Simon knew he wasn’t going to be a good father from the start.

He had his own issues- from the trauma that ran deep in his blood, to the fact that he barely had free time. Every aspect of his life was practically a sentence for a bad childhood for you.

Even then, he tried. The free time that he had he spent with his child, wanting to at least provide some sense of a father figure in your life. Simon knew that the lack of his presence would affect you; he was well aware that having a upbringing filled with unfamiliar nannies and random men that were, supposedly, Simon’s ‘friends’ taking care of you would cause you to struggle.

Simon also acknowledged that, eventually, you would develop a coping mechanism.

Even if it wasn’t a healthy one.

The lieutenant assumed he would be prepared to deal with your potential bad habits, thought that he would know how to coax and comfort you. But his absence had caused a deep rift between you, a large ravine that only worsened with each year you grew older; and the moment he noticed the signs, he found himself completely and utterly stuck.

Simon had noticed your unfocused eyes, noticed the small jitters in your body language whenever he was around you. He’d seen this before, in the others that he had managed to grow closer to. He knew what was going to happen.

The day he came back from duty and found the house empty, your door locked, was the day he knew that you had gone too far.

A deft trip to the hospital, watching as the staff rushed in frantic motions to somehow get you stable. Shaking hands and glassy eyes, stuck to your limp frame.

Fuck.

Simon stayed by your side for days on end. He’d been told that they weren’t sure when you’d wake up, and if you’d be okay when you did. You’d been.. gone for a while; which, of course, meant that you’d risked permanent brain damage. Worry built up deep inside the man, threatening to burst.

It all went away when you opened your eyes. That half-lidded, weary gaze stared up at him. Awake.

“Idiot.”