Imogen literally skipped back home. She felt like she had dreamed the entire thing, but it had been real. She had just been employed by her literal idol. She would be leaving town finally tomorrow morning. She finally had a direction to head in her life. She was euphoric. But as she came closer to home the reality of the situation began to sink in more. She hadn't really planned on suddenly packing up shop and leaving. She hadn't discussed it with her fathers and Elliott was expecting her to work the docks. She was fairly confident that Dexter would be genuinely excited, but she couldn't guarantee that Elliott's well planned mindset would lead him to be as enthusiastic. Still she was resolute in her decisions. She was a gown woman and had been looking for something to do with her life. Not that she would have been unhappy working the docks, but she had always been looking for something a bit more exciting and the wastes don't just hand out golden opportunities like this every day. She approached the wooden doors to the boathouse, the hardwood and steel rivets seeming much more imposing than they normally did. She took a deep breath and pushed open the doors, getting ready to face Elliott about her sudden leaving.
Dinner that night was expectedly tense. Elliott had not been pleased to suddenly lose his daughter and one of his best engineers at once, but once Dexter had gotten back from the bar and been caught up, he talked some sense into his husband and Elliott eventually relented.
"I guess I can't stop you then. Your mind's made up is it?" He asked.
Imogen nodded excitedly. "Yes. I have literally dreamed about this since I was a child."
Elliott nodded. "Well then I guess I can't put this off much longer." He stood and gestured for her to follow. He led her into his and Dexter's room, pulling the rug aside and lifting out a loose floorboard. From the small, hidden cubby he retrieved a scuffed, wooden box that was slightly lager than his palm.
"This belonged to your mother." He said, his eyes sad and distant. "She told me to give it to you when you came of age. I waited a bit because I was hoping to keep you safe, but you're going to need it."
He handed her the box. Inside was a small, single shot pocket pistol and four rounds. It's ornate, silvered sides were tarnished with age, but it still glinted slightly. Engraved on the mother of pearl handle in curvy, elegant lettering were the initials AH.
"Your grandmother had one made for each of her children. It won't kill anyone unless you're really lucky, and hell, I don't even know it works any more, but she left it to you and now seems like the last chance I'll have to give it to you."
Imogen's eyes watered as she cradled the small gun. Elliott almost never talked about her mother, but now he had surrendered the last piece of her that he had. They embraced as Dexter watched silently from the door, smiling sadly.
