been trying."

"I suggest cutting it down," Hugh said, privately thanking God for his own quiet and reasonably obedient child. "Go on down to the desk there, and Taylor will check you out."

"What do you say to the doctor, Jamie?"

Jamie mumbled something, but Hugh didn't catch it; he'd overheard something much more attention-grabbing from reception. "You're welcome, Jamie," he said, absently. "I'll see you two soon, I'm sure."

He strode away from a surprised Jamie and Mrs. Engle, heading for the receptionist's desk. Cindy, their usual receptionist, was out recovering from surgery, and the temp was still getting used to the way this practice was run. He tended to err on the side of protecting the doctors' privacy, which Hugh appreciated, but he hadn't quite learned that if Olivia called, he took it.

If it was Olivia. If he hadn't misheard.

"...with a patient," he was saying, as Hugh approached. "I can't just pull him out." He listened, then made an exasperated noise and said, "I can take a message and have him call you back when he gets out. I'm afraid that's the best I can do."

Hugh tapped him on the shoulder, and he jumped, then said, "Excuse me a moment," and put his hand over the receiver. "Dr. Marhenke! I didn’t hear you."

"That's all right," Hugh said, and realized he was frowning. "Is that my daughter on the phone?"

"Yes," the temp said, an uncertain tone creeping into his voice. "I told her that you were with a patient."

"Well, I'm not now," he said. "I'll take that in my office, thank you."

The temp-- what was his name? Robert?-- frowned. "Sir, it really didn't sound that important. I'm sure it can wait."

"It can't wait if she's stranded," Hugh said. She got out of dance about now, usually, and if her mother had forgotten to pick her up again he'd have to go and get her. "Olivia doesn't call me at work for anything frivolous. If she calls, I take it." He waited until the temp nodded, then headed for his office.

The phone was ringing when he opened the door, which spoke well for the temp's talent at transferring calls but not for his sense in when to do it. Hugh resolved to have a word with him and picked up. "Hello?"

"Daddy?" Her voice wavered, and nearly broke.

Oh, dear. That was not the sound of a stranded girl-- Olivia was, unfortunately, far too used to being forgotten by her mother to be upset by it. "Yes, it's me," he said, putting as much reassurance into his voice as he could. "What's the matter, Sunny?"

At that, Olivia burst into tears.

Definitely not stranded then.

Hugh sat down and pulled up his appointment schedule, all the while murmuring a stream of meaningless but calming nonsense into the phone. The Baisho baby's one-year checkup could be rescheduled, although someone should really see Kelly Brandon. Hopefully he could pawn her off on his partner; Darcy had kids herself, she knew how it was. He'd had the rest of the afternoon reserved for paperwork, which he could do at home as well as anywhere, after he'd taken care of Olivia.

About then, her sobs began to slow, and she managed to get a few words in between them. "Daddy, Daddy, please come get me!"

"Of course, Sunny," he said, grabbing his keys. "I just need to reschedule one appointment and I'll be right there. Where are you?"

"At Isobel's," she said, and gulped back another sob. "I... I ran away."

Ran away? That didn't sound like Olivia at all. An uneasy feeling gathered in the pit of his stomach-- what had Yvonne done now? "All right. I'm coming, Sunny. Let me see, Isobel is your friend who lives by the dance studio?"

He knew perfectly well that it was Mimi who lived by the dance studio, not Isobel. But he wanted Olivia thinking, not crying, and she usually calmed when asked something specific.

This time was no different; her voice was already steadying when she spoke. "No, Isobel lives on Coulton, remember? Two streets away from... from us."

"Oh, yes, of course. How silly of me. 1531, right?" He tucked the phone under his ear and took off his lab coat and stethoscope. If he stretched, he could hook them on the coat rack without getting off the phone. "Stay right there, Sunny. I'm on my way."

"Okay," she said, very faintly.

It took an enormous effort of will to hang up.

--

Twenty minutes later, he was turning onto Coulton Street, and wishing he'd been faster.

