A/N: This is a long one. I didn't want to split into two chapters. Forgive if there are grammatical errors or run on sentences as I'm in a bit of a hurry today to post so my proofing may have suffered a bit. I didn't want to delay and wanted to update this story asap. I'm so glad to see that some of you are enjoying this.

Chapter 2

The sun rose above the horizon as she walked among the tall and proud pines, the dewy verdant grass tickling her feet. The gentle breeze wisped about ruffling her shoulder length locks as if softly carrying her name on its wings. She came alone as was customary yet couldn't help but shake the feeling of being watched. But with that feeling never came foreboding. Quite the contrary. When away from the rigid discipline and daily drills of the barracks, she could sense a benevolent being of some kind; a spirit, watching over her.

Shaking her head as if to clear it she refocused determined to enjoy this time alone. Her desire to please her Guardian ever present, she felt guilt every time she went AWOL, her young mind constantly berating her for her stubborn and independent streak.

But despite the slightly rebel bent, she was loyal— she knew that – devoting every waking moment to her studies on the origins of The Republic and its noble rulers and in contrast, its ungrateful and disobedient inhabitants. Her intense (and unbeknownst to her extremely biased) education also covered the basic fundamentals of math and science which always bored her; she would much rather pass the time learning about something interesting…like horses!

However, whenever her thoughts wandered away from her obligations her adolescent mind had a way of returning her to the reason for her existence: completing her training to join the elite command squad of the Horde and eventually graduating as Force Captain.

Her legal guardian stressed daily her importance to the Horde and its goals. She was special, a girl with limitless potential and a unique purpose whose destiny could only be realized within the revered Republic and not apart from it.

She stopped and blinked.

"I know I know, but can't I have fun sometimes?" she muttered to no one in particular.

Adorraahhh…..

The strange whisper sent a chill up her spine as she snapped her head right, her sky blue eyes wide with apprehension.

"Who's there?" she called out.

Silence.

"Adora!" someone whisper shouted.

Recognizing the owner of the voice, she grimaced and cringed at being caught red-handed.

"Adora, what are you doing out here?" Shakra questioned sharply as she approached from behind.

The young girl slowly turned giving a guilty and sheepish smile. "Umm…sleepwalking?"

Her hands on her hips, her caregiver shook her head and smirked. Placing a hand on her young charge's shoulder she replied, "Nice try young woman." Suddenly waxing serious, she snapped her head right then left before meeting the girl's inquisitive blue gaze. "This is risky. The Whispering Woods could have easily swallowed you whole leaving you unaccounted-for. How would I explain your absence to Hordak?" she fretted before giving another fearful glance over her shoulder. "We must return to the barracks before we lose our way or perhaps are spotted by the guards," she added taking her hand. "Quickly!"

With a sigh, Adora gave an obedient nod and followed as they both made haste back to base: the Fright Zone.

xxx

"I don't like her growing boldness, my Lord," the shadowy figure hissed in suspicion, her darkened features and glowing cat-like eyes peering out from her crimson cowl. "She no longer simply accepts our teachings as truth. She begins to question the validity of some of our assertions," she added, her pale bony fingers steepling together as she approached the throne floating with ease.

"Nonsense!" Hordak barked with a dismissive wave as he leaned back on his self-ascribed throne. "Adora is the epitome of loyalty. She looks at me as quite her own father," he gloated with a snort.

"She may very well be but little girls possess a curious nature," she countered. "I sense a streak of independence within her. If we are not careful, one day she will betray you," she warned. "Allow me to strengthen the spell."

He froze, his hollow eyes staring blankly at his second in command. "Preposterous," he finally spat with another wave, his ego bruised at the notion of his inability to maintain his charge's adoration. "I've got that little girl in the palm of my hand as I'm the closest thing she's got to a father. She'll do anything for her beloved Guardian," he scoffed.

