TK squinted as a glare of sunlight hit him in the eyes. It wasn't the most pleasant way to wake up, but it was better than a kick to the side and someone screaming at him to get lost. He buried his face in his pillow, inhaling the fresh scent of the detergent that still clung to the fabric. Everything was clean here. Maybe it would rub off on him, instead of the other way around.

It was crazy to think how quickly TK had gone from living in squalor to the lap of luxury. It was just days ago that he'd been huddled up in an alley, trying to figure out how to survive from one minute to the next. The idea of being taken care of and not having to worry about how he was going to live another day was foreign to him. But getting used to it sounded like a dream.

He heard a sound coming from the kitchen, so he decided to face it head on. He'd been so confident at one point, convinced that he would be able to go in, get what he wanted, and leave again. That obviously hadn't happened and he'd turned into a cowering mess, but he was starting to find his footing at least a little bit again. One good day wouldn't turn him into a relaxed teenager, but it was a start.

TK slipped on his shoes and backpack, quickly folding up the blankets he used and setting them on one of the cushions. If he needed to leave, he'd be ready and he'd also leave as little of a footprint as possible. He walked over to the kitchen, finding his dad moving around in front of a counter. Something was cooking on the stove and it smelled a lot better than what he was used to. But anything was better than his mom's unique combination of drugs and booze.

"Oh! I didn't hear you get up," Owen said in surprise when he glanced back and saw TK standing in the doorway. "How did you sleep? Was the couch okay?"

"It was great, thank you," TK replied, not mentioning that it was probably the best night of sleep he'd gotten in years. He should've been too scared to even close his eyes, but for some reason, he wasn't.

"Well, don't get too used to it. You'll be getting a proper bed soon enough."

"You really don't need to go to any trouble. I'm fine with whatever."

"We can talk about that more over breakfast," Owen replied, waving him toward the small table in the room. "Have a seat. I'm almost finished with this." TK did as he was told, having no reason to argue. This food felt less awkward to accept, since it wasn't anywhere near as expensive as the dinner from the night before. And Owen probably hadn't put anything bad in it, but TK would watch how it was served and have his dad take the first bite, just in case.

"It smells really good," TK complimented. Maybe if he kept buttering his dad up, he wouldn't realize the burden he was taking on.

"Thank you. I usually have a smoothie for breakfast, but I've heard that they are an acquired taste," Owen laughed, plating up two heaping omelets. TK's mouth watered at the sight. If this was what he could expect regularly, maybe coming here hadn't been the worst idea. Owen set the plates on the table and sat down across from him. TK felt the urge to switch them, but that would be hard to explain. People didn't usually like to be accused of trying to drug you, whether they actually were or not. He still waited until his dad took the first bite before digging into his own.

"This is amazing," TK mumbled between mouthfuls. His stomach could get used to this being full thing.

"I'm glad you like it. I can't remember the last time I ate the yolk," Owen replied, taking another bite. "I might have to stop being so strict on my diet. It's more fun when you have someone else to cook for."

"You don't have to go out of your way. I'll eat anything." TK was never one to turn down any food he could get his hands on. It was a running joke with his classmates that any food that didn't get finished would go to him. He'd laugh along with them, making fun of his bottomless pit of a stomach, when really it was always his most substantial meal of the day.

"It isn't out of my way at all. I kind of like the idea of showing off my culinary skills. I wasn't always the best in the kitchen."

"Didn't you burn oatmeal?" TK asked, seeing a memory unfold in his mind. More things were coming back to him the longer he was there.

"That was one time. How was I to know the ratio of oats to water was so important?" Owen laughed, taking TK's question in stride. He would've gotten a backhand from Enzo for that.

"I don't know how to cook. If the instructions aren't written on the back of a box, I'm lost." TK never really had ingredients to make anything, but on the rare occasions he did, he was too terrified to even attempt to cook. If he ended up ruining food, there would've been hell to pay. Eating things separate and uncooked was safer.

