It's three fifteen when Molly finally stumbles out of Georgina's banged up Toyota. She's not exactly drunk, but she's sure as shit not sober either. She feels... buzzy to put it best, wobbling in her worn out boots as she hits the pavement. There aren't any lights on at home, which means that her mother is already in bed and there's a fair chance that her father didn't even come home.

That should bother her.

It doesn't as she waves to Georgina, "See ya tomorrow, second period!"

"Sure, Patton," Georgina laughs, lighting her cigarette. Her blonde hair looks cute curling around her ears, and Molly knows it's better not to think about that now. "I'll see you when I see you."

Molly laughs; something about the way she says it is just. Hilarious. She watches as Georgina slams the door, revs the car and disappears down the road. She fixes her dress, adjusting her bra straps and makes her way up the hill, humming to herself. It wasn't a bad night; they'd snuck into Lily's, she'd tasted a bit of tequila for the first time,and she'd gotten to kiss a cute girl. There wasn't much to be upset about for an excursion into town like this.

She'd just have to fake sick in the morning, wait for everyone to leave for work, and then go to school. Or, better, find a way to get some extra cash to go out again.

Clumsily, she attempts to figure out her keys, humming to herself as she does it. Only a few more weeks and it'd be home free. The only thing to worry about would be summer. Her key slots successfully into the lock, and with a grin, she pushes the door open. Molly carefully inches her way into the house, careful not to step onto the creaking floors, turning to carefully shut the door back --

-- and then the lights flood on. She jumps, slamming the door shut, not entirely prepared for her father to be standing at the end of the hall, his gaze smoldering in rage.

"Hi?" She says, her voice squeaking out of her mouth.

That's a bad thing to do, her father's voice hissing out, "Margaret Jo Patton, what the fuck do you think you're doing coming in this late?"

"It's only three-fifteen," she protests, shrugging her shoulders. If she were sober, she would have remembered not to say something so dumb and incriminating. "I've come in later."

Her father scoffs, walking towards her, height imposing as she presses herself against the wall. He's angry in a way Molly has only rarely ever seen, his voice rising with every word, "You're drunk aren't you? You're fifteen goddamn years old, running the streets like you weren't raised right!" He comes closer, his hand wrapping roughly around her arm. He ignores her ow, as he leans over her, "I'm telling you I'm not having this in my house any longer, do you hear me?"

"I'm-- I'm sorry," Molly squeaks out, eyes wide in terror, feeling the little sobriety she had keeping her steady on her feet as her father grips her tighter. "D-Daddy--"

"Don't you Daddy me you little--"

"Have you lost your mind?" Both of them look up to see her mother coming down the steps, bags evident underneath her eyes. Her curtain of hair is in a messy braid, eyes darting between them. "Mark and Matthew have to get up in the morning. Let her go Daniel! Just send her to bed and we can punish her in the morning--"

He doesn't really let go of Molly so much as fling her towards the door. "In the morning, Karen? She's been slutting," the remark hits Molly like a slap, "around bars, coming home drunk -- someone needs to actually parent her around here. And if it's not going to be you, it's going to be me."

"Calling our daughter a slut," Karen's voice raises, coming down the steps in swift steps, "isn't disciplining her, Daniel! Neither is laying your hands on her!" She shoves him back, the anger on her face rising coldly up. Molly doesn't know what to feel as her mother continues, edging herself to the corner. It's just going to be a repeat of every argument they've had the last few years: her father will hold his status up against her mother, her mother will lay into her father for his lack of ambition, and if she's lucky, they'll forget about her and not wake up her brothers.

Except it goes off script as Daniel says, "You know what the problem is Karen? She's all your kid, not mine!" Karen looks surprised at this, and Molly's attention snaps to her father. Neither of them hear her what? as her father plows on, "My kid, my daughter? She wouldn't be running around town like this, she wouldn't be a fucking idiot who can't keep her clothes on--"

Her mother slaps him in the mouth, hard enough to startle him.

Molly doesn't know what to do. She gapes at them both, saying, "What --? Mom -- Mom what is-- what's he talking about?" Her heart hammers in her head, her stomach roils uncomfortably. Her hands are clammy as she stumbles forward, eyes darting between them. "Mommy?" It's a word she hasn't used since she was six.

Molly hopes that her mother's prideful gaze will meet her and she'll say that her father lied. Except she doesn't. She looks the way she did when told Molly that Santa wasn't real and when she'd told her that she'd had a miscarriage for the first time and -- and --

-- and Molly wakes up, jolted awake by the sound of the machine beside her. She blinks the sleep -- the memory, really -- from her eyes, glancing around her. She's not greeted by her old house or her father's angry glare -- what she sees is Steve Fenwick's hospital room, and his hand still in hers.

She hadn't even realized that sometime during their conversation, one of many to be had, that she'd drifted off.

It still feels strange, to have finally given up her secrets, to have finally met the man who really was her father. Biologically and now, emotionally.

She's not sure if this heart attack had happened, she would have ever found courage enough on her own terms. It was still so frightening to think of never confessing, losing her chance, and having to go to his funeral, a stranger.

She watches as he snores softly, and bows her head back on his bed. Molly squeezes his hand, and decides to stay awake, to wait for Lainey to come back for her turn. They had time now, to be together, no matter how difficult it would and could be.

She had a family now, chosen and wanted.