Alright, it turns out my beta was right. I am posting a new story today. Warning: You may need tissues for this chapter.
Un-beta'ed, so quibble away.
- o – o -
Father's Day
Chapter one: Love of a Father
Jamie Elaine Fleming was a precocious eight-year-old. (She knew what precocious meant, because she'd looked it up in her daddy's big dictionary that he kept on the bottom shelf, with a box of mommy's pictures.) Being precocious meant she was smart and had to do grown-up things.
Today was also Father's Day, which meant that "grown-up things" included cooking. Her daddy had a lot of people who cooked for him (and sometimes gave her treats when her daddy was busy or looking the other way), but she had to do something special for him. Getting into the kitchen was no problem, of course; she always colored in there, so the cooks made sure she could get in whenever she needed to. Figuring out what to cook, on the other hand…
Jamie frowned at the massive black fridge, bottom lip sticking out in the beginning stages of a pout. But she was precocious, and that meant she had to figure out how grownups did things.
- o – o -
Peter Fleming hadn't been a heavy sleeper in years, not since his wife had…been taken from him. Chess, the madman who shared space in his head, hadn't exactly helped in that regard. This time, however, the fear that woke him up was a little more visceral and close to home. The billionaire threw on a bathrobe and thundered down the stairs in the manor's foyer, heading for the kitchen as fast as possible.
The burning smell hit a little too close to home for him. Pushing down the wave of nostalgia, Peter pushed the door open to look inside. His daughter was sitting at the kitchen table, bawling her eyes out over what looked like a plate of cinnamon rolls. They'd been horribly burnt, and the black smoke drifting up the hood over the stove spoke to the accident that had befallen them.
The billionaire felt his lips twitching up in a smile. Before he knew it, or could stop himself, he was laughing. For the first time in years, he felt something close to genuine amusement at something that wasn't about to kill someone getting in his way.
"Oh Jamie," Peter sighed, scooping his daughter up in his arms. He kissed her forehead before she buried her face in his neck to sob. "It's quite all right, darling." It took a great deal of willpower not to laugh as he carried her to the small, cozy sitting room on the other side of the foyer. The cooks had, perhaps sensing imminent disaster yet again, set up a small breakfast. There was a handmade card sitting on Peter's side of the table.
"I tried to make breakfast," Jamie sniffled as he set her down on the couch. Peter ruffled her hair, smiling a little as she glowered at him and smoothed her hair back into place.
"I know," Peter said softly. "Thank you."
"Happy Father's Day, daddy," Jamie added as Peter went to pour a cup of coffee for himself and a cup of cocoa for her.
Peter smiled.
- o – o -
So, what did you think? Good? Bad? Feeling bad for Peter and Jamie? Drop a line and let me know.