Say it's only a paper moon, sailing over a cardboard sea. (Childfic for <lj site="livejournal.com" u

[certainproclivity]

Sark became painfully aware of the concrete as a demon with hair a color red that is usually reserved for cherry suckers and certain cars tackled him before he could get three feet from his car. For a brief moment, he wondered if evading the Organization for seventeen years had finally caught up with him. He knew when he joined up that it wasn't a group you could turn your back on and betray and expect to live, but he was always a huge risktaker, and, hell, he'd managed to keep under their radar for seventeen years, so he didn't he had done so badly in the long run.

He attempted to clamber to his feet, but the demon planted a stiletto-heeled boot on his chest and he grimaced in pain as the heel dug into a spot on his sternum that was still tender even though that wound was a good twenty years old now. His aviators had fallen askew when he hit the ground and he glanced above the frames to get a good look at his assailant- she looked like a teenager, but demons' looks could be deceiving. There was a certain look to her eyes that suggested youth, however, which, really, would make this all the more irritating. Evade capture for years and get taken down by a teenager- there's some subtle bit of irony in that.

"Hi, Daddy."

 

His brain, at first, attempted to translate that as a mocking nickname. That seemed like an accurate assumption, especially when his head was in no fit state to think about much, thanks to the concrete. "What?" He grimaced. His hands, at least, were free and he brought them to his face to attempt to fix his sunglasses. As if expecting the gesture to be less than innocent, the demon dug her heel a bit deeper into his chest and he hissed in pain. "Do you mind?" He growled through gritted teeth. "I do believe that's wholly unnecessary."

"I'm just making sure you don't run off again," the girl responded, her tone slightly pouty. 

"Rest assured, I don't believe that's anything you have to worry about." She was apparently satisfied by that answer, because she released her hold on him and he managed to stagger to his feet, gripping the side of his car with a groan and an even more pained grimace. Being tackled into the concrete and then poked in the chest with sharp heels wasn't exactly the least painful experience in the world, and he wasn't as young as he used to be.

The girl planted her hands on her hips. "I guess you don't recognize me, huh, Daddy?"

He arched an eyebrow at her, leaning on the car a bit. "Please stop calling me that."

One of her eyebrows went up, an equal match for his- for whatever reason, even those had been dyed a rather striking shade of cherry red. "What? Should I just call you 'Julian?' Most fathers hate that."

Why did she keep insisting on treating him like he was her father? "I'm not your father," he said automatically. The idea of him having a child somewhere was just ridiculous, least of all a teenage daughter who just so happened to be a demon and, really, aside from Calisto, how many demons had he really sle-

Realization flooded him and he had to grip the side of the car to keep his knees from dropping out from underneath him. Well, of course. This little drama wouldn't be complete without a long-lost daughter tracking him down, now would it? The only solace he could take in this is that he assumed his absence might have benefited the girl somewhat. He would have been a terrible father, if his own father was any indication.

Then again, considering who her mother was and given the way she looked, he had to wonder what sort of upbringing she had to have had, in general... Or even why she was here in the first place. 

"How did you find me?" He asked, suddenly very serious for a moment. Would the Organization have sent his own daughter after him? Was Indigo even still working for the Organization? He doubted it would have looked good for a woman of Indy's... Classification to have a child. 

The girl's lips quirked into a devilish, sharp-toothed predator's smile. "That's a good story." She crossed around to the other side of the car and tilted her head at him to get him to unlock the door. "And, anyway, don't you have more roadtripping to do?"

What was she... He shook his head, backing away from the car. "Absolutely not. I am not-"

She brushed his comment off with a wave of her hand. "I think Auntie Leona would be very happy to hear an anonymous tip about where the Organization's renegade ran off to, considering they've been fresh out of leads for years now and have almost given up."

Sark's jaw dropped. The little brat was blackmailing him. He hadn't had even a little hand in her upbringing and she truly was his daughter, apparently. He shook his head in complete disbelief, muttering a few curses in a couple of languages, and unlocked the door and the girl gleefully slid into the passenger seat as he climbed into the driver's seat, looking far more defeated than he really wanted to be, especially when the victor in the situation was a seventeen-year-old girl.

"Aren't you even going to ask me my name, Daddy?" She asked in a sweet manner that made him a little bit sick to his stomach, given that two seconds ago, she'd just tried to blackmail him in the exact same tone of voice. His only response was a small grunt that she accepted as an affirmative, apparently, because she responded with a slightly giggly, "It's Cherry."

"Of course it is," he muttered as he started the car.

 

 Word Count: 989