Spirou awoke before Souris finished her first wail, found himself twisting her doorknob at the second, and had her hugging his legs and sobbing in-between her third.

I dreamed about Mom again, she signed upon letting go, face steaming from still streaming tears. She rubbed her eyes as her father frowned.

It'd been a little past quarter a year after the collision that had instantly killed Seccotine and left Fantasio brain dead after being placed in a coma. Souris suffered from nightmares just about every night, it seemed. She'd never been incredibly verbal, but what little she did was now screaming and weeping. All progress with her speech therapy paused.  If she'd giggled or joyfully squealed like she did so often pre-trauma, Spirou hadn't had it reported to him or witnessed it himself. She'd barely smiled since then. Freshly six years old and she seldom smiled nowadays. Spirou quit thinking about it before Souris had the chance to see him cry.  

Souris grabbed his legs again, and a sharp pain surged through his right leg. He fought every urge to seethe his teeth, snap at her and shove her off of it, and somehow succeeded. It was perhaps amazing that he could still walk as fast as he did given how being entangled in metal and debris had mangled it. He was still wearing a cast boot, and possibly would for another half-month at minimum.

His doctor stated that he could bear some weight again, but a small child was well over the limit. He motioned her to her bed, left, and then returned from the kitchen limping. Somehow he didn't spill as much warm milk on the wooden floor as he expected he would.

The little girl drank it with loud gulps while Spirou watched, sitting at the foot.

How was it this time? He signed.

Like how Mom did it. Thank you, Daddy. She sniffled. I miss Mom a lot. Uncle Fanta too.

This was a new development. It was obvious she missed them as much as he did, but she couldn't or was too afraid to openly communicate it until then.

Spirou nodded. I miss them too. All the time.

Yes, all the time. I still smell Mom's perfume in your room and it makes me sad.

A tinge of guilt tugged at him. All this time he had yet to touch any of Seccotine's stuff. Her cosmetics on the bedroom and bathroom counters, her clothes in her dresser. Her sheets, much to his regret, had only been washed because the smell of his sweat got to him. It was painful enough sending most of Fantasio's stuff to relatives as he moved out of their house after both funerals, and that was just a deep friendship. Seccotine and he weren't married, didn't even co-habit permanently because of some stupid stuff they agreed and occasionally fought on. Yet he certainly felt like a widower, completely lost without his girlfriend (and, he had to admit, his best friend too) by his side. He certainly could've lived without hearing what had been found in her womb during the autopsy too. If that was how he felt, how did Souris, who perhaps loved them absolutely unconditionally?

Remember what Doctor Bellum said? It's okay to be sad.

But it also makes me happy because it's Mommy. I don't know. I'm confused.

The father frowned, unsure of what to answer. He understood enough what she meant. As to whether any attempts to reassure her would work...

Souris yawned. Daddy, can you stay in bed with me tonight? I'm scared.

Without contemplation he nodded. Yes. "You only have to ask, Sou-Sou."

Spirou grunted and groaned towards the lamp, then back to the bed. He was still readjusting himself under the sheets when the little girl cuddled around him on his right side. Her head propped itself against his shoulder.

 Shortly after shutting his eyes, he heard something. Soft, shaky, scratchy voiced, he swore he heard a whispered "Good night, Daddy," and, eyes still shut, smiled. Souris, gradually, eventually, was going to be okay.