Thatch doesn't move or say anything more. He sits quietly, his eyes mostly on you, but he looks around the apartment from time to time.

"... I'm sorry." The words are small. A quiet whimper that he only hears because there's no other sound right now. You don't want to cry, you don't want to think he's only being kind to you because you're crying so you won't do it.

"It's okay."

"It's... it's not." You insist, looking into his eyes for a second before looking away. "I can't... I couldn't." Putting a hand over your face you take in a slow deep breath. "I didn't want to, but I couldn't. I'm so sorry."

Thatch is quiet for a moment and you can feel your stomach knotting dangerously. You're expecting him to yell, or pull you out from under the table. Worse, he might just abandon you because you're not giving him what he wants, you're not agreeing, you're not telling him everything. He should be livid.

"Are you hurt?" He asks finally and you flinch at the sound, and the fact that you are, but you didn't want him to know. "Can I see?"

"It... it's... I mean..." You can't stop your body from shaking. You don't even know what you're afraid of. Will he hate you now that your face is damaged? Will he be angry?

"It's okay," Thatch says, putting his hands up. "It's okay, you don't have to show me. I'm not mad, I won't be, I promise." His voice is soothing and your trembling subsides a little. "I just want to make sure you're okay."

Pressing his lips together he closes his eyes, suppressing a sigh. He's almost afraid to ask the next few questions, but no matter your answer he cannot get upset. "Is anything broken?"

You shake your head.

"Do you need stitches?" He prompts and you flinch, but you shake your head again. Thatch's stomach knots, someone hurt you enough you're bleeding, or were bleeding, but you don't need it stitched. He hopes Pops can get your parents thrown in jail, because otherwise he thinks he might just kill them himself.

"Okay, that's okay." He moves enough to get on his knees. "I... I have a confession. I think we both do, but I'm going to start, okay?"

You start to shake your head but then you nod, staying tucked under the table.

Thatch takes a deep breath and lets it out in a heavy sigh before bowing his head all the way down to the floor. You're shocked by the gesture, and start to move toward him when he begins talking.

"Izou found your journal." You freeze. "The one you had hidden in your bathroom. I'm sorry, but we read it. Just a little bit when we were getting your things, but we read the whole thing while you slept afterward."

You're still trying to process what he's saying, your mind going back to how angry he sounded. He was angry at your parents though, and he should've been angry at you. Your journal was your confessional. It was how you atoned for all the terrible things you thought about your parents. You owed them so much you-.

"I wanted to wait to talk to you about it because I wanted you to have time to adjust, but that was wrong. I should've talked to you about it right away, and I'm sorry. Will you forgive me?" He continues and you finally find your voice.

"I - but... don't you... don't you hate me?" You question and Thatch looks up. The confusion on his face makes you fumble for your words, but he gives you a moment to collect them. "After reading that, don't you hate me?"

You're worried he's going to cry for a moment before he smiles. "Not at all. I don't hate you at all. You did your best, and despite having," he pauses for a second, grimacing before he continues. "Absolutely terrible, manipulative, disgusting, and vile parents. You've managed to be so kind that it makes me worry about you." He admits.

He breathes in deep again, letting out another sigh before he gives you a cautious look. "It's a terrible invasion of privacy to read someone's diary like that. A severe breech of trust, especially since I didn't say something right away. Are you angry?"

You shake your head after considering it for a moment.

"Forgive me?"

You nod.

He relaxes, sitting cross-legged and giving you a soft smile. "Your turn."

You take a few moments to collect your thoughts. If you start with the most recent thing, it won't make any sense. It started with finding the phone.

"There was... I mean, they hid a phone and a note in my things." You begin quietly. "Wanted me to text them when I was alone, and so... so yesterday, I did." Your face scrunches up as you fight to hold back the tears. "I didn't want to, but... but I did."

"It's okay." Thatch insists. You don't say anything against it but you shake your head a little.

