Chapter Text
Penelope Decker (nee Jackson) was . . . unsettled. This was not an easy thing to do to her; acting, whilst extremely rewarding, was often tumultuous and the oft-despaired of passions of artists certainly weren't mere rumours. But her five year old daughter had succeeded in doing what years of acting, social politics, and romance couldn't: derail her plans.
Oh, not that she was like one of those - what did they call them nowadays? Tiger moms, or something equally ridiculous - parents who had their child's life plotted out for them before they'd stopped wearing diapers. No, the most she had planned was vaccinations, at least two extracurriculars (one sport, one more arty, maybe a musical instrument as well if she showed an enthusiasm) from the age of seven onward, and refusing to let her leave school without her GED; perfectly reasonable, in her mind.
But what had just happened was . . . unusual (she hesitated to call it 'not normal', or 'abnormal'). Oh, sure, it seemed minor enough in the long haul - so Chloe got into a little fight at school, in a month no-one will even remember it - but that wasn't what had derailed her plans. Certainly defending her classmate from a bully was a good thing, a wonderful thing that her child, even at five years old, was moral, confident, and intelligent enough to do the right thing- but it was the manner in which it had been done.
Her five year old daughter had walked into the middle of an eight year old boy pushing a five year old girl down on the concrete play area. She hadn't gone to get a teacher, as the more cautious children would have done - Chloe was always running towards anything new and exciting, and she had yet to back down. She hadn't tried to speak to the older kid first - the intelligent children certainly would have, and whilst Chloe was smart and could be downright vicious in her determination to get what she wanted, she wasn't one of those brain-boxes that universities salivated over. (Though, she admitted privately, if the kid was pushing someone three years younger down for kicks, then words probably wouldn't have done a whole lot of good anyways.) Chloe Decker, all of five years old and with her hair pulled back with a rainbow hairband, had tackled the older boy down, then sat on his back as he struggled weakly on the ground.
Thankfully there hadn't been any damage done (barring his pride, which clearly needed deflating); a head injury at that age could have been catastrophic - which was, actually, one of the main reasons that Chloe wasn't facing harsher disciplinary measures at school, what with the boy pretty much attempting to do just that to a five year old child (seriously, how can someone screw their kid up so much so quickly? Were they trying?).
That wasn't the part that overly worried her; she and John had been raising their little girl to do what she knew was right instead of what people said was right. Certainly, it could have been handled differently, but an argument could be made (and had been, complete with great volume and detail in the principal's office) that if Chloe had gone to get a teacher than Sophie could have been seriously hurt, rather than the comparatively minor damage made by her small child against a significantly larger boy. (Oh, she had been tempted to start making pointed comments about sexism, but had held off because, frankly, it was just too amusing to see her daughter sitting like a well-behaved angel in front of her and that boy sitting with his own parents throwing scared looks at the little girl right there. Oh, she was going to be remembering this for quite a while indeed.)
What had perturbed her was that the boy (James? Johnny? Jacob?) had looked fearful and drained of energy. Chloe was full of vitality and almost looked . . . joyous. Now, most women would have explained it away as adrenaline, a poor night's sleep and punctured pride, perhaps even karma kicking in early.
Penelope Decker wasn't one of them.
Her daughter (and she was hers, and always would be, no matter what happened further down the track) was perkier than when she left the house after a full night's sleep, despite the exertions of the day. The other boy (she really should remember his name; it would make teasing Chloe about it easier when she got older) had burned more energy than was proportional to his activities.
It was illogical and impossible, but it was the only conclusion she could draw: Chloe had taken that boy's energy
Over the next few months, Penelope kept an eye on the situation as best she could (auditions, parties, working- thank god she had her John, or it would be just impossible to manage it all) and quietly thought about it.
Very briefly, she considered that maybe her beloved daughter would be better off with some other family who could devote more time to looking after and caring for her - but she rejected that almost immediately. Chloe was her daughter, and family was more than that. Besides, it wasn't like either of them had any suitable family to do so; otherwise, they would have called them years ago when they were still adjusting to having a child in the house.
It wasn't something that occurred regularly, or even in great amounts. More, it seemed that when Chloe needed something - calm, strength, energy - she could get it from someone else right there and then. It happened more often (easier, perhaps?) if she had a personal connection to them, or was particularly emotional at the time (dear god, please let it not be linked to her emotions so strongly; puberty would be a nightmare). Generally, she took energy; but she wasn't restricted to that.
But she helps her daughter, talks to her about it, makes sure she knows that she is not a freak, that it's just another ability she has, and as such it needs to be practised ("Yes, honey, just like you have to practice for your recital,") to make sure that it doesn't slip loose and wild.
(It's only years later that she realises that her daughter, somehow, has formed it into a weapon as much as possible. That she uses it when up against people she might not be quite so certain about, that she can focus it on other things to compensate for a lack of 'food'. And she smiles, small and honest and vicious in the knowledge.)