Bowing in deference, Shadow Weaver straightened. "Very well, my Lord," she replied. Turning, she headed for the doorway before suddenly stopping and glancing over her shoulder. "Just remember," she drew out with a hiss, "When it happens, I told you so." And with that, she vanished.

Horde Prime's vassal ruler of Etheria went rigid at the admonition, his hollow eye sockets narrowing in annoyed contemplation.

"Who can tell me the name of the rightful ruler of Etheria and Supreme Intergalactic Ruler of the Horde?" the facilitator questioned the class; a tall dour looking man of slight build and slicked back hair dressed impeccably in standard issue uniform.

The cadets dutifully raised their hands as Adora absent-mindedly played with a pencil and looked out the window, her gaze staring intently at a bluebird perched on a nearby branch.

The facilitator honed in on the young dreamy-eyed girl. His brow furrowed in agitation, he barked, "Adora!"

Flinching, her surprised gaze snapped to his, her posture rigid and at attention. "Yes, Commander Brathwaite?"

He strutted towards her, an arm behind his back, a riding crop tucked underneath the other. "The answer if you please."

She blinked in confusion. "The answer to what, Sir?"

He angrily brought the crop down before her slamming it into her desk. She along with half of the students in the room jumped in response.

"To the question, Child!" he boomed, his voice demanding.

Adora lowered her gaze in shame. "I-I'm sorry. I wasn't paying attention, Sir."

His lip snarled in disapproval he replied, "Then you will receive ten strikes for failing to stay focused and offering your undivided attention. Cadet Adora, hold out your hands, palms up please."

Her lip quivering in dread, she dutifully complied.

Brathwaite raised his crop and brought it down forcefully against her palms, with each strike, her hands reddening as small welts began to form. She didn't dare cry out; instead, she bit her bottom lip against the pain as her blue eyes welled up with tears.

The rest of the class looked on in silence each afraid to make a sound for fear of serving as the next example.

Panting from the exertion, Brathwaite tucked his crop back beneath his arm. Taking out a kerchief, he blotted the droplets of perspiration from his brow. Clearing his throat, he explained, "It is the will of the Supreme Ruler that disciplinary measures be exacted immediately and without delay."

"Sir, yes Sir!" she replied, her voice quivering underneath the stinging, throbbing pain.

His chin raised in self-importance, he stated, "Now, you will go to the infirmary and have your injuries attended to. You are dismissed, Cadet."

xxx

The salve applied to the blisters and her hands carefully being wrapped in gauze, Adora watched silently, her mind replaying what happened earlier. Her gaze shifted to the academy nurse as she worked, deftly cutting the gauze and applying adhesive.

"By Horde World, does this seem fair to you?" she asked indignant, her brow furrowed in anger.

The nurse's eyes went wide as they flew up to meet Adora's.

"Shhh! You mustn't speak so, young Cadet," she whispered as she reached out and affectionately tucked a blonde lock behind the girl's ear. "If anyone overhears you questioning the Horde's ways, you will be severely disciplined!"

Sealing the adhesive, she gently grasped Adora's little wrists and pushed them upward. "Do you see this?" she gestured to the young girl's injuries.

Adora nodded.

"Worse can happen if you pursue. Leave it be," she cautioned fearfully.

Her shoulders slumping, Adora sighed in resignation.

A dark shadow looming outside of the infirmary door quietly slinked away and moved across the adjacent hallway disappearing from sight.

The next several weeks passed much the same as always; studies, daily drills, exercises. A strict yet bland vegetarian diet occasionally supplemented with porridge for breakfast and potato for supper was served day in and day out. Only the high ranking officials and Hordak himself were privileged to indulge in meat and poultry; the explanation given that rations were necessary due to the under-farming and reduced cattle production of Etheria's countryside. The farmers and herders were severely punished; a few even flogged to death – their crimes of "deliberately sabotaging" the country's harvests posted in the public squares as a cautionary tale.

Despite Shakra's admonitions, Adora began to sneak away daily for solace within the Whispering Woods. Her little mind struggled to make sense of the Horde's brutal actions against its citizens and military personnel. Her growing unease over the injustices she witnessed began to chip away at the trust she held in her leaders; even her beloved guardian Hordak.

