Disclaimer: Don't own anything.

Author's Note: Hope everyone had a good Valentine's Day. Mine was filled with chocolate and Brazilian food.

Registering for the summer term for college. I'm finally doing it (a bit late, since the plan was start in Janurary). So, an associates in business and then to do animation. Can't wait. For the latter at least.

And being on hold over the phone does wonders for my imagination apparently. I've sketched out my mental picture of Amara as well as a bit of Eames' limbo. Fun stuff, when you've got the space of a notepad and a bad pencil with no eraser.

It is easier to build strong children than to repair broken men.
~Frederick Douglass

It's a ritual. Every morning, he would slip out from beside Sherallyn—she worked nights these days, though she was trying to get a different job—and head to their kitchen that wouldn't fit the three of them in there at a time to make breakfast.

At almost exactly seven o'clock every morning, he would start to hear small feet along the floors, shuffling a little as they came towards the kitchen. At that point, he would turn from the stove temporarily to scoop his daughter up into a hug, kissing her temple before plopping her down onto the counter accompanied by the sound of her laughter.

Allen pushed his daughter's bangs out of her face; she was stubborn about it. She wanted it to be long, 'like Ariel'. The Little Mermaid was her favorite movie. Amara Reed had her mother's looks and with that came unruly curls that had a knack for getting itself into fantastic tangles. They'd finally figured out a system of braiding her hair before bed. It didn't resolve all the tangles, but it made it better.

She inclined her head to peer into the pan. "Are those pancakes?"

Humming an affirmative, he dipped a fork into the batter and held it out, keeping one hand underneath to catch any drops that fell. Amara liked the taste and so did he, but had Sheral seen them, she would have told them exactly how bad that batter was for them.

They ate breakfast on the counter, sharing the same glass of orange juice. Amara stayed sitting where she was, but her eyes kept drifting to the window, at the slanting rays of the rising sun. Allen was surprised. She was done eating and Amara was not one for wasting time away when she had to be somewhere. Namely the bus stop in half an hour.

"Do you plan on getting ready for school any time in the next five minutes, darling?"

Her small shoulders lifted and fell in a shrug. "Don't really feel like goin'."

"Why?"

She hesitated and dropped her eyes. "…Other kids don' really like me."

The protective instincts of his reared their heads, but he kept them under control. "Have they told you why?"

"Prob'ly 'cause I'm better at sports than the boys are." She was faster and could kick a football pretty far, even if she wasn't very good at aiming it yet.

"And the girls?"

Another shrug. "They're weird. Always giggling and they're kinda annoying."

(Amara will never be the kind of girl that has a lot of girl friends. In her entire life, she will have, perhaps, a total of about ten and only about two of them know her after college)

"Darling, have you made any friends?"

She made a so-so motion with her hand. "Michael in the other class. We have lunch together sometimes."

Allen didn't know what to do with that. He hadn't even finished school, hadn't spent much time in it at all. And he had Charlie growing up in the apartment across the hall, practically a brother. So he kissed her hairline as he picked her up and put her on the ground. "…It'll get better. I promise."

She beamed, confident that her father wouldn't lie to her. (He remembers that look for the rest of his life)