He must have looked out of place in the dance studio. While there were mothers watching their kids dancing in tutus and ballet slippers, he was one of the only men. He sat against the wall, arms crossed over his chest as he watched his stepdaughter.

She was following along to the teacher’s instructions, occasionally pausing to look at him. His heart was overcome with a kind of pride when she beamed at him. It was only furthered when she waved eagerly, over the moon that he was here.

Once the dance class was over, Phil had helped gathered his stepdaughter’s things, carrying them all for her. He listened, eagerly, as she spoke rapidly about the class.

Even when he settled her into the vehicle, helping her buckle, she had talked. Her excitement over seeing him was unmatched. As he got into the driver’s seat he looked at her through the rearview mirror, smiling at her.

“Alright princess, let’s go see your mama.” Phil spoke gently to her, a contradiction to how ruthless he was as a commander.

He watched her dart into the house to find you, your daughter just as likely to talk your ear off. Like before, Phil had taken all of her things in, setting them by the door before he greeted you.