He had always treated her with kindness despite on occasion, losing his temper. Adora had always reasoned away his stormy temperament believing that his underlings had brought it upon themselves by committing some inexcusable offense.

She began to see the truth at her tenth birthday celebration a few months ago: he stormed at her for neglecting to report a fellow cadet who had failed to properly clean the cache of weapons in the Fright Zone armory, the enormous task proving too great for the young cadet of only thirteen years of age. For his incompetence, he received ten lashes with the cat o' nine tails and was sentenced without trial to the brig for thirty days.

Fear and hopelessness began to overwhelm Adora thus making her careless; over the last few weeks, Shadow Weaver silently tracked her excursions to the Woods.

The witch reported back to Hordak.

xxx

"Not only has she been secretly visiting the Whispering Woods, my Lord, but she has publicly expressed disdain for your methods and the disciplinary methods of Horde Prime," Weaver hissed in addition. "The spell is weakening. She will rebel and, I fear, influence many of her fellow cadets as she is held in high esteem by many." She stopped and folded her arms. "If you want a rebellion on your hands, remain in denial, my Lord," the witch ventured boldly.

At her censure, Hordak's angry eyes flew up to hers as he jumped to his feet. His hands behind his back, he paced the throne's steps before stopping abruptly and turning to her.

"Does Horde Prime know of this?" he snorted, his tone cautious.

"No my Lord, but he soon will. News travels fast among the ranks; the seeds of dissent have been sown."

With another snort, Hordak blew out an angry and resigned breath. After a brief pensive moment, his gaze flew to Shadow Weaver's.

"Seven good lashes with the leather flog. Do not use the cat o' nine tails. I want her made an example of not killed." He paused and shook his head in frustration. "Sixty days in the brig. And strengthen the spell," he spat before turning on his heel and storming out of the throne room, Weaver bowing in deference.

"At once, my Lord."

xxx

That evening as Adora slept, guards burst through her bedroom door; Shakra screaming from the living quarters begging them to stop.

Clad in standard issue pajamas, Adora nearly jumped out of her skin as she sat upright in bed, her sky blue gaze questioning and fearful.

They reached for her as she cried out in surprise, roughly yanking her little arm and dragging her out of her quarters and into the hallways; the other cadets appearing outside their own quarters wearing fearful and dread filled expressions as she struggled against the guards protesting her arrest.

Bringing her below to the lower levels of the Fright Zone, they bound her wrists and secured it to the suspension bar raising her arms over her head; the sleeves of her night gown drooping backward. Panting in fear but grateful they did not uncover her bare back, her wide blue gaze darted about looking for a way of escape. Finding none, she closed her eyes and braced herself.

As the assault began, she cried out in pain at each strike; her tender adolescent back developing angry red welts underneath her gown in response.

xxx

Afterward locking her away in a dark prison cell, they mercifully tossed in a bottle of drinking water.

As the footsteps faded away, Adora sunk weakly to the stone floor. She lay carefully to her side minding her stinging and throbbing back, her soft tear-filled cries echoing off of the walls.

Just then, a pair of glowing eyes slowly opened and stared, looming...quietly ensconced within a dark corner of the cell. The figure's black and eerie form levitated menacingly toward the unsuspecting little girl.

Shadow Weaver raised her palms as she floated closer…closer…

As the carriage rolled along, Duncan radioed their status back to the Palace, an inexplicable uneasiness in his gut. He put the communicator away, his eyes staring blankly out the window.

"Adam," his mind pondered. "How is it possible that a child of the same name as—"

"Father?" Teela asked unknowingly interrupting his thoughts.

He flinched as his cinnamon brown gaze shifted to her curious emerald ones. "Yes, Daughter."

She eyed him. "You seem sorta angry. Did I do something wrong, Daddy?"

"What? No! Absolutely not, dear," he reassured with a squeeze around her shoulders.

