Test Thread.

[sniperslilgirl]

They were at the waterfront, and Zoe was skipping rocks. As a city girl, she wasn't the most informed on how it was generally done, but once she'd found the right rocks, she'd managed it every time.

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[sniperslilgirl]

Zoe looked satisfied. Then, at the question. "Food's a good idea. Pizza, maybe? With mushrooms?"

[goodbad_imthguywiththgun]

It got a helluva lot easier to put on that smile when he could tell she was satisfied. Whatever cent in Deadshot's paycheck that didn't go to the old couple that babysat his Zo, didn't go to Marnie for his kid's sessions, or didn't go into rent or bills or a trust-fund, Floyd spent spoiling his Zo. And he never regretted it.

"As much fungus as you want, kid," Floyd told her as he chewed on his cig and led her back to the car.

[sniperslilgirl]

"Cool." And into the car they went. A few moments after the door closed, Zoe started coughing. Her nose wrinkled as she tried to catch her breath.

[goodbad_imthguywiththgun]

Crap. He'd done it again--he just lit up a smoke in the car without thinking what it'd do to her.

Floyd opened the window, spat the cig out, put it out with deftly tossed a penny from the ashtray, and pounded on her back to clear the airway as gently but as effectively as he could.

[sniperslilgirl]

And Zoe recovers okay. Then she's thoughtful. "Have you got work tomorrow?"

[goodbad_imthguywiththgun]

"Not 'til I have to report to France to work for Manchester Black's sis," Floyd replied, all too relieved. "Don't worry, Zo. We have enough cash to hold us over for the next few months."

Floyd would make sure of it; if he couldn't make this check see them through that time, he'd sell one of Deadshot's old suits and some of his arsenal if he'd have to. Vera would probably reconsider his contract if Deadshot went back to play too soon, and the kid didn't need that. The kid deserved some illusion of stability and Floyd was going to keep that up for her.

He tried to change the topic. "You wanna pick a cd?"

[sniperslilgirl]

"Manchester's the name of a city," Zoe observes. "It sounds kinda stupid on a person."

"Foxglove," Zoe says emphatically, getting the CD out and putting it in before her dad can change his mind about letting her. '90s acoustic folk rock is not the purview of most fourth-graders, but Zoe was attached. It had been one of her Mom's favorite albums.

[goodbad_imthguywiththgun]

Floyd was more of a classic rock fan, but he wouldn't deny her the right to play anything so long as it wasn't Timberlake.

And he could never find it in him to deny her that CD.

The Lawtons said nothing as the light guitar washed over them and singer almost whispered what old Georgie's tongue had told her about hatred, fear, tears.

"For what it's worth," Floyd quietly began. "I'm real sorry about Star City."

It was what a two year old's tactic--apologizing--and he knew well enough it never counted for a thing. All the pretty apologies could never bring back the dead.

[sniperslilgirl]

Indeed, there was no Timberlake or any other shrieky-tweenager music on Zoe's agenda. Just the emotional wrench of sad, quiet, nostalgia.

"Yeah," Zoe says. Yeah. Because the classic response to sorry is 'it's okay'. And okayness didn't really get included in this.