"Is he still asleep?" Edward asked, pouring two cups of coffee and a glass of orange juice.

"Out like a light, poor kid," Steve said, bringing a platter of pancakes to the table.

"We have to figure out what to do with him," Edward putting cream in his coffee. "Haven's all full up."

"We can't send him back! You saw what those monsters did to him when went into the foster care system."

"I don't know what else we can do, sweetheart." Edward stopped abruptly as Robbie walked in from the guest room, Steve's extra pajamas hanging baggily off of his lanky body.

"Do you want some pancakes?"

"You're gonna send me back, aren't you?" Robbie said.

"Eat your pancakes," Steve said. "No one's going anywhere." This got a sideways glare from Edward.

"I've got to get to Haven. We'll talk when I get home."

Robbie slathered his pancakes in maple syrup. "How are you feeling?" Steve asked.

"Ok," Robbie said. "My stitches itch."

"You ready to talk about why you needed them yet?"

Robbie looked down at his plate and grew quiet for a moment. "These are good," he finally said.

"Thanks. It's my dad's famous buttermilk pancake recipe."

"Real good," Robbie said, taking a bite of them sadly. Steve could have kicked himself. He remembered bits and pieces of the trauma this poor kid went through as described by Charlie when he was on suspension. The last thing he probably wanted to hear about was someone else's parents.

"What do you feel like doing today?"

"I figured... I'd um... stay here. Maybe clean up a little. Earn my keep a bit."

"Screw that," Steve said. "How about you and me go on a little outing?"

*

The halls and galleries of the Art Institute seemed cavernous to Robbie as they explored together.

"You're not afraid I'm gonna run?" Robbie asked.

"You're not a prisoner," Steve said. "I hope you don't run, but I can't keep you. I hope you enjoy this. I always wished my dad would take me to the museum or to a play or something when I was a kid. It never happened. I thought... maybe you'd enjoy it."

"I am," Robbie said. "Thanks."

As they traversed time and space through paintings, Robbie stopped at one full stop. He gazed into it, transfixed. Steve looked at the information card: "Mother and Child" by Pablo Picasso. A single tear rolled down Robbie's eye.

"What does the painting say to you?" Steve asked.

"It's just... I've never felt that."

Steve walked a few steps away, leaving Robbie transfixed by the painting. He picked up his phone and dialed.

"David? Hi, it's Steve. Listen... what do you know about the adoption process?"

###