"Father showed up and took me to a place. H-had someone make a copy of my key." You hug yourself against the table leg. "Told me to get you to take me on a long date." You can't stop the errant tears slipping down your cheeks, but you don't break into sobs. "I really, I really do want to go, I do, I-."

"It's okay, it is." His voice is quiet and soothing. His knuckles are white and for a second you're afraid he really is angry at you, but when you look up into his eyes he doesn't look mad at all. "What happened today?"

"She showed up," you look away. "Looked around. Found something in your closet, but didn't take anything."

"... Did she hit you?"

Looking down at the floor you nod. You can hear Thatch suck in a breath, but he doesn't yell.

"Can I see it?" He asks again. "I won't be mad, I just want to make sure you're okay."

"I'm sorry."

"You didn't do anything wrong." He says as you slowly start to come away from the table leg. "I'm not mad at you, I promise."

You swallow thickly. "I... I haven't gotten a chance to look at it." You feel something slip down your cheek, and reach up as you turn toward Thatch. Your face is still gummy.

Thatch grimaces, but hides it quickly. "Don't touch it, just c'mere." There's a strained urgency in his voice, but you decide to listen to him instead of worry. Being directed is easy. You're good at following instructions, if nothing else.

Thatch holds your chin gingerly, moving your head to the side to get a better look and then gets you both on your feet.

"I think it gummed up against the table leg and opened back up a little when you moved away from it." He explains, and when you start to turn toward the table he stops you. "It's alright, Doll. It'll wash off the table, I ain't worried about that. I got a full first aid kit in the kitchen. Come stand by the sink, we'll get this cleaned up and bandaged."

You let Thatch guide you into the kitchen, he turns the water on, putting a bowl and some ice under the stream, and dips a clean kitchen towel into the cold water. Holding your chin carefully, he dabs it, trying to clean things up without making the scratches bleed again.

"She got you good." He tries to say it lightly, but the frown on his face is putting wrinkles in his brow. "What the hell happened?"

"She said you threatened her." You say as Thatch continues to clean your face. "Called you... called you names and I said she was wrong." You can feel your face heating up and you look away. You can still see the smile on Thatch's face.

"I suppose I should thank you for defending my honor." He says, a teasing lilt in his voice. "I'm touched you talked back to your mom for my sake."

"... She doesn't deserve to know you." You feel Thatch flinch and look over to see his face is pink.

"Warn a guy before you compliment him like that." He grins, wringing out the towel and going back to cleaning up your face. "I think that's as good as it's gonna get. The ointment might sting a bit, but it should reduce the risk of scarring."

"... Sorry."

"Hm? For what? If this scars I'm not going to be mad." He assures you. "I'd be a real bastard if I was okay with my own scars and not yours."

"Porcelain is no good cracked." You say the words monotonously, and Thatch freezes for a moment.

"You're not that kind of doll." He says, applying the ointment carefully. "You're not made of silk and stone, (Y/N). You're not filled full of cotton, or whatever it is they put in fine porcelain dolls. You're flesh and blood and bone like me.

"Pops says I'm just a big teddy bear. It's a kind of doll, yeah? I wouldn't mind bein' a set of dolls with you. I almost lost one of my button eyes." He says, tapping the scar on his face, changing the subject before he gets too sappy. "I'da looked pretty dashing with an eye patch, yeah?"

You smile a little, and Thatch grins. Shaking your head, you speak a little faster than you think.

"No, your eyes are beautiful, I-." You put a hand over your mouth and turn away.

"Ah, ah, wait!" Thatch follows you, a bandage in his hands. "Don't move for a second there, let me get this on." He says, placing the patch on your cheek and patting down the edges so the adhesive sticks better. "There, now you can be all embarrassed."

You manage a soft laugh despite everything, but hiss sharply as you put your hand on the counter to steady yourself. You and Thatch look down at the same time and you realize your wrist is swollen and already starting to turn nasty colors.

"Are you sure nothing's broken?" Thatch questions, gingerly lifting your hand up to the light over the sink to get a better look. Your arm looks so small in his hands, it's at odds with how careful he's being in your mind.

