When Baxter wakes up Sunday morning, he is greeted by the smell of fresh pancakes and freshly brewed coffee. On the kitchen table is a rather uneven and sloppy-looking stack of flapjacks, and the coffee pot next to his usual mug, which itself is beside a small card that reads 'Happy Father's Day'. The word 'Father' is crossed out in red marker and underneath it reads 'Chief'.
When Baxter woke up that morning, he was expecting anything but this. Small furry cannonballs straight to his stomach by Dala, a sore back from sleeping in a funny position, or even the sound of yells from the couple fighting across the hall. But breakfast from the kid? And coffee too?
The detective shuffled out of bed quicker than normal, lured by the smells of breakfast and a strong cup of coffee. It was easy to tell just how out of sorts Baxter was, coming to sit down at the kitchen table. Pushing up the sleeves of his bathrobe, he was ready to dig in, when he saw the card.
........wait, what day was it? It wasn’t his birthday, that was for sure. Mother’s day had already passed (a three hour conversation with his mum), so that meant....hmm.
For a private investigator, he was shit with dates.
“Skiddo, what’s this for?” Baxter plucked the card from the table, brows furrowing as he worked to open it. He was strangely gentle, so utterly unused to this sort of behavior from the young girl.
He opened the card. And read.
And the lines of his face just softened.
Baxter’s relationship with his father was....strained. After his brother’s death, he was never the same, and any interaction between the two was sure to end up in a fistfight and a broken nose.
He never thought he would have kids either; his job was too dangerous, and anybody who entrusted him with a child was either stupid, or crazy. And yet, somehow, he ended up with a scrap of a kid who decided to make him breakfast on Father’s Day.
Maybe being a dad wasn’t so bad after all.
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