Lizzy had a favorite everything.
Her favorite food was spaghetti.
Her favorite thing to drink was tea with honey.
Her favorite color was pink.
Her favorite dress was the pink one with the bunny pattern that had a little pocket in the front where she kept candy she wasn't supposed to have and didn't think he knew about.
Her favorite flowers were dandelions, specifically the ones she had planted in the window boxes after painstakingly collecting the seeds from every weed in the lawn.
Her favorite storybook was Army Regulation Manual, which he had a feeling she really didn't understand but asked him to read nonetheless.
And, without a doubt, her favorite word was "love." She loved everything, and told everything and everyone so. Schultzie was affirmed of her affection for him multiple times a day, as was Bruno, her stuffed toys, the squirrel that ran across their lawn every morning, the dandelions in the window boxes, the mailman, the milkman, and, of course, Newkirk.
He was her favorite person.
And Hogan was totally okay with that.
Okay, but it did bother him a little that she had never actually told him she loved him.
And it bothered him that he was bothered by this. She clearly didn't hate him - she was always so happy to help him attempt to cook something, or read something with him, or wheedle him into playing dolls or tea party with her.
She was always happy around him, just like she was with everyone else.
So he wasn't going to let it bother him.
Much.
x
x
x
The next time he had to watch Lizzy was the next night. Newkirk was in Cleveland doing some counterfeit detection method seminar thing he vaguely remembered him telling him about, and he was once again the sole adult in charge of the little girl.
The afternoon and evening had gone smoothly enough.
He had been doing some paperwork in his office after working from home that day and had seen Lizzy coming home from school with the Stephenson girls out his window.
She ran up the driveway and greeted him with a big smile and a bigger hug like she usually did. Lizzy was often sent home with a few simple lines to write to practice her spelling and handwriting, so he set her up at the kitchen table with a pencil and her usual cup of tea with honey.
For himself, it was a cup of coffee and the evening copy of the Huntingburg Post-Express.
He was halfway through reading one of the articles ("50 Creative Uses for Aluminum Foil"), when Lizzy piped up with a question.
"Dad, why do I have to know how to spell "bog?"
"I don't know. That word rarely comes up in conversations," replied Hogan, looking up from the newspaper.
Lizzy seemed to accept the fact that she might never know the true reason for such a word making its way onto her spelling list, and went back to writing her letters.
She was silent for the rest of her homework, save for the little tune she usually hummed whenever she was content. It was always the same tune, and neither Hogan nor Newkirk had been able to pin down what the song was yet.
Before long, she was done with her little assignment and informing him that it was getting close to the time that she was usually fed.
Despite the fact that Hogan had astoundingly bad luck when it came to cooking, he wasn't completely inept. Although, there was that one time he left oven mitts in the oven and forget about them before he turned it on…
Anyway, he was pretty good at heating up soup on the stove, so he proposed that that would be what they would have for dinner. He was glad Lizzy seemed to have a very strong sense of self-preservation and agreed.
Hogan was rummaging around one of the cabinets, looking for a good sized pot to put some kind of soup in. Despite his lack of finesse in the kitchen department, he was able to find one that looked about right.
He had just turned around to put the pot on the stove, when he noticed that Lizzy had disappeared from the table. Before he could call out to ask where she had gone to, he heard the familiar sound of her footsteps in her room upstairs. She had probably gone up to tell Schultzie she was home, and doubtlessly that she loved him.
After he had poured something in the pot from the icebox that looked like soup, he went back to the table to his paper and coffee. He was surprised to find that his coffee mug was empty. That was odd - he was pretty sure that he hadn't drank all of it before he'd gotten up earlier.
Oh, well. Maybe he was already getting old and losing his memory.
It was only a few minutes later that he heard a crashing sound, followed by something streaking past him at light speed.
His problem solving skills hadn't deteriorated that much since the war, and it didn't take him long to put two and two together.
Before he had time to react, the blur came streaking back again. This time, he was prepared, and managed to grab it.
"Lizzy, what are you doing?" he asked the blur.
"Running, dad, running!" she replied. She actually appeared to be vibrating in place.
"Did you drink what was in my cup?"
"Yup. Yeah, I did! It wasn't very good, but since you like it, I like it!"
At this, Lizzy took off running again. Bruno, who had been asleep on the kitchen floor, lifted his head to watch the little girl sprint off.
The next time Lizzy came streaking through the kitchen, Hogan managed to detain her once again.
"Are you okay, Lizzy? Do you feel alright?" he asked. He didn't think his coffee was that strong, but Lizzy had never had caffeine before, and she was way smaller than him, too. Ugh, Newkirk was going to kill him.
"I feel great! Why don't you run, too? You drank some coffee! Just like I drank coffee!"
With a giggle, she was off again.
This was going to be a long night.
x
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x
Luckily for Hogan, the small amount of coffee that had briefly energized Lizzy soon wore off. In fact, her short burst of energy had only lasted as long as it had taken for the soup to heat up. Hogan eventually found her half asleep in his armchair, Bruno sitting at her feet.
"Lizzy...are you alright?" he ventured to ask, coming over with two mismatched bowls of soup.
"Mm fine," was the response he got, followed by a yawn.
"Are you still hungry?" he asked, not wanting to add possible starvation to this list of things Newkirk could kill him for.
"Yeah," answered Lizzy, sitting up.
"We can eat here in the living room," suggested Hogan, not wanting to tire her out any more. He had counted 24 laps around the house before the coffee had worn off.
"Okay," yawned Lizzy, happily accepting the soup that was in her little plastic bunny rabbit dish.
Their meal was eaten mainly in silence, until Lizzy spoke up.
"I'm sorry I drank your coffee, dad," she said tiredly, as she put her bowl down on the side table and settled back into the chair.
"Oh, Lizzy...I'm the one that should be sorry. I'm sorry I didn't tell you that coffee wasn't good for you to drink," said Hogan, feeling like Bad Dad of the Year.
His apology, however, fell on deaf ears. Lizzy had fallen asleep in his chair.
With a sigh, Hogan walked got up and collected the dinner dishes. After washing them and putting them away, he came back, and Lizzy was still out cold in the chair.
Not knowing what else to do, he decided to carry her upstairs and put her in her bed. At least she would be more comfortable there.
Halfway up the stairs, the little girl in his arms began to stir.
"Did I fall asleep?" she asked, blinking up at him.
"Yup. You were out like a light," said Hogan, using his knee to push her door open.
"Oh." Lizzy didn't say anything until Hogan had gently put her down on her bed. She gave another big yawn and turned to look up at him.
"Goodnight, dad."
"Night, Lizzy."
"Tell daddy I said goodnight," she whispered, eyes closing once more, "and tell him I love him."
As Hogan turned to leave, his thoughts drifted to his ruminations from earlier in the week on how easily Lizzy affirmed those around her of her affections. He decided to try something.
"...Lizzy?"
"Mmm?"
"...I love you."
"Love you, too, dad. Night."
And then she was fast asleep.