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After a while, Christina left and it was just Bee and I. She swung her legs back and forth casually then looked up at me. "So. Now what?"

I looked down at my watch. A quarter past noon. "How about some lunch," I ask. She nods and I make my way to the kitchen. "Is a grilled cheese okay?"

"Sure!" She makes her way to the bar stool to take her position to watch me cook. "What exactly is a grilled cheese?"

I turn with my spatula in my hand. "You don't know what a grilled cheese is?"

She blushes a soft pink color and gives a harsh laugh. "Uh, yeah. I know exactly what a grilled cheese is. It's a piece of cheese. . . that's like. . . grilled." Her eyes look anywhere else but mine.

"Essentially, yes, but it's like a sandwich. You know, two pieces of bread, cheese in the middle, and you grill it." She nods nonchalantly, examining her fingernails. I smirk. "So, what would you like to drink?" I open the fridge as the first side of our sandwiches grill. "I have water, some lemonade, I have a few sodas to choose from-"

"Is this still hot?" Bee holds up my coffee pot, one eyebrow raised.

For a moment I don't know what to say. "Um. Touch the side."

She does what I say and a satisfactory gleam appears in her eye. "I'll have this, please."

I pause and look at her. Then I reach in my cabinet for a coffee cup setting it down. I flip our sandwiches quickly so they don't burn, then take the pot from her as she returns to her seat. I fill her cup close to the top and set it in front of her. She immediately wraps her fingers around the cup.

"You need any creamer or milk?" I'm still in shock that I have a ten year old in front of me who is drinking coffee.

"No thanks, I like mine black." And I'm in more shock that she has a preference.

I tilt my head to the side and shrug my shoulders. It won't hurt, right? I return to our grilled cheese and take them off the pan, setting them on plates. I slice hers in two triangles. "What else would you like to go with your grilled cheese?"

She swallows a mouthful of coffee. "What else do you got?"

I open my fridge to look through then move to the cabinet, not shutting the fridge door. "So I have multiple choices of chips you can choose from-"

"What's that pink thing? In the fridge?" She points toward the container on my top shelf.

I grab it. "Strawberry Yogurt." She nods, and I place a spoon and the yogurt next to her plate. She begins eating and then looks at me. "What," she asks.

"That's a stranger variety of food you've got there."

She shrugs. "I'm a growing girl. This," she properly reads the label, "Low-Fat Strawberry Yogurt, cheese that is grilled, and cup of Joe is all going to help my muscles and brain power." She explains her logic to me while a drip of strawberry yogurt is on her cheek.

I stifle my laugh and reach out to wipe the yogurt from her face. "You're strange. I like you."

She laughs soundly and replies, "Ditto." Which apparently means you too.

After lunch we sit in the living room getting to know each other. We ask typical "What's your favorite color?" type questions. (Mine was obviously black and hers was obviously pink.)

I ask her when her birthday was and she frowns. "I don't remember."

Her reply makes me sad so I try to ask questions to maybe help her remember. "Okay, when you celebrated your birthday, what was the weather like?"

She bites her cheek, thinking. "It was cold.. And lots of snow."

I nod. "Okay, so it was in Winter. You have three months. December, January, or February."

Her eyes widen. "December! It was December!."

I smile. "Good! Do you remember a number?"

She chews on her thumb. "The sixth."

I close my eyes and shake my head, muttering, "of course…"

"'Of Course' what," She asks.

I reach out giving her leg an assuring pat. "Nothing. You're turn."

The day moved by quicker than I thought it would. When Dinner came around, Bee asked me for another grilled cheese sandwich, this time accompanied with a warmed up cup of tomato juice and lima beans that may or may not have been out of date. We're making progress though. I set up a bed for her on the couch and tucked her in with her filthy stuffed bear that I couldn't make her let go long enough for me to wash it. When she deemed that I was free to go my room, turned out the lights and left. As I crawled into bed, I realized I opened up to this small girl in one day more than I have to anyone in the last fifteen years. Is it her childlike innocence that I'm drawn to? She bared no judgment of the things I have told her, which wasn't very much at all, but still more than I've shared with anyone since Tris died. I try to remember yesterday and what I was doing and if I ever expected to basically become a father in a whirlwind of 24 hours. I think Tris would be proud. And glad I at least found comfort in a small child, rather than no one at all. In all my years I've never thought about becoming a father. I was afraid. Marcus left me wounded as a child but wary as a man. I close my eyes as fear course through my veins. What if I lose control? What if I hurt the little girl sleeping in my apartment? I silently vow to myself to never let harm fall upon little Beatrice, whether by me or anyone else. With that peaceful thought, I drift to sleep.

I am quickly awoken by a high pitched cream coming from my living room. I throw of my covers and come into the living room. I see Bee sitting up, her palms covering her face and hear her quick breathing like sobs. I place a comforting hand on her shoulder, and use my other to pry her hands from her face so I can see her. "Beatrice,"

Amidst the chaos, she still has the gall to scowl at me for using her proper name that's "reserved for scolding only". I correct myself quickly. "Bee, what's wrong?"

She withdraws her wrists from my hold and wipes her face. "I had a bad dream, about momma dying. I realized I have no family. No one left. I woke up and I was alone and forgot where I was and panicked. I'm sorry."

My heart swells and I pull her into my chest. "Don't worry, Bee. I'm your family now. Okay?"

She nods and I gently lay her back down. I try to get up, but she whispers my name and squeezes my hand. "Will you sit with me, until I fall asleep?" I nod and smooth stray pieces of her hair out of her face. Her chin wobbles. "I feel dumb needing you here. I've been by myself for three years and never needed anyone to help me sleep."

"Hey, don't feel dumb. It happens to all of us. We all need comfort."

She's silent for a moment, then speaks again with words that make me almost fall of the couch with laughter: "If you stay in here, does that make me a pansycake?"

"Where. On earth. Did you learn that word?" I ask in between gulps of air and measures of laughter.

She cracks a smile. "Momma. She said her friend Zeke and Uriah would use that word for someone who was afraid of silly things. Like when I was afraid of lady bugs when I was five."

I smile wider. "No, you aren't a pansycake, Bee."

She closes her eyes and sighs. "Good. And being afraid of heights doesn't make you a pansycake either." Her breathing slows down and when it's clear I can leave, I press a feathery light kiss to her forehead and whisper in her ear. "Be brave, Beatrice."