"Then what is it? You haven't talked since Mrs. Stoley's."

"I'm just lost in thought that is all."

She crinkled her nose. "Are you thinking about that weird kid?"

"Weird kid?" he echoed. Then understanding dawning he replied, "No, honey. Adam is not weird. He's…," he paused, "…he's just an innocent little boy who appears to have seen rough times. We must show compassion for those who are struggling and need help," he advised with a warm smile as he playfully cupped his daughter's chin.

Teela shrugged a shoulder. "Aww well, I guess." She paused. Then finally, "Of all people, he talks to me," she pondered as she threw a glance out the window then settled it back on her father. "Do you think he likes me?" she asked, her expression hopeful.

The question catching him by surprise, Duncan did a double take. "I don't know, Daughter. You need to ask him, not me."

Disappointed at the response, Teela frowned and folded her arms as she settled back in her seat and turned toward the window, her feet dangling and kicking against the seat bottom.

Biting his lip to refrain from chuckling at her expense, her father studied her curious reaction to this boy. Not once has she ever expressed interest in boys…until now.

The next few weeks at the orphanage flew by as Abigail facilitated yet another successful adoption; this time a beloved set of fraternal twins, her son once again comforting her by being at her side.

He had once again fallen silent and had not spoken since the day Man-At-Arms and his daughter Teela left them; his sole utterance the one sharp retort to his daughter's reproach.

She couldn't help but ponder what magic Commander Duncan's fiery-haired daughter wielded to draw her son out in this manner. No one, not even the flirty little brown-haired girl he seemed to always shadow could influence him to communicate.

Just then, the sound of a commotion in the yard reached her ears as she rose from her office desk and rushed toward the back doors. Flinging them open, her eyes widened as her kids stood in a half-circle all gawking and shouting at a tousling Tuyen and Adam; each boy throwing punches as they rolled in the grass.

Dropping to her knees and working to separate the two, she finally managed to pry them apart; one boy, his nose bleeding and the other, his lip cut. Each boy panted heavily staring daggers at the other.

"What pray tell is going on here?" she demanded sharply.

"Tuyen was being mean and pushing Emagray around," Denae replied breathlessly, her eyes wide. "He finally punched poor Emy in the nose and made him cry!"

"Then Adam came outta nowhere and shoved Tuyen to the ground," Seton added. "Tuyen got really mad and came at him. Adam punched him in the face and he went down again—"

"Then he jumped back up and tackled Adam!" Trevor interjected. "Tuyen's nose exploded with Adam's right cross! One shot! Wow that was cool!" he marveled.

"Enough!" Mrs. Stoley ordered before turning to the boys. "I need you boys to go inside and get cleaned up. Afterwards, I will see you in my office, do you understand?" she asked, her disapproving gaze roaming each child.

Adam tore his stormy blue gaze away from the bully and settled on hers. He offered a slow reluctant nod in response.

"Tuyen?" she asked turning to the other.

His hand over his nose and his eyes watering, Tuyen nodded replying with a nasally, "Yes, ma'am," and ran inside, Adam's suspicious eyes following before turning and heading toward the door himself.

Turning to the group, she clapped her hands in dismissal. "Okay children, it's over. This had better not happen again," she lectured eyeing each child, her fist on her hip, a finger in the air. "Resorting to fisticuffs is not the way to resolve conflict, children. You must come to me with your disagreements so that we may find a solution. Understand?"

Their properly chastised gazes shifted to the ground in response. "Yes, Mrs. Stoley," they all chimed in quiet unison.

She nodded. "Good. Recess will cease in thirty minutes. Afterwards, wash up and get ready for supper, okay?"

"Yes, Mrs. Stoley," they droned again before slowly breaking up and going to their respective places on the playground.

She shifted her gaze back to the house and shook her head.

xxx

After tending to Tuyen's injuries, she turned her attention to Adam who was glaring silently at the boy across the room. She gently blotted his cut lip with a cleanser and applied salve, her eyes dropping to his fists balled tightly and at his sides.

