Word Count: 622

There came a day soon after they were released from the hospital, when Beau sat both Paris and Chris down on one of the couches in the living-room with an expectant look upon his face.

Momma bustled around them. She brought a glass of wine for her husband, a cup of tea for Paris, and a mug of dark coffee for Chris. She stood behind the couch to squeeze their shoulders and brush at their hair with her fingers. Peter hunkered down on an armchair off to the side, crossing his arms and watching the exchange with a petulant look upon his face.

Only Michael was conspicuously absent.

Beau sat and stared at them both with a measured look to his eyes, studying everything from the expressions on their faces to their body language. Paris settled close beside Chris, one arm looped through his in the absence of an un-bandaged hand to hold onto. She kept her eyes downcast and picked at the knee of her yoga pants with her free hand.

“Tell me what happened,” Beau said. His voice was calm and steady, quieter than Paris would have expected.

Beau Gallo may be her father-in-law, but he was not and would never be her father. He was nothing like Henry LeFay, whose presence Paris missed more every time it was Beau who gave her a one-armed hug, or Beau who placed an affectionate kiss onto her forehead. Beau was kind and supportive where her father had been cold and distant, but he could never take the place of a man she failed to understand until it was much too late.

Yet even without looking Beau in the eye, Paris could not disobey. She'd never been able to. Though Chris remained stubbornly silent, and though Peter frowned and grumbled like he'd been telling the truth all along and had still gone unbelieved, Paris unraveled. She curled in on herself, brought her knees to her chest to wrap her arms around them. She lowered her head on-top and cried as she spilled out all of her secrets.

She told him about the night she'd become a Senshi, wandering around the streets on her way home alone when she'd encountered a youma and a Guardian Cat. She told him about the dream-world, and the first close call that came with an agent's hand upon her chest. She told him about meeting Chris, and later Valhalla. She told him about summer camp. She told him about the Surrounding, and Peter awakening. She told him about the ambush and the moon.

She left nothing out—not the strange eclipse or the mass blackout meant to disguise one of Bischofite's plots; not the changes that came upon her homeworld or the night Laurelite stuck a hand into her chest with the intention of pumping her full of Chaos. She told him about the night of the New Year's party, and all the things the Negaverse had done to her in the week that followed. She told him what little she remembered about her rescue.

“Please, I'm sorry,” she said at the end. “I'm sorry I never told you. I'm sorry this happened. I'm so, so sorry.”

Behind her, Paris could hear Momma crying softly. Chris sat tense and quiet at Paris's side; he looked at no one.

Beau stared with those piercing blue eyes of his. His face remained expressionless. He reached out for one of Paris's hands and squeezed.

“I told you I was telling the truth,” Peter grumbled.

Paris buried her face further into her knees. Her breath hitched on a sob, and she thought of her father, and how much she wished she could have told him when she'd had the chance.