Darcy had taken one look at his face and agreed to take Kelly Brandon's appointment. Getting the baby's checkup rescheduled had been more difficult, but luckily for him, abandoning the temp to it was a perfectly viable option. The magic words "family emergency" could get you out of a lot of obligations.

If only it had been the sort of family emergency that wasn't actually an emergency.

There was a figure on the curb by Isobel's house, framed against the palm trees and the browning June grass. He pulled over, heedless of actual parking spaces, and walked the hundred feet or so to where Olivia sat alone, hugging her legs tight to her chest, forehead against her knees. She did not look up at his approach.

That was a bad sign. She'd been in tears on the phone. She should have been looking for him now.

He approached her slowly, waiting for a reaction; when he didn't get one, he sat down beside her, and touched her shoulder, lightly. "What's wrong, Sunny?"

Olivia still didn't raise her head. "Mom came home early," she said, into her knees. "She said we had to go, right then. I asked about you and she said you weren't coming."

A sliver of ice ran down Hugh's spine. Had Yvonne just tried to take his daughter away? He kept silent, though, and rubbed Olivia's back, reassuring.

"She said..." Olivia's voice became even more muffled as she pressed her face harder against her legs. "She said we had to go quickly. She said you'd found out."

Oh, God. She had tried to take Olivia. He had to fight to keep from pulling her into his arms and never letting go. Then the second half of what she'd said sank in. "Found out what, Sunny?" he asked, keeping his voice as gentle as he could.

She shivered, and shrank away from him, almost as though she expected to be hit. Hugh's heart broke just a little, and then she spoke.

"She said I'm not your daughter," Olivia whispered.

For a frozen moment the words didn't make any sense. Of course she was his daughter. He'd been the first one to hold her when she was born. He'd named her, and raised her, and sung her to sleep when she was sick. Of course she was his daughter.

But then there was Yvonne.

Of course. There was always Yvonne. There were the late-night hang-ups, the mysterious mid-day absences, the way she occasionally left Olivia stranded somewhere without explanation. He'd never bothered to ask for one. He'd never cared enough.

Now he cared.

He'd been quiet for too long. Olivia had tensed, had drawn herself away from him even more. Hugh shifted, turned to speak to her, and she jerked her head up, stared at him with her eyes wide and full of tears. "She was lying," she said, desperately. "She was lying, right? Daddy, please..."

"Yes," he said, and shook himself, because Olivia was crying and he hated it when she cried. "Yes, darling, of course she was lying."

It didn't help. She was still shaking, still had tears creeping down her cheeks. "She said. She said you hated me. She said you didn't love me anymore. She said I should just go with her because you'd never... you'd never..."

He put his arms around her shoulders, held her tight against him and realized, after a moment, that he was saying "no, no, no," quietly, like a mantra. Forget Yvonne. Olivia needed him.

She froze for a half-second, rigid, then threw herself against him and wrapped her arms around his ribs, so hard they creaked. She pressed her face against his shoulder and began to sob.

"Sunny, Sunny," he crooned, and rocked her a little. She'd cried like this as a baby sometimes, inconsolable unless he held her. She'd been happy, when he held her.

She was not happy now. "Please say it's not true," she sobbed, clutching at his shirt. "Please, please. Just say it's not true."

"It's not true," he said, immediately, and held her a little bit tighter. "It isn't. You're my daughter. You're my little girl. Forget her. You're my daughter."

"Are you sure?" she asked. It was almost a cry, almost a plea.

And oh, God, how was he to answer her?

He couldn't be sure. He didn't think Yvonne had been unfaithful that far back, but that didn't exactly signify. He'd been besotted with her then; he wouldn't have wanted to know it even if he'd seen the signs. He couldn't be sure.

And yet...

He'd been the first one to hold her, after she was born. He'd named her, and raised her, and sung her to sleep when she was sick.

"Of course I'm sure, Sunny," he said, into her hair. "Oh, darling, of course I'm sure."