A/N: Hello, 24 Fandom. It's been a very, very long while. I'm the girl that used to be 24rocks05, the one who made you all angry (rightfully so) when I stopped having the time to write my entertaining but poorly-written stories for you a few years ago. And well, I'm back now - while I was packing for school this afternoon, I came across this ancient compilation of clichés that turned out as a depressing, mildly presentable one-shot, so I typed it up for your enjoyment. I'm writing fanfiction again, but pretty exlusively Jane Austen with some Harry Potter and Twilight thrown in there, so don't expect a return as a permanent 24 fic writer. :(

Anyway, enough about me. I'm boring. Hopefully the story is not. So read on, I hope you enjoy it and I hope that you review, for my sake. Love and hello/goodbye, old friends...

Here for You

Her grave is simple—just a grey stone with cravings upon it stating who she was and when she lived. I avert my eyes. Somehow, I can't bring myself to look at it.

You look at me and revulsion is clouding your features; it is a mask that hides your beautiful face, and it's causing me to wonder briefly who you are—you don't look like my daughter right now. There is too much hate on your face that doesn't belong there.

Please, try to understand, Sweetheart, if you can, that I lost her, too.

I know you blame me.

I blame me.

How could I not?

Her death is completely my fault. Had I chosen another profession fifteen years ago, had I not separated from her and trusted Nina Meyers, had I gotten there sooner…Thoughts like this plague my mind so often I find that this is all I concentrate on, so I'm starting to lose the memory of her face…

You're looking at me again.

Must the look in your eyes be so accusatory?

Yes, it must. I know it must.

Because my guilt is more than that of killing her. Had I not killed her, I still would have been to blame for my actions towards her during my life. Every fight we ever had, every cruel word we ever exchanged, is killing me slowly. All the sooner to end a life without her. I would already be gone, if it wasn't for you, Sweetheart.

It seems hard to believe that I left her once, when I would give absolutely anything now to have her back.

I hate myself so Goddamn much.

You turn your face from me. I stand there for awhile, before I see you move out of the corner of my eye—you're running, past the group of people donned in black and through the cemetery gates.

I can't have that. Hate me all you want, but I must keep you safe, and the world isn't safe for a beautiful and vulnerable fifteen-year-old girl such as yourself. I can't lose you, Baby. Not after…

I won't lose you.

You're a fast runner. You got it from me—your mother couldn't catch a sleeping hare. I chase you all the way down the street, into a vacant alleyway. You're cornered, Dear. Just give it up.

You stare at the wall blocking your path for a few seconds, a blank look on your face. Your eyes fill with moisture, and suddenly you're sobbing.

My heart aches at the hurt in your eyes and the tears on your face. Before I can even realize what I'm doing, out of sheer fatherly instinct, I am holding you in my arms.

To my surprise, you don't push me away. You cling to me, burying your face in my shoulder.

"I know, Sweetheart," I whisper into your ear. Fleetingly, I wonder if you are letting me comfort you because I am your father or because I'm the only one around.

But then I decide it doesn't matter.

You need someone.

And I'm here for you.

Like I wasn't for her.

I'm here for you.

Even though I'm not good enough to be the shoulder that you cry on right now.

I'm here for you, Baby.

Always.