And so the years moved on.
Penelope made sure that Chloe was both loved and got what she needed - affection, laughter, necessary restrictions, as well as the more tangible things. Like making sure that she had the options she needed - yoga (concentration, control, restraint, release), martial arts (concentration, control, restraint, release), music (freedom of expression, freedom in general, emotional catharsis). Like making sure that she knew, even if her parents were busy and they might not see her for more than ten minutes at a time for days on end, that she was loved and adored and she would always be their true priority (Penelope was honest enough with herself to admit that, yes, the luxuries were nice, but she would put her daughter above that without blinking an eye).
And Penelope and John grew a bit older, and had the slightest bit more grey in their hair ("Yes, I'm dying it - I'd never get another job again if I didn't!"), and just the slightest bit more tired. Oh, certainly, it has to do with the active lives they lead (though John is starting to have more desk time and less patrol time, which is doing wonders for her stress levels), but she can't help but think that, maybe, their daughter is killing them.
The teenage years aren't the easiest of things, but they survive. No one collapses into a coma or starts spreading wild rumours about impossible powers, so Penelope classes it as a success.
(She's not ashamed that her daughter did 'Hot Tub Time Machine' - really, it's just people being petty that her daughter is young, attractive, and knows it - she just wishes that Chloe would have done something else as well. Chloe knows all about the paparazzi and gossip, and she knows that this is the one thing they will focus on until she ends up with a juicier backstory; drugs, suicide, murder, maybe a DUI. And it might be a little selfish, but she wants her daughter to show that she's taught her something - when you're beautiful, honey, all you have to do is smile sweetly and look like you don't understand and they might laugh at you, but they'll never see you coming - that her legacy is more than just some cult classic movies and a slightly broken girl-woman.)
She's not dumb enough to think that her daughter is perfect - she's got John's temper, and probably her own ability to choose an outcome and obstinately make it happen (which has gotten her into more than enough shit over the years) - and the Hollywood press machine rips apart anyone even loosely connected. But her daughter is still standing, has her own core of steel (and that's what makes her so proud of her, that she's not just some cheap ripoff of her parents, that she's become this brilliant, tough person who has more abilities and control than most people see when they look at the toned legs and body and see 'sexy' not 'trained and controlled with it') and she is going to set this world on fire.
Then John dies.
And it's not like it all turns to shit when he (please no, not her husband, not her best friend-) dies, because it doesn't. The world keeps turning, he's mentioned in the obituaries, there are flowers and condolences and enough black to make her scream (""No matter how ravishing you look in that dress, Penny of mine, black's a mourning colour - how about that fire-engine red knockout from our anniversary?") and her world keeps rotating round her sun/daughter. So Penelope does what she always has done: she gives the people the show they want, and she bolsters her people until they have steel in their spine and a glint of something in their eyes; John had justice, Penny always preferred cunning intelligence, and Chloe's still finding her own.
She has to, to keep her daughter from shattering apart. Chloe and John weren't the closest (he never knew about her ability, and he just wasn't there a lot of the time), but they loved each other, that's for sure. And so publicly, she is the devastated widow who is righteously embarrassed by what happens at the funeral. Privately, she is the furiously saddened wife-mother-woman who knows that her daughter found an adequate outlet, and one that will not showcase her ability to every unscrupulous person out there. Hell, it might even work in her favour at times; if she can't even control her temper against a single pap, how could she be a threat against me?
John's death cements Chloe's decision to go into the police. She'd tried her mother's career, but found it too . . . artificial, perhaps. So now she will try what her other parent loved doing so much (and some people might call it a tribute, or a desperate attempt to understand her lost parent, but Penny knows that Chloe's doing it because that justice that they have so ingrained into her). But she is not, what some mutter just out of eyesight of the Decker matriarch, purposefully following in her parent's footsteps so as to become them, rather than forging her own path (and, frankly, it's none of their business. Family business' have existed for years, but those children never get psychoanalysed for being happy to do what their parents have bestowed on them).
Over time, Penelope Decker (nee Jackson) has continued to change and grow.
When first she began to truly be herself, and not just an extension of her parents' rule (she doesn't have voluntary contact with them. Ever.) she was all sharp edges and a venomous tongue, barely blunted by the persona she dons - a little ditzy, but sweet and nice even if not the smartest.
When she starts working as an actress ("You're a professional liar, how on earth can I trust you?" "Honey, an actor isn't a professional liar: we're professional story tellers.") she has refined that mask; she's not the brightest, certainly, but everyone knows she earned her grades, and that she can slip from the professional to the personal without missing a beat, even if she sometimes doesn't quite hit the mark with her roles.