"I could teach you," Owen offered excitedly. "Most of my stuff skews healthy, but I don't think that's a bad thing. And we can figure out new things together."

"You don't have to do all that," TK mumbled, wincing internally at how pumped his dad looked at the idea. What if TK tried and was terrible at it? Would that be the thing to convince his dad to give up on him? Would he get frustrated and snap?

"You know who knows how to cook? Paul, down at the station. He's so good about making something everyone can eat and making it taste delicious. I bet he would love to show you some things. He's always trying to get the others in the kitchen with him, but they are all set in their ways," Owen rambled on. TK felt his chest tighten at the thought of spending time with a stranger like that. No one wanted to be forced to spend time with the boss' son. And how well could a person really know someone they worked with?

"I'm sure he wouldn't want to be bothered like that. Not on someone like me," TK shrugged. Indifference was the goal for everyone he didn't have to spend time with. He didn't want hatred, but he just as equally didn't want the opposite. Too much attention was bad news.

"Are you kidding? Everyone at the station is dying to get to know you."

"They know about me?" What did they know about him? Nothing that was true anymore, that was for sure. Stories of uncomplicated little kids were always nice, but TK's story now wouldn't be so pleasant.

"You've never been a secret, TK. Talking about you kept the hope alive that I would see you again. And how selfish would it have been of me to not share the memories of my amazing son with everyone?"

"I was just a kid. What was there to talk about?"

"Seven years of perfect moments."

"Perfect? I wasn't perfect," TK argued. If his dad was expecting perfection still, he was going to be sorely disappointed.

"It was perfect because we were together. Didn't matter if it was winning the little league game or tantrums and skinned knees. It was perfect because I got to be there for it with you. You and Judd are my perfection," Owen said earnestly. Why was he so good at making these impassioned little speeches? It was getting really hard for TK to not blindly believe everything he was saying.

TK stared down at his empty plate, trying to figure out what to think and say. What did his dad have to gain from lying to him? TK wasn't anyone to anybody, so it wouldn't take much effort to make him disappear. If his dad wanted to, he could do anything and get away with it. Unless this was a long con that TK couldn't figure out the ideal outcome of, his dad might be telling the truth.

"Mr. Strand-"

"Oh!" Owen exclaimed, looking a bit startled. "That's- I wasn't expecting that."

"I'm sorry," TK said quietly, waiting for the reprimand. Verbal or otherwise.

"I guess it makes sense that you wouldn't call me Dad, since it's been so long. Mr. Strand sounds so impersonal though," Owen grimaced. TK knew this was his dad and thought of him as such, but saying the word out loud felt too big at this point. He'd called his mom his mom his whole life, but she'd let him down at every turn. This was his last chance to give a parental title to someone and the idea of doing it and it turning out bad felt like too much for him to handle at this point. It was just a word in the end, but it was also more. "Maybe we could just go with Owen for now?"

"Are you sure?" TK asked. He appreciated the out, but he knew most adults considered being addressed by their first name as disrespectful. Was this a test? Was he supposed to refuse or comply?

"If you don't mind. I don't want to make you uncomfortable, but I would greatly prefer Owen over Mr. Strand. Or we could come up with something different. I just- it makes it feel like we're not family."

"Okay," TK agreed softly. If that was what his dad wanted, it was the least TK could do for him while he was living under his roof. He could've asked to be called something like Master or something else equally degrading, but he hadn't. At every turn, his dad seemed to be doing the right thing. Would TK ever be able to accept that he was a genuinely good person, or would he always assume it was an act?

"Let me get these dishes into the dishwasher."

"I can do them!" TK offered quickly. That was something he could do. He could keep the whole apartment spotless. His dad shouldn't have to worry about that kind of stuff, especially with an extra body to take care of. And he probably had all the supplies to make the job so much easier.

