She remembers standing in the doorway at eleven years old, watching her father pick his braids out with one hand, staring into the mirror with unfocused eyes. Brown eyes. When you're younger things tend to pass under the radar more easily, but when you're older...

"You hair is... different than mine." She said, thinking out loud. His smile is tired as he lowers his head from the light around the mirror. His eyes aren't noticeably brown anymore.

"Yeah." he says, as if all along he'd been waiting for those words exactly. Marlene can't help running her fingers through her own hair. It slips easily through her fingers and lands heavily against her back. He pulls out another braid with one hand and in a moment of forgetfulness brings his gun up against his scalp to help. The barrel spins dangerously and he brings it down quickly, glancing at his wide-eyed daughter. "I must be gettin' old." he laughs it off as she comes forward and attaches herself to his leg. His laugh is purely for her.

"I can help." The gun is cold against her shoulder.

"What?"

"I can help with your hair." He scratches his head with the right hand. She looks up at him, a tiny white face next to his muscular brown arm.

"Alright." he sits down on the floor next to the window, and Marlene sees that he still looks as if he thinks she's going to suddenly tell him that she's figured out he isn't really her father. Or some foolishness like that. She pulls out a braid half undone. "I knew the day would come when you'd-"

"Daddy, could you sit still?" Barrett exhales. What do you say to an eleven year old girl, what don't you say?

"You'd wanna know about your fath-"

"You're moving again." Marlene said as his fidgeting made her fingers slip.

"His name was-" Marlene leaned her chin on his shoulder. Thinking that sometimes adults made such big deals about things, sometimes adults forgot children had eyes of their own.

"I'm gonna try to do a braid now." Barrett sighed, his words dying on his lips.

"Go ahead." Marlene pulled hard to start off tight and he hollered.

"Sorry."

"You wanna tell me where you got that muscle from?" she laughed, and saw him smile. White teeth against dark skin. The years could move, and her eyes could see all they wanted, but she could only ever see one father. A father who fortunately, was now smiling under her hands, instead of aging alone in the mirror.

Some things were just more important.

(a/n: been in my head for a little bit. thanks for reading, and comments are welcome of course.)