Giovanni cursed himself for sending Ariana on an assignment to the Sevii Islands; whenever she was in charge of the boy, there was always a dinner plate made up in the fridge. Even Archer left prepared food occasionally. Proton was excused for various reasons, but Petrel had no excuse. If he leaves anything in the next three days, Giovanni thought as he examined an empty cupboard, he can have a promotion. Not to Admin, that was far too much responsibility and Petrel wasn't ready for that. More fieldwork, less office time. Then again – he slammed an overhead door – perhaps he just needed to re-define Ariana's role in the organisation.

"Silver!" He barked. The boy arrived a few seconds later, pyjama-clad and with his stuffed Dragonite in tow.

"What?"

"Sit," he gestured towards one of the dining chairs as he spoke. Silver obliged. Giovanni knelt down in front of him and took his right foot, working it into one of the tiny shoes he had picked up from beside the couch. He did up the Velcro straps, then repeated his actions with the left foot. Silver knew better than to complain that he was being a little too rough. "Put this on," he added, handing the boy his coat.

"Where are we going? Are the police coming? Do we have to run away?" He asked all his questions in one breath, one directly following the other, as he slid back down to the floor. He shoved his arms into the jacket sleeves then grabbed Dragonite and ran after his father, following him into the bathroom. "I don't want to run away."

"We're not running. Come here." Again, Silver did as he was told. Giovanni put a hand on his shoulder and turned him around, then pulled his hair back into a rough ponytail; the boy flinched when he wrapped the elastic around his vivid strands, so he removed it and tried again. Silver reached up and scratched his head, adjusting the band slightly as he did. Giovanni flipped up his hood, then spun him around again. "Better. You keep that hood up until I say." Silver nodded, then let his father lead him back out of the bathroom and out to the front door. Giovanni stopped long enough to put on his own coat and hat. He picked up his keys then ushered the child out the front door.

Silver tried to snatch his hand away when his father took it, unaccustomed to the action. Giovanni's grip tightened. It wasn't like when Archer led him around by the hand though, dragging him at a pace his four-year old legs couldn't keep up with. It was just enough to remind him that while his father would no doubt punish him if he stepped out of line, the penalty for anyone who tried to hurt or kidnap him would be far worse.

"Where are we going, Daddy?"

"You do not call me that once we leave this elevator."

"Sorry, Daddy. Where are we going?" Silver repeated his question. The doors opened and they stepped out into the foyer, Giovanni nodding to the doorman as they passed.

"Did you eat dinner?"

"I had cookies."

"Why?"

"Because that's all we had. Petrel doesn't buy food like Ariana does."

"I don't know what I'm paying him for then," Giovanni muttered to himself. "I want something to eat because I've hardly had anything all day."

"But you're the boss. You can eat whenever you want."

"Not if I don't get time I can't. What do you want?"

"I don't care."

"What do you like?"

"I don't care," Silver said again.

"What do you usually eat for dinner?"

"Food."

"Okay, I'm just going to buy some pre-made meals at the supermarket. Do you want one of those?"

"Can I have more cookies?"

"After you eat some real food."

"Fine!"

"Don't use that tone with me."

"I didn't!"

"You're doing it now."

"I'm not!"

"Stop."

"Okay," Silver said with a pout.

"What else did you eat today?"

"Not much. We don't have any food left at home, but I wasn't hungry anyway."

"That explains why you're so grumpy."

"I am not!"

"You are."

"I'm not. My hand is cold."

"So put it in your pocket."

"Oh," Silver said quietly, and followed his fathers' advice. He slipped his free hand into his coat pocket and soon enough, his numb fingers felt much warmer. He didn't say anything for the remainder of their trip to the supermarket; he didn't realise until they were there, and Giovanni let go, that he had held his hand for the entire six-block walk. "Can I carry the basket?"

"Sorry?"

"Ariana lets me carry the basket," he explained as they walked past the stack of baskets by the door. He made a move to grab one but they were still walking, and the pile was slightly out of reach.

"I can carry what we need."

"Oh. Okay." Silver fell into stride beside his father, trying to keep up with his footsteps. By the time Giovanni had made it to the end of an aisle, the boy had fallen so far behind he was barely halfway. "No fair," he sulked. "Your legs are bigger."

"You'll catch up eventually."

"No I won't, because you're already a grown-up so when I'm a grown-up you'll be so old and maybe dead."

They were standing in front of the pre-cooked meals by then. Giovanni crouched down to Silver's height, then curled a finger, indicating for him to lean in. The boy did.

"The secret is," he started in a low voice – Silver leant in closer. "Rocket's never die. Bad things might happen, but we don't die."

"Really?"

"Really. Now pick which one you want because I'm almost hungry enough to eat a Tauros."

"Ew. This one," Silver reached out and grabbed one of the meals. He stood, waiting impatiently, while his father read the labels and turned over packages, reading the information on the back. He swung the drawstring from his hood back and forth, then stopped when the hard plastic at the end hit him in the face. While he was rubbing at the spot on his cheek, Giovanni held out three of the meals and stacked them on top of the one he had chosen earlier. "What are they for? You couldn't really eat a whole Tauros, could you?"