"Adam," she drew out in warning, able now to read his subtle body language cues.

His gaze drifted to hers. She heard him sigh as his body relaxed. She gave a nod of approval.

After a stern lecture, she dismissed both boys assigning them kitchen duty for the rest of the week as penance.

Shortly before bedtime, Abigail gave a soft knock.

After a few beats, her son's bedroom door slowly creaked open revealing a pair of guilty blue eyes peering through the crack. The door finally going wide, he stood before her in pajamas as his eyebrows shot up followed by a shrug of his shoulders.

Despite herself, she smiled inwardly at his charming display of remorse. "May I come in, son?"

He pursed his lips then stepped aside as she entered. Taking his hand, she led him to the couch as they took a seat. She glanced at their hands and, patting his, she met his gaze.

"Sweetheart, I know it's been rough for you," she began, "But you mustn't choose violence as the only option to resolving issues. You must always employ the diplomatic method first," one hand caressed his cheek as he held her gaze, "If that is rejected by the other party, then walk away." She brought her other hand up to cup his face. "Honey, you must communicate verbally. Don't let your fists articulate your intentions," she added with a cautious smile, her brows furrowed.

Adam frowned as he slowly shook his head in rebuttal. He then pulled his face away and shifted his gaze to the floor.

"Son," she reached out a hand and stroked his hair. "Although I have an idea, I don't know exactly what you've been through but it's obvious that you've experienced trauma in your young life. I am heartsick over the thought of that. When you appeared at my door last year, I saw the bruises…the black eye…the look in your eyes."

At the word 'bruises', Adam seemed to retreat further into himself, his body language closing in self-protection. Abigail's chocolate brown gaze filled with sadness.

"It's okay," she replied softly. "I won't push you. One day, when you feel completely safe, you will open up and I will be here, sweetheart." Punctuating it with a tender kiss to his left temple and rising from the couch, she made her way to the door.

She stopped and threw an empathetic glance over her shoulder as Adam continued to glare at the floor, his arms folded across his chest, his gaze now icy, lost in memories.

"I love you," she whispered before leaving and closing the door softly behind her.

Over the last few weeks, Duncan returned to his routine at the Palace still pondering the lowly blonde orphan boy.

The day after he returned from his meeting with Mrs. Stoley, he requested an audience with the King and Queen. He couldn't shake the fact that this boy carried the same name as his Majesties' deceased newborn son and being naturally curious, he wanted to pursue it.

After all, Adam is not an Eternian name; it is the name Queen Marlena gave her firstborn in acknowledgement of his Terran heritage meaning, Man of Earth. In turn, his twin sister's name of Adora was also Terran in nature meaning, Gift.

He shook his head. How on Eternia would anyone have knowledge of the boy's name and follow suit?

As he walked the Palace halls, Duncan reflected on his meeting with the young royal couple all those weeks ago:

At his invitation, he entered the King's office and immediately locked gazes with Queen Marlena who was standing to the side, her arms protectively wrapped around herself. Regal and statuesque, she had been gazing out of the massive floor to ceiling window and snapped her head towards him as he approached and bowed. Randor stood in greeting as the couple inclined their heads in acknowledgment.

"My King, my Queen, thank you for granting me an audience. I have a bit of interesting news but I want to preface it by stating that this discovery in no way has been corroborated; it has simply been gnawing at my gut for the past twenty-four hours and I felt it necessary to discuss it with you."

Randor's hazel eyes, colored with slight apprehension, widened in anticipation. He gestured to a chair as they all took their seats. "Do share, Duncan."

"Thank you, your Majesty. During my annual visit to the orphanage yesterday I met a troubled young boy whom Mrs. Stoley had taken in a year ago. He apparently is un-adoptable yet despite that, has a kind way about him. She has stated that he has become quite attached to her however as a result of some unspeakable trauma in his life, he does not speak. He hasn't verbally communicated for over a year, since the day she found him at her doorstep…that is, until yesterday, when my daughter addressed him directly."