"There's no need. That's what the machine is there for," Owen waved off, grabbing the dirty dishes before TK could protest further. There had to be something he could do to help earn his keep, but he hadn't figured it out yet. He knew what he didn't want the price to be though.

"Is there anything else I can do? Laundry? Take out the trash? Scrub the bathroom?"

"TK, you don't have to do anything."

"Everyone has to do something. You can't go through life without working," TK insisted, feeling his stomach sink once the words came out. "Work! Oh no, are you gonna be late?"

"TK-"

"You can go and do what you need to do. I'll be fine on my own. I can just stay here. Or wander around town," TK rambled. He couldn't expect his dad would trust him to be alone in his apartment. Firefighting shifts were long, but he could find a place to hunker down during it.

"I don't have a shift today," Owen replied in a calm voice.

"Oh," TK sighed in relief. Whenever he made his mom or Enzo late to something, there was hell to pay. Even when it wasn't actually his fault.

"In fact, I won't have any shifts for a while. I've got a ton of vacation time racked up and I'm finally going to take some."

"You don't have to do that on account of me. If you were saving it for a trip or something, you shouldn't waste it."

"No second of time spent with you could ever be considered a waste," Owen said seriously. That tone of voice was really getting to TK. "And the reason I have a lot of days saved is because I rarely take any off. Just a couple of days a year."

"Like the holidays? Christmas or Thanksgiving?" TK hadn't celebrated anything in years. The only day he'd been looking forward to was his eighteenth birthday, so he could do what he wanted without interference. The goal might not be as important now, depending on how things went, but it was still there.

"Your birthday and the day you disappeared," Owen said softly, staring out into the living room toward where the pictures were hanging. "I wasn't good for anything on those days, so it was safer for me to be home."

"What did you do?" If he was still with his mom, he would've assumed his dad would be celebrating on those days.

"The first couple of years weren't pretty. I mostly tried to drink until I couldn't think enough to be sad," Owen admitted. TK felt his throat tighten up at the statement. Had he traded one addict for another? "But that never worked and I realized it wasn't helping anything. So after that, I just sat at home and looked at everything I had left of you. Imagined you were out there somewhere, happy and healthy. And that we would see each other again." At least part of what he wanted was true. But TK didn't have the heart to tell him what wasn't. Did TK have the right to burden him with the truth? What would that accomplish beyond spreading the hurt? TK already lived with it every second of his life. It didn't need to infect anyone else.

"I'm sorry you were sad," TK said sincerely. He still couldn't fathom why anyone would give a damn about him, but his dad sure seemed to. He'd probably never truly understand it.

"I'm sorry I couldn't find you."

TK sat at the table as he watched his dad move around the kitchen. He was lost on what to do now. Back in New York, the only time he was in his apartment was when he couldn't avoid it. Casually hanging around with his mom or Enzo had only been asking for trouble. But now he really had nowhere to go. He didn't know where anything was and his dad didn't seem like the type who would let him wander alone. Maybe not for nefarious reasons, but just because he was afraid of losing him again.

Would he get used to not having as much freedom as he'd had in New York? His mom hadn't cared where he went, as long as it didn't cause her trouble. If she found out he was sleeping in a dumpster every night, she wouldn't have batted an eye, unless it somehow made her garbage bill go up.

TK had seen enough TV shows and movies to know that typical parents had rules and curfews for their kids. What if his dad turned out to be overprotective and strict? Would TK be able to handle it? He could probably handle anything after what Enzo put him through. And having someone care about his every move might even be refreshing for a bit. It would be the easiest way for TK to figure out who they wanted him to be and adapt.

"Dammit," Owen muttered, staring down at this phone in his hand.

"Everything okay?" TK asked warily. Should he be running?

"Yeah, it's just a paperwork issue I need to take care of. But I can't from here, since I need something from the computer in my office," Owen groaned, turning to face him with a hesitant look. "How do you feel about going with me to the station?"