Charlotte climbed into the car without making eye contact with her father, cheeks glowing red. "Hi, Dad," she said sullenly, staring determinedly at her shoes.

Ian gently pressed a hand to her forehead, checking for fever, confused and concerned – Charlotte rarely got sick, so the fact that the school had called him to pick her up was disconcerting.

"Dad, stop," Charlotte scolded, swatting his hand away. "Where's Mom? She was supposed to come."

The rejection stung a little and he couldn't help the hurt that flashed across his face. There was a time when he was the only one she wanted when she was sick, but apparently things had changed now that she was a teenager and he couldn't help but miss his little Lottie. "Your Ma's working today," he said in apology. I'm afraid you're stuck with me."

Charlotte scowled, arms crossed over her chest.

"Whatever it is, I'm sure I can handle it," he insisted. "Are you sick? Do you need the hospital?"

"I'm fine."

"Then, what's wrong?" he asked, "Are you being bullied?" His eyes flashed murderously at the imagined threat to his baby girl.

"Dad, no," she snapped. "I need to talk to Mom. Just drive."

"You're out of luck, mo storín," he said, pulling away from the curb, trying not to take her rejection personally.

"I need Mom!" she demanded. Then, she burst into tears.

The suddenness and violence of the mood swings in his normally consistently cheerful daughter took Ian by surprise and he turned to study her quizzically as they pulled up to a red light. As he watched her sob pitifully, feeling awful that he couldn't make her feel better, realization dawned on him. "Oh, God, you're... You've..."

"Don't say it," she begged, face flaming red all over again.

He sighed, feeling his own face heating up a little. He'd been with Emily long enough to not be quite as squeamish around the subject of her period, but dealing with his daughter's was an entirely different situation... "Well, I'm afraid I won't be of much use to you," he said apologetically. "But your mother won't be home 'til late, so I guess I'll have to do."

"But I need her..." she whimpered, wiping her tears and smeared mascara with the sleeve of her sweater.

When he'd adopted Charlotte, this eventuality hadn't even occurred to him...but he was her father and now that the moment was upon him, he knew he had to step up, no matter how awkward and uncomfortable it was. "I suppose we need to stop at the drug store, then?"

But once they got to the drug store, she refused to get out of the car. Apparently, it was up to him to do something he'd never done before: face the feminine products aisle alone.

When they got home, he wordlessly handed her the drug store bag, not quite able to meet her eyes (not that she was making eye contact anyway).

It was heavier than she'd expected and, when she peered inside, tears welled in her eyes. He'd not only gotten her several different brands of tampons and some pain relievers, but also a package of Oreos and a container of cookie dough ice cream.

He cleared his throat awkwardly. "I know when your Ma..." he trailed off, cleared his throat again, "She likes sweets. And I know those are your favourites."

She flung her arms around him, sobbing.

"Please don't cry, mo storín," he begged, gently rubbing her back. "I can't stand to see you cry." When she continued to sniffle into his shirt, he floundered momentarily. "How about I run you a bubble bath in the big tub?" he offered, knowing that usually worked with Emily.

She nodded against his chest with a pitiful sound.

"After, you can get in your pyjamas and we'll watch Cinderella," he offered because even at fourteen, it was still her favourite movie (even if they'd both seen it a million and one times). "And maybe you'll see fit to share your ice cream..."

She hugged him tighter and all he could do was hug her back and tenderly kiss the top of her head, wishing she'd grow up just a little slower, be his little girl just a little longer.

"I'm not sharing," she mumbled into his chest, making him laugh, the deep rumble of it vibrating against her cheek.

When Emily returned home from work, both Charlotte and Ian were asleep on the couch as the credits rolled. She was cuddled into him, head lolling on his shoulder, heating pad clutched to her middle. He had his arms wrapped protectively around her, guarding his most precious treasure against any threat.

Emily gently prodded him awake. "What happened?" she asked, nodding to Charlotte who snuffled softly in her sleep. "Is she sick?"

He yawned, stretched, trying not to disturb his sleeping daughter. "She started her..." he trailed off again, still unable to actually say the words.

Emily blanched, worried her lip in concern. "Is she alright? What did you do? How did you..."

"I handled it," he insisted, interrupting her panic. "This isn't my first rodeo, afterall, as you Americans say." He leveraged himself out from under Charlotte, settling her head on a pillow and tenderly draping a blanket over her.

Emily smiled softly, watching him dote on the daughter he'd never hesitated to love as his own. "I'm proud of you," she whispered.

"What for?" he asked, raising a brow, not sure if he should be offended or not.

"Most fathers wouldn't be caught dead buying tampons..." she pointed out.

"If my little girl needs them, I'll damn well get them for her," he said seriously. "Any man that wouldn't doesn't deserve to be a father."

She leaned in to kiss him, heart swelling with love for him, knowing Charlotte had gotten so lucky: her own father may not have wanted her, but random chance had given her the best father anyone could have and Emily was thankful everyday that her daughter got to experience that love and devotion.

He interrupted her silent gratitude with a whisper of, "But please be here for Gemma's first time... I don't think my heart can handle doing that again."

Emily couldn't help but laugh.