Irene Heinrich really wasn't to blame for her runaway temper, she'd gotten it from her father. But she was responsible for the fights she got into. At age seven she was a force to be reckoned with and most kids at the playground knew better than to piss her off. Usually she didn't start the fights, just ended them.

But on this of all days she took her fighting a little far. It all started with a hurtful comment from one of the older children. An eight or nine year old boy with brown hair and blue eyes. He had never been to this particular playground before so he had no idea what he was getting into.

"Your hair is like an old woman's." He remarked to the younger girl. Two green eyes with pale pupils looked up at him.

"It is not." She replied. "It's like my daddy's," her voice was cold and hard, and her accent was something between German and French. She could speak both fluently.

"Your father must be really old then," the boy replied. "Cause you do too have old woman hair." He stepped closer to her as some of the other children watched. A few, those who had known Irene's wrath firsthand ran for their parents.

"I do not." Irene stood up from the sandpit she was playing in. "Take it back." She demanded glaring back at the boy.

"Never," he stuck his tongue out at her. "Doesn't everyone agree she has old lady hair?" He asked some of the crowd. A few children who were feeling brave nodded in agreement.

"It does look like my grandmother's," one little boy observed.

"Aufhören." Irene yelled in German.

They stared at her confused. "Stop it!" She growled so they could understand. "My hair is not old lady hair." She charged the first boy knocking him to the ground. Some of the gathered children ran for it. A few parents who saw what was happening called their children to them.

Albert Heinrich had been hoping that his daughter wouldn't succumb to her anger. But he knew it was useless, she had his temper and his fighting spirit. Both were personality traits that Fran called weaknesses. He stood up from the bench he was seated at and quickly walked over. "Irene," he called. "Aufhören zu kämpfen." He instructed in German.

The girl glanced up at him as the boy beneath her struck her face. "Nein!" She retorted bringing her fist down on the boy's cheek. Albert darted forward scooping Irene up in one swift motion.

He held her in one hand as he helped the boy up with the other. "Are you ok?" He asked returning to French. The boy nodded a black eye already apparent on his face. A woman came rushing up. Albert stepped back as she knelt next to her son.

"Louis are you alright. Didn't I tell you to stop starting fights? And look you've gone and gotten yourself a black eye again. Whatever will I do with you?" She chided. Her cold blue eyes turned on Albert. "And what about your daughter?" she demanded.

"My apologies," Albert remarked. "But I heard most of their argument before it turned physical. Your son was teasing my daughter."

The woman looked at her son. "Louis, is that true?" The boy shook his head in denial. Irene squirmed in her father's arms so that she could see Louis and his mother.

"He was teasing me!" She yelled. "He said my hair was like an old lady's." She folded her arms over her chest. Albert saw the cut in her cheek, the slight smear of blood around it. He sighed.

"Irene, I told you to ignore teasing," he wiped her cheek with his thumb. Her hands grasped at the fake skin glove.

"Daddy," she whined. "That hurts." He pulled his hand back from her face.

"Sorry," he whispered. Ever since the first time he held her he'd been afraid of hurting her. His almost numb hands could have crushed her easily. Cybernetic sensors had been placed in them, but these served only to relay extreme conditions to his brain. Like heat or cold, pain, and when something had malfunctioned.

"Mamma she hit me," Louis pointed one finger at Irene. The girl stuck her tongue out at him.

"You hit me first," she retorted.

Albert shushed Irene. "I think it's safe to say that they should both apologize," Albert suggested. The woman looked at him.

"Agreed." She gave her son a look.

"I'm sorry," Louis sighed.

"I'm sorry too," Irene replied. Louis's mother pulled him away.

"Of all the humiliation. To have to agree with a German like that," she huffed as she left the park. Albert bit his lip at her words. It was true, that living in France had gotten him a lot of dirty looks, and some people made similar comments. But he wasn't like his countrymen.

"Come on Irene lets get you home and cleaned up." She took his hand in hers and walked alongside him. "It's a good thing your mother is out with Dr. Gilmore and Ivan," he added. "We'd both be in trouble."

"Yeah, mommy stops me before I can fight back," she sighed. Albert chuckled at her. Fran was off on a mission that Gilmore had come to her with. He needed her skill at finding things, as he needed Ivan's mental capabilities. So he'd been left at home with Irene.

Fran usually spotted a fight faster than her husband. And she always tried to keep her daughter out of trouble. Albert on the other hand sometimes let her fight, because he knew that it was inevitable. Besides, bullies had to be put in their place at some point.

As the houses grew fewer Albert noticed that Irene was crying. He stopped and knelt down pulling her so that she faced him. "Irene, what's wrong?" He asked.

She looked at him her eyes red and moist. "I miss mommy," she replied.

Fran had been gone for a week now, and probably would be gone for another at the least. "So do I." He picked Irene up. She buried her head in his neck as they finished the walk home.

Once home Albert doctored up the cut. He cleaned the small cut and bandaged it. "There," he said as he smoothed the bandage over her cheek. She smiled at him.

"Mommy doesn't like it when I get in fights, why is that?"

Albert chuckled. "Because some fights aren't worth fighting." He looked at her intently. "And just because someone is teasing you doesn't mean you should fight them."

She looked at him for a moment. "Then when should I fight?" She questioned.

"Well," he paused. "Fights are hard to judge. You'll have to figure it out for yourself."

"Ok." She ran up the stairs to her room.

"She's so oblivious to the problems with fighting all the time. Some day Fran and I will have to tell her the whole story," he sighed heavily and headed to the kitchen. He should get to making dinner.