Immediately, Queen Marlena's heart lurched, her own feelings of being considered an outsider…no, an 'alien'...knitting her heart with this dear boy's own. Her eyes going round, her brow furrowed in empathy. "Will no family accept him?"

"No, my Queen. On account of he refuses to speak and can become quite violent but only in self-defense or in defense of others by my understanding."

"And he spoke for the first time yesterday…to Teela?" Randor asked.

"Yes, Sire."

"How did he arrive at the orphanage?" Marlena probed.

"Mrs. Stoley simply answered a knock at her door one day and there he stood, alone, with a note pinned to his shirt."

"What did the note say?" the King wanted to know.

"It was written by his mother…his foster mother. The note stated that he had endured years of physical abuse and heretofore unspoken violations by his foster father over the course of his short life and that she needed to get him away from her husband before he ended up dead –"

Marlena sobbed a gasp, her hand flying to her mouth.

The two men's heads snapped in surprise to the Queen, Randor's troubled gaze studying his wife.

Remorseful, Duncan replied, "My Queen, please forgive my directness. I assumed you would want to hear—"

Her eyes shining with unshed tears, she waved a hand. "No my friend, forgive my outburst," she replied. "Your assumption was correct; indeed I do want to know what this poor little boy has experienced." Swiping at a tear, she stood and walked to the window adding, "I simply don't understand how people blessed with children can treat them in this manner…," her voice broke trailing off.

"Marlena…," Randor began, his soft tone hinting at their own tragedy ten years prior.

"It's okay," she replied with another wave. "Please…continue, Duncan," she coaxed as she turned her gaze back to the window.

Inclining his head, Duncan continued. "The reason I bring this to your attention is because his na—"

Suddenly, Duncan's communicator sounded breaking the quiet of the room. Startled, he reached for it. "Forgive me." Switching it on, he barked, "Duncan."

"Commander," a staticky voice on the other end stated breathlessly, "The North Coqillion tribes once again have attacked Yaveldy Village, Sir. They refused the treaty and their leaders will negotiate with no one but the King, Sir!"

Randor's hazel eyes darkened as he slammed his fist on his desk. "Bloodthirsty…," he hesitated regaining his composure as his wife approached, her features heavy with concern.

"Standby," Duncan replied, his eyes meeting Randor's. "Orders, Sire?"

The King locked gazes with his dear friend. "I have a feeling Keldor's behind this latest uprising but nevertheless, I must address it. Tell Scriven we're on our way," he replied abruptly rising from his desk.

Duncan gave a curt nod. "Sire." Turning to the communicator he replied, "Scriven, we're on our way. Tell Commander Marcus we'll meet his troops at Central Command."

"Sir, yes Sir!"

Randor took Marlena's hand and turned to Man-At-Arms who by now was standing to his feet. "We'll continue this discussion later, my friend."

With a bow, Duncan made his way to the door and turning the knob, held it open for the royal couple as they headed for the royal wing in preparation for a long journey.

Now approximately three weeks later, the King, Queen, the Royal Guard, and Eternian troops were back from Yaveldy having quashed the threatened revolt and settling terms of the treaty. Yet throughout the conflict, Duncan's mind occasionally wandered to the lost boy.

The Queen also hadn't forgotten the lad; her thoughts drifting toward the little one daily yet pressing Kingdom matters that remained pending as a result of the revolt demanded immediate attention. Regretfully, the orphan's plight took secondary priority for now. Thankfully, he had found refuge in the form of Mrs. Stoley and the orphanage.

Teela sat wide-eyed and anxious inside the royal carriage, the heels of her feet kicking nervously against the seat bottom.

Old Mrs. Stoley; the kind lady who took care of other orphans…like me, Teela pondered as she gazed out the window at the rolling countryside.