"This way," Giovanni said as he collected another few to carry himself, "I know that there's food in the house other than snack foods."

"Oh."

"Hmm," he agreed. He stopped at the end of the aisle and waited for Silver to catch up before he continued on to the register.

"Here," Silver said as he reached up to slide the boxes he was carrying onto the counter. He fell silent again, this time waiting until his father had paid, collected the plastic bags and was firmly holding his hand again before he spoke. "What time is it?"

"You tell me."

Silver used his free hand to push up Giovanni's sleeve, revealing the watch underneath. He turned his head sideways to stare at the clock-face, and frowned.

"It's got numbers."

"And you don't know your numbers?"

"I know the numbers but I don't know what the sticks mean."

"Hands."

"What about my hands?"

"No, those sticks on the watch are called hands. There are two of them. What number is the shorter hand pointing to?"

"It's not. It's in the middle of the six and the seven."

"What about the other one?"

"It's nearly the same," Silver said, straightening his head. He tried to roll Giovanni's sleeve back down but it got stuck on the watch; he left it that way. "But it's closer to the seven."

"So it's just after six-thirty. The small one is for the hour, and the big one is for minutes."

"Can't you get a watch with proper numbers on it like on the microwave?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because digital watches are for people without class."

"Proton has a digital watch."

"I rest my case."

"Oh. Can I stay up late tonight?"

"Why?" Giovanni asked. The question was a little unexpected but he knew why the boy was asking without needing to hear his answer. They had been spending less and less time together as Team Rocket gained momentum – Silver was almost ready for bed by the time he got home in the evening. The boy woke up to an assortment of babysitters every day of the week now.

"Because," Silver said with a shrug. He started swinging his hand, the one enveloped by Giovanni's, back and forth as they walked.

"Excellent negotiation skills."

"Thanks," the boy grinned. They weren't far from home by then and with every step closer, he seemed to be more excitable, babbling on about anything and everything he could think of to talk about. He was ready to burst by the time they stepped back into the elevator of their apartment building. "Did you hear, Daddy? Were you listening? I didn't call you Daddy the whole time we were outside!"

"I did hear," Giovanni said, releasing Silver's hand to slip the hood back from his head. "Well done," he added. Silver beamed and reached up to remove the elastic from his hair. He let it fall back down to his shoulders, then slipped the band over his wrist so it didn't end up lost. He looked up and grinned again when he felt a hand in his hair, straightening it out. "I think you need a haircut."

"Never."

"Why not?"

"I like it like this."

"Doesn't it get in your face?"

"That's what my ears are for," Silver pointed out and pushed his hair back behind them to prove the point. "See?"

"Very nice." Giovanni steered the boy out of the elevator and down the hall to their front door. He let Silver unlock the door, as tedious an activity it was to witness, and dropped the shopping bag onto the kitchen counter. They both removed their coats – Giovanni's was hung on the back of the door while Silver's was tossed in the general direction of the couch. "Is this the one you picked?" He held up one of the meals.

"Yeah!" Silver clambered up onto one of the stools by the counter. He sat down on the seat and folded his arms in front of him, resting his chin on the stuffed Dragonite he'd picked up almost as soon as he'd walked inside. He watched as his father threw two of the meals into the microwave, and the remaining few into the fridge.

"Remind them to feed you tomorrow."

"Who's coming tomorrow?"

"Petrel for the rest of the week."

"Okay."

"Juice or water?"

"Milk."

"Juice or water?"

"Water," Silver replied with a scowl, but only until Giovanni turned back around.

"Good choice."

"I chose milk."

"But that wasn't an option," Giovanni said, sliding a fork across the counter to Silver along with a second for himself. He turned back to the microwave when it beeped, removed Silver's meal, then put another minute on the clock for his own. "It's probably too hot," he said. He put the plastic bowl in front of the boy, who quickly shoved the fork in and took a bite.

"It's not," he said through the food. "It's good. Yours will burn your tongue."

"I'll be fine." The microwave beeped a second time, and Giovanni took out his own meal and sat up at the counter beside the boy, who was smiling wider than he had in months. He took a mouthful of the meal, then put his fork down and started waving his hand in front of his mouth.

"Are you okay?!" Silver's own fork clattered to the bench, his eyes wide as his father reached for the glass of water and drank half of it in just two gulps.

"Just thirsty," he said with a laugh, returning the glass to its place by Silver.

"That was mine!" The boy's voice was indignant.

"Was. You can't outsmart me."

"That's not fair!"

"Just eat your dinner," Giovanni said, unable to stop himself from laughing at the expression on Silver's face. It didn't take them long to finish eating, and the plastic packaging meant that washing up took just a few minutes.

When the meal was done, Giovanni gave Silver the choice of what to do with the remaining half hour before his bedtime. The boy replied quickly, as if he'd been thinking about how to respond to the question for months; he probably had, the man noted sadly. Silver's request was so simple, so natural, that he was disappointed that it was something the boy needed to ask for when the moment was right.

When Petrel opened the door to Silver's bedroom the next morning, he found the Boss in there as well. He watched as he brought a finger to his lips, then dragged it past his throat, then indicated to the child asleep on his lap. Petrel nodded shortly and closed the door around again, leaving father and son to just be.