When she starts dating John Decker, she has condensed her poison until it is contained in just a few key areas, and she never stops thinking. But she's happy with John, because he is truly a good man and he really does love her, and if she was ever entirely sure of what she was feeling, she thinks she loves him back. (She says yes easily, as she has a thousand and one times during this life - but she means it this time, which makes all the difference.)
When she marries John Decker ("I refuse to wear white; my dress is going to be blue." "I know better than to argue with a determined woman, especially one whose three months pregnant and talking about her wedding." "It's nice to know that you don't use up all your sense for your work, honey." "Hey!") she finds that some of her edges have softened. She's pretty sure that only makes her more deadly not less (paradox, she laughs in her own mind) as she's got something to protect other than herself now.
When she has Chloe . . . she is rewritten. Really, that's all that needs to be said.
Penelope Decker is fifty-eight when her only daughter informs her she is having a child. She starts making plans, even as she begins to throw together a travel bag. She knew she and Dan weren't going quite so smoothly - and why they were together remained a mystery to her, but she's never been one to make decisions for her loved ones, so she's let it lie - so she'll be damned if she's not there.
Dan is as outwardly charming as usual; he secretly thinks she's a devious old bag with nothing better to do than to gossip all day, but he's polite enough to keep it to himself. She tolerates him (she knows he's nowhere near good enough for her daughter, but Chloe will figure that out soon enough), and for the sake of her daughter, treats him with the resigned tolerance she's developed over the years. She might not like him, but he's going to be in her daughter's life for a long time, what with the whole having-a-child thing.
(And it might sound a bit awful, but she's glad that they're not sentencing themselves to marriage; she and John never wanted her daughter to settle, and she would have - because she's stubborn enough to have toughed it out and she wouldn't stray or anything like that to ease any gaps because she takes vows and promises so very seriously. In that, she is undeniably her father's child. Penny has always viewed words-lies-truths in a manner that the theoretical fey would: something to be walked around and negotiated and never taken at face value and you always look for the loophole so you're doing exactly what they don't want whilst doing what they said they wanted.)
And she might not have gotten to do what she really wanted, but she's happy with what she has achieved. And it's stereotypical and trite, but she might even write a book for other scared little girls to learn from - all those little tips and tricks she's picked up over the years that mean that things happen rather than not. If she does, the money is all going to her offspring. She's got enough, and she's not going to be around for too many more years; an inheritance would be a nice way to keep her in their minds.
She is old, and a little bit odd, and loneliness seems to be her shadow nowadays (such a difference to when she was young- younger - and just wanted them all to go away) but she has found her happiness.
Primarily, it's in her daughter. Chloe is a wonderful person, certainly, but it's seeing the small bits of her and John (and, oh, how he seemed to be, cliché though it was, an open wound at times) that help to make her as she is that truly gives her joy. It might be something to do with seeing that she has made a tangible difference to someone in a positive way, or it could be knowing that she directly contributed to forge her, both in the nature and the nurture (and she sometimes hates that it was primarily her, not her husband, who did that; thankfully, Chloe doesn't look to be repeating the mistake with her own daughter, which is another relief that, yes, people do listen to their elders, if only from time to time).
A fair chunk of it is found in her granddaughter. Chloe hasn't shaped her as Penelope did her, so she is still a bit soft and there are less edges to her- but that might be a good thing. Trixie is a charming child, with a degree of tact and empathy that would see her do nicely wherever she ends up. And it always makes her smile when Trixie shows her softness fearlessly, somehow turning lambs wool into armour in a way she hadn't thought possible.
There are smaller pleasures, certainly - good books, music, and nature, cheesy though it sounds - but those are the main ones.
She gave her daughter the house. Frankly, if one designated 'owning' a house as how much time had been spent occupied by that person, then it would rightfully have been hers from roughly thirteen years of age. And it's weak (but her daughter and granddaughter have taught her that weakness doesn't necessarily have to be stamped out, so she is able to admit it without difficulty) but she doesn't want to live where she and John had made her home.
The memories are a bit too . . . ingrained for her to really be comfortable there. She has enough of them from wearing her ring, which she is not going to take off, no matter how often Chloe looks at it with that peculiar expression on her face. (She finds it rather sad that her daughter has spent more time without her father than with him, and takes a slightly guilty pleasure in knowing that she is Trixie's favourite grandparent. Yes, that includes that man's parents.)
Sometimes she wonders whether Chloe's ability led to this: John, dead long before his time, and her, dying of cancer that had no history on either side of her family.
She decides that it doesn't really matter. (And she is certainly not going to be the one to say it to her daughter. Chloe has done remarkably well not slowly suffocating under the weight and guilt of her job as her father had begun to do, so she isn't going to do anything to hasten the process.)
Chloe has always come first, and this ability of her's helps her with her investigations and job.
Really, that's all that matters.