#firefly verse

"I don't know and I don't care." She twists her face away and runs to the sofa, throwing herself on it, her limbs as gangly as her father's.

Bobby sighs and grabs his phone to send a message to Buck and Tommy. He can't remember if they're both on shift. It's also a little concerning how she got here by herself.

"I used my pass card," she says when he quizzes her on this.

That means both Tommy and Buck can track where she boarded and alighted the buses, at least, if they were looking for her. And they would be if she'd suddenly run away from home. At work, then.

"Have you eaten, sweetheart?" Bobby asks. He goes to the pantry and grabs some ingredients. Rory joins him in the kitchen, this being their favorite part of the house, and he hands her her red apron. "I can't believe you ran away while they're working."

"That's all they ever do anyway. They don't care if I live or die," Rory says sulkily.

Bobby puts down the baking tray. "Aurora Joy Kinard. You know that is not true."

At least Rory has the grace to look abashed. Fiddling with the ends of the apron strings, she mumbles, "Sorry."

"Don't make me recount the dramatic circumstances of your birth again."

"Anything but that," Rory drawls, sounding so like her Papa that Bobby snorts. Then she sighs, the weight of the world on her skinny twelve-year-old shoulders. "But why do they hate me then?"

"That is the craziest thing I've ever heard," Bobby says, weighing out flour and sugar and turning on the oven to preheat it.

Rory pouts. "It's true! Shanti is having a humongous party and a sleepover at her place, and she's inviting absolutely everyone, but Papa and Daddy won't let me go to it!"

Bobby frowns. Before he answers her, he hears his phone ringing on the counter. It's Tommy on the line.

"Bobby, is she with you?" Tommy sounds frantic. Even when faced with the threat of prison for stealing city property, Tommy hadn't sounded fazed at all. He must not have seen Bobby's message then.

"Yes, she is. Mixing flour and sugar for me right now, in fact."

"Oh thank God." Relief pours from Tommy's voice. "I've just got home and she was nowhere to be seen and her room was a mess. I was about to call 911."

"Is that Papa or Daddy?" Rory demands. Without waiting for an answer, she yells, "I HATE YOU!"

Bobby winces at the volume. "Come over. Let me figure out what's wrong in the meantime."

"Please, Bobby. She's really... Ugh. I love her, and I'm gonna strangle her for scaring me like this. I'd hate to imagine how Evan would've reacted." Tommy sighs.

Even Bobby has to grimace at the thought. Buck would have torn apart every house in Los Angeles to find his daughter if that is what it takes. "See you in a bit, Tommy."

Turning to Rory, who's now sitting at the island with her arms folded tightly, Bobby asks, "So. What did your fathers say about the party and the sleepover?"

"Daddy called Shanti's mom, and they were talking, and then he argued with her, and then he said I wasn't allowed to go no matter what. I asked Papa to talk to Daddy for me, but he wouldn't! Everyone in class is going, and I'd be the odd one out if I didn't go. Daddy's out to ruin my life, I swear!"

"Your Daddy isn't that sort of person," Bobby reasons. "I've known him a lot longer than I've known you, sweetheart, and he likes kids and he likes parties." Squinting at her, he asks, "What was the argument about?"

"... I don't know."

He raises an eyebrow at her.

"... something about immunity. I didn't listen to all of it."

A suspicion grows, but he's going to wait for Tommy to get here for the full story. Instead, he directs her to add ingredients to the mix and turn on the KitchenAid.

Tommy arrives just as they are putting the first batch of cookies into the oven. His eyes are red-rimmed and his hair unruly, as though he's been running his hands through it. The silver is so much more pronounced now. "Rory, come here. You are in so much trouble, young lady, running away like that."

Rory glares at Tommy before running off to May's old bedroom, slamming the door hard.

"I know we taught you better manners than to slam doors!" Tommy shouts down the hallway, his fists clenched.

"Tommy, easy," Bobby says. "Now, what's this party and Shanti about?"

"She ran away from home because we won't let her go to Shanti's party and sleepover?" Tommy's aghast. Flinging his hands in the air - a decidedly Buck gesture - he says, "It's a chickenpox party! Turns out most of the kids in her class aren't vaccinated against it and Shanti's just got it. They're having a party to infect one another!"

"The whole class?" Bobby is alarmed.

"Precisely! Evan tried to talk sense into Shanti's mom but she wouldn't listen. We've been talking to the other parents and Evan has a whole presentation on what the effects may be. So far, only three others have said they won't go. The other fourteen seem unconcerned. Evan is hopping mad and I think he's two arguments away from calling child protection services on them."

Down the hall, Rory opens the door again and shouts, "I can get chickenpox if I wanted!"

"It's not up to you, because you might die from it! Is that what you want? To die from a stupid party?" Tommy hollers back, and then shuts his eyes and buries his face in his hands. Very very quietly, he takes a long shuddering breath and utters, "Fuck."

"It does sound very inconsiderate and dangerous." Bobby hums and then says, "Organize a vaccination drive and let the parents know. It'll be safer and it's free. Maybe that will deter more from going to an infectious disease party."

Tommy's shoulders slump. "Thanks, Bobby."

Bobby puts a hand on his shoulder. "Emotions are running high, Tommy. I've never heard you shout at Rory."

"I know. I don't..." Tommy lowers his hands and looks away. "Shit. I'm turning into my dad."

With a wry grin, Bobby motions for Tommy to sit on the couch. "I'll go talk to her."

Rory is seated May's bed, her arms still tightly folded around herself. The lopsided heart birthmark on her left arm is still charming, no matter how often Bobby sees it. He grunts as he lowers himself next to her.

"If you catch chickenpox, you're gonna feel really itchy and feverish," he says. Rory doesn't respond. Bobby goes on. "Do you know what your fathers see when they look at you, Rory?"

"Their stupid kid."

"They see their joy, Rory. You bring them joy, every day." Bobby opens an old, callused palm. She puts her hand in his. "I remember when you were just born. So tiny and pink. You had to lie in an incubator."

She won't look at him. But he knows she's seen photos - Buck has a whole wall dedicated to pictures of his little family, with his and Tommy's wedding photo in the heart of it and baby Rory in Tommy's arms. She was in a lacy white dress with a tiny flower crown.

"They don't want you getting sick on purpose, sweetheart. That's all." Bobby squeezes Rory's hand gently. "I don't want you falling sick. Because if you're sick, I can't visit you and neither can Athena or anyone."

"But the whole class is going."

"Tell you what. While they're making one another sick, you can come here and make cookies for them." Bobby kisses the slender hand in his. "Bet they'd feel better that not everyone went and got chickenpox on purpose. Because otherwise they'd have missed out on cookies."

Rory sighs. "Well... Maybe."

Smiling, Bobby stands up and winks at Rory. "Let's go check on our cookies. Then you have to apologize to your father for slamming the door on him."

That pout is definitely Buck's. Rory sticks out her lower lip before rolling her eyes and muttering, "It's not even his door..."

"Then maybe apologize to me first?"

Rory looks up, her sky-blue eyes wide with guilt. "Sorry, Grampa Bo."

"Forgiven," says Bobby, ruffling her short curly hair. "Now, go make things right with your dad."

As Rory trudges out, chin jutting defiantly, Bobby wonders if he should just remodel this room. Rory's inherited Buck's passion and Tommy's stubbornness, and Bobby would rather have Rory coming over even if she's in a snit.