Her father whom she adored had kindly asked her to visit Eternos Hills Orphanage at the behest of Mrs. Stoley. Being engaged at court, he was unable to make the forty minute trip with her and asked as a favor that she kindly grant her wish.

The woman's request had sounded urgent, or so her father indicated. It had something to do with that weird kid. He stated that this would be her first grown up diplomatic trip alone and to that, Teela rose to the challenge.

Although a bit nervous, she agreed to go. Her father had made sure that she traveled with a large retinue of the Royal Guard so her protection was guaranteed; she wasn't nervous about that.

She was nervous about meeting that boy again. The boy with the amazing eyes and strange name who stood up to her castigation.

Abigail had noted a slight change in her adoptive son over the past couple of weeks. He seemed to have retreated still further within as if struggling with the memory of the beatings and "violations" as the note read. She could only assume these were meant to hint at sexual in nature.

Abigail's eyes blurred with tears as she sat in her office and stared at Adam's photo, his charming gap-toothed grin making her smile despite the tears. She thought of Miss Teela and how her presence seemed to draw him out. She hoped for a reprise of that interaction all those weeks ago thus her request to the Palace. Her eyes went back to the adolescent, handsome smiling face in the photo.

"Strong," she marveled to herself as the sound of the royal transport arriving just beyond the front door reached her. She wiped her tears and rushed to meet them.

xxx

"Adam, honey," she called out from the foyer, "We have a visitor. Would you mind coming downstairs, please?"

She stood quietly with the pretty, slightly tomboyish red-haired girl as they listened to the responding footsteps make their way to the first floor.

As they waited, Abigail smiled down at the girl. "Thank you again for coming. I think this may help him as you two seemed to have gotten along pretty well a few weeks ago. I can't thank you or your father enough, child."

"No problem, Mrs. S.," Teela replied returning the smile despite the butterflies starting to develop within her tummy at the thought of seeing the blonde boy again. She brushed it aside. "He's…well…I guess he's kinda weird and has a weird name to go with it. Sorta makes sense," she added with a shrug.

Abigail's eyebrows flew up in amusement as she bit the inside of her lip to keep from chuckling at the ten year old who had suddenly waxed philosophical. "But weird is not necessarily bad, right honey?"

Teela went pensive for a moment then snapping out of it replied, "Nah, I guess not."

At that moment, Adam reached the bottom of the steps and entered the foyer, his blue gaze meeting his mother's before shifting down to the little girl beside her. He froze.

"Adam, you remember Miss Teela, don't you? Man-At-Arms' daughter?"

He stared at Teela then shifted his gaze back to his mother offering a nod.

"She's come to see you, honey. Would you like to show her around?"

Doubting that statement, he gave her a sidelong glance, his eyebrow quirking in suspicion prompting Teela to snort a giggle. His eyes then went wide as his gaze snapped to her then back to his mother.

"Go on, son. She's come a long way to see you," she stated with a friendly gesture. "I'll be in my office if you two need anything. Adam, you know where everything is if she gets hungry, okay?" she asked as she turned to leave.

Adam nodded.

"Miss Teela, thank you again for coming. You two have fun," she threw over her shoulder as she stepped out of the room.

Silence.

The children stood in the foyer across from each other, neither saying a word. Finally, Teela spoke up.

"So, what do you do around here for fun?"

More silence.

Teela blew out a breath. "Sooo, you don't talk, huh?" she drew out.

Slowly the boy approached, his eyes roaming her from head to toe as he came closer, Teela's breath catching as she took a small step back, the excited butterflies going wild. He stopped and locked gazes with her. He gave a shrug.

"I only talk when I have something important to say," he replied quietly.

Indignant, Teela's mouth flew open. "So…when you cut me down, that was important, huh?" she replied sharply, her fist resting on her hip.

Another shrug. "Only because you cut me first, Tee."

"Tee?" she almost shouted. "That's not my name!"

He smiled. "It is now."

Prince Rogers Nelson, 1958 - 2016. I'll miss you; the soundtrack to my youth. RIP "When Doves Cry"