"Are you sure about this? We can still work something out... sublet.. or break the lease."
Her mother took her arm softly, and she could feel the warmth of her palms even through her sleeve. The slight curve of her mothers long, immaculate fingernails. The soft cloud of perfume that would forever remind her, she knew, of what 'mother' was.

Holi smiled, knowing her own smile was a little drawn, her braided hair considerably less immaculate than her mothers soft, pale waves. She'd never quite been exactly the tiny dancing princess her mother wanted, and she wouldn't be. Not ever now. But she had to find something of that hidden strength they had. She had to start somewhere.

This was where she was starting. A little one bedroom apartment with a kitchenette and tiny closets.

"I'm sure mom." She promised, putting her own hand over her mothers. She'd never noticed before, but her mothers hand felt somehow tiny, delicate, and fragile. Like a porcelin music box doll, which might snap if touched wrong.
Was it the wear of all the ordeals they'd faced that made her feel so delicate? Was it time? Was it both? When had her father, who drifted through carrying parts of a bed frame, become so gray?

"I'm not that far away, and it has good solid doors and locks...and the landlord said I could get a pet, as long as it's not too big."

Her father had suggested a fish tank, which were purportedly relaxing, and then grimaced as he remembered that, for reasons neither he nor her mother understood, she could not stand the sight of fins and scales. Birds had been suggested, but she hated to leave them alone while she was at class. A rat perhaps, she'd suggested, to her mothers horror. They'd dropped the discussion then, leaving it until 'she felt comfortable'.

Holi still thought she might get a rat, just for the little taste of rebellion. Of being contrary.

"But there's no washer and drier...." her mother waved one hand, reaching out for something to pull on to draw her back to the safe home she'd returned to after the Surrounding.

"There's a laundromat five minutes away. I can walk, or buy a junker. I promise I won't do it at night."

She wanted to go back. She wanted to spend forever curled up in her old quilt, able to turn to her father and mothers arms within seconds of the first prickle of anxiety.

She also thought that she needed to do this. She had to know she could. She had her therapy days. She had little pills just in case of the monster Depression, which could not be banished with Senshi or Knight magic.

She had hand me down furniture, she had pots, and pans and silverware, she had paint chips and an open discussion about painting. She had this place, with the awkward bathroom and the ancient claw foot tub which was considerably less romantic after taking four bottles of bleach cleaner to clean out, and a ridiculous matching bathroom set her mother had bought because it had made them laugh together. Rubber ducks everywhere, even the bath mat and towels. And one real rubber duck with a pink ribbon they'd set down on the edge of the tub, just because.

She had their support, their help, their love, and their blessing, and perhaps most importantly, she had fragile dreams and a delicate, pieced back together hope for the future, which she had carefully unpacked and placed someplace safe inside, to look at, and nurture.

"I know you're going to be fine but..." Her mother offered, not sounding at all sure that she would be fine, until her father wrapped both of them up in his arms. His coat was wool, and it smelled slightly like warm lanolin. She liked it.

"She's going to be fine. I think all the boxes are in, the bathroom and kitchen are half done... I think we should take a break and go get some lunch."
He smiled, displaying creases at the edges of his eyes and mouth that had arrived without her notice or permission.

"First I thought I'd give you this though." He noted, pulling a small box from his pocket. It was wrapped in Christmas paper, old Christmas paper that she recognized, and she felt emotion, complex and unclear, form an heavy aching knot behind her breastbone.

"Oh, Dad..."

"Just open it." He chastised, but jokingly.

She unpicked the wrapping paper carefully, reverently, and lifted the lid.
She had expected, really, the thick rounded bar in the bright red foil, white band, and gold lettering, but not the delicate gold chain wrapped around it, the small bright white stone that glittered as it slipped sideways onto the tissue paper.

"...Oh... dad"
He kissed her gently on the forehead, while thick salt tears rolled down her face, not because she hurt, not this time.
"I'm proud of you, and I thought I might try and be the first person to give you a diamond. God knows I'd be surprised if no one else does someday. You deserve to be happy, and you're strong, and bright... and I'm so, so proud of you."
"Daddy...." She choked, throwing her arms around him, and his voice cracked too, a little bit.
...And that was ok.
Maybe they'd all be ok.
She could really almost believe that.