Your mother's words echo in your mind and you don't doubt how true they could be. No one would doubt that Thatch could harm you. Anyone with half a brain could see that he would rather break himself than you, however. Even you understood that.

You move your wrist and wiggle your fingers. It hurts, but it's not the kind of sharp pain you'd expect from a broken wrist bone.

"Pretty sure."

"Well... we can go to the hospital and have them x-ray it to be sure. Ah, I need to call the shop, let me do that."

"You don't have to stay." You say and Thatch shakes his head.

"They have a key to the apartment, I'm not leaving you here alone." He says it with such finality you can't think of anything to say in response. "Angel, great! No, I'm not going to be back today. If you have to close early that's okay. Something important came up... Huh? No no, don't dock anything, just put the hours in as scheduled. Give Moda a call first though, she might be able to come in and help... Good, yeah, thanks."

Thatch hangs up, leans down and kisses the top of your head before dialing another number. "It's gonna be alright, don't worry." He says it softly before turning his attention back to the phone. "Hey, Marco, do you know if Hongo's down at General Hospital today? ... He is? Good. There anything I need to say to — Oh, you'll meet us there, sure thing brother. I gotta give Pops a call, but we'll be on our way in a few... Nah, I'll tell you when we get there. Later."

"Um?" You prompt and Thatch smiles.

"I'm going to make sure my brother's friend Hongo tends to you at the hospital. He'll make notes in the charts without getting the marines involved, so don't worry. I want to have dinner at Pops' tonight, you think you can handle that?"

"Handle?"

"A lot's happened today, and if you don't want to be around everyone else, I won't force you, but I gotta talk to Pops about this." He explains.

"No, I - uh, people are..." You shake your head. "I'm used to people, it's okay. You said that his home is the safest place."

Thatch smiles. "It is."

"If I'm not here and my parents show up tomorrow..."

"You'll be here tomorrow. I'm going to get Izou or Marco to come over and just make sure you're not alone. I'll have to leave probably. Ugh, this is why I want to go over tonight. I'm no good at this subterfuge and legal stuff." He admits. "Pops and the others are better at it."

"But..." You pause, brows knit in confusion. Thatch waits and you shake your head. "I don't understand why, but I trust you, so let's do what you want to do about this." You look down at your hands, your wrist throbbing in greeting. "I'm not good at making decisions."

"You don't have to be. Not right now." He corrects. "We'll get you there."

You want to ask how, or why. Wouldn't it be easier for him if you just did what he wanted you to do, but you don't get a chance to ask as he dials his father, and his attention is on the phone again.

"Hey Pops. We're going to come over for dinner tonight, okay?" He says it evenly, like there's nothing else going on, but you get the sense his father already knows. "No, no, don't rush. I'm meeting Marco and Hongo down at the general first. We'll be there a while... Yeah, she's... she's gonna be okay. I'll tell you everything when we get there tonight... Yeah, sure thing Pops. Bye."

Thatch hangs up the phone and takes another breath. "Okay, lets head over to the hospital- Hey, wait, have you eaten today?"

"I had a light breakfast."

"Hm... Okay, we're closer than Marco, even leaving later, so let's stop and get some wraps on the way." Thatch says. "It's nice out, so after we park in the lot we can sit in the sun and eat before we go in."

He holds out his hand, specifically to hold your uninjured hand. "Can you make it to the car? I can carry you if you want."

"No I... my legs are..." You tilt your head, and then shake it. "I can walk."

"I wouldn't mind carrying you." He says with a grin, still just holding out his hand.

"You're... you're really not mad?"

"Huh? At you? Not even a little." He assures you.

"But I-."

Thatch kneels down on one knee in front of you. He's barely shorter than you this way, and he reaches out, putting a hand on your arm softly. "We'll be able to talk more on this, but I promise, I'm not mad at you."

Pressing your lips together you look down. "Thank you."

"Of course." Thatch leans forward and catches himself, patting your arm softly before he stands up. "C'mon, we need to get something to eat and get to the hospital before we leave Marco waiting there all day."