For a moment, I almost forget that I'm not five anymore. In that muzzy moment between sleep and wakefulness, the scent of mint in the air reminds me of his pipe. A truly majestic thing, the way his strong hands would carefully pack the tobacco in and then light the match, the cherry embers atop as the fire settled in - and that first smoke ring.
I'd always giggle at it.. My father, so stoic and strong, making silly little rings of smoke that would bump up against my head. And then a hug, where I could smell the mint on his breath, and feel warm and safe..
And then, he's gone. And I'm awake - I don't quite remember how I got here, or why I'm in pajamas - but I do know that I'm better rested than I've been in a few weeks. And I don't remember any dreams. So at least things worked out okay there..
Time to check my gear - and get out my hero license. I wonder if Gotham knows about Paragon? I wonder if heroes even .have. licenses here..?
I remember their names. Ted. Rosie. Crane. .. I remember they helped, when I couldn't stop seeing things. Bad things. I'll remember to thank them, too.