Like Mother, Like Daughter

Chapter Nine: I'm Just a Shadow

"Iana, you obviously weren't thinking this through," Uncle Ian said as he watched me, standing there against the counter in the kitchen. "I mean, you're pregnant, and your hormones must be all over the place," he went on, and I nipped at my bottom lip, so as to prevent myself from crying out as I held the frozen peas against my bruised knuckles.

"We need to get you out of those clothes," Pops said heavily then, and I snapped my eyes to his, and, with a shrug of my shoulders, set the bag of peas down and yanked off my tank top before I made my way over to the dryer, where I found one of Pops's shirts.

"Should we burn it?" I asked, tossing it on top of the washing machine. "You think Terry'll call the cops or something?"

"No idea," Pops replied, taking ahold of my shirt and weighing it in his hands as I pulled his shirt on over my head. "But we've definitely got to get rid of this."

"We'll get rid of it," Uncle Ian said then, watching Pops gripping onto the material. "We're not going to let you get locked up, Iana. Terry had it coming to him. He did," he went on, shooting Pops a look, almost as if he was challenging him to disagree.

I sighed, rolling my shoulders. "Let's just hope he was still breathing when I left him there, in a heap, in the doorway," I muttered.

Pops looks shocked for a moment. "Iana, you didn't..."

"No, of course not, just being overdramatic. He was breathing, don't worry," I said, adjusting the bag of peas on my knuckles again. "Nothing to worry about."

Uncle Ian looked relieved then as he reached out and took my top from Pops. "I'll go get rid of this," he said in the silence that followed. "Keep an eye on her..." He said, his voice quiet, directed entirely at Pops.

Pops turned and looked at Uncle Ian. "Don't have to ask me twice."

Uncle Ian gave Pops a hard smile then, before he reached out and touched his cheek, leaning in and kissing him before slipping out the back door.

"It's not like you seriously need to keep an eye on me," I said quickly, hoisting myself up onto the counter, and wincing slightly, as I realized my wrists were likely busted slightly from the constant punches at Terry's face. "I mean, I've had enough for one day. I'm not gonna go out and give Terry, or anyone else, another beat down..."

Pops sighed, crossing his arms and leaning up against another counter, kitty-corner, from me, and regarded me for a moment. "Sure, kid."

I felt my brows knit together then as I rested my head back upon a cabinet. "What's that supposed to mean?"

He gave me the same expression I gave him, so as it was seriously like looking into a mirror. "I mean, you're a Milkovich, kid. Half-Milkovich, or whatever. We can be unpredictable, to say the least, and we're not good when it comes to...you know, drama."

I scoffed, rolling my shoulders as I transferred the pack of peas onto my other hand. "Sheesh, Pop, I'm really fine."

"Are you? Fine?" he asked, and something in his voice made me want space.

"Yeah," I said, my tone more heated than necessary as I hopped off the counter, and trudged into the living room. "Completely and utterly fine."

"Hey," Pops said, going after me and yanking me around by my shoulder. "Don't walk away from this, Iana. I'm talking to you."

I rolled my eyes. "Whatever."

"Hey," he said again, smacking my shoulder gently. "I'm still your father, no matter what. And I know when something's going on with you. Now, what's going on?"