"Toby, get your shoes off the furniture." He hadn't meant to sound quite that stern, quite like foster fathers of the past.
"Well, fine. You don't have to say it like that." Toby pulled his shoes off and threw them to the side.
"Now, put them in the closet," said Drake.
The boy rolled his eyes but did as he was told.
As Drake walked toward the bathroom, Toby grabbed the remote for the television.
Drake stopped and turned to him. "You should ask before you use the TV."
Toby just shook his head as if it made no sense to him at all. "Why?"
"We only have one room," Drake explained. "The TV may bother me, so you should ask. It's polite."
Another eye roll. "Fine. May I use the TV?"
"Yes."
"Sheesh man, you're wound tight." Toby hopped back on the bed, turned on the television, and started scrolling through channels.
Drake used the bathroom, then went out onto the balcony and breathed in the fresh air while looking out over the city and the ocean. The wind blew through his hair and calmed him. As he relaxed, he found himself piecing together his dreams. Sam. He'd lost Sam. How would she react when he came back? Would she hug him? Hit him? Or would she just leave him once they found Ana, as he'd left her?
His heart sank into his gut and he brushed the thought from his mind. Their love could be mended. He could make things right with her. He would make things right with her. They'd been apart before, and they'd gone through so much together; surely they could bridge the gap between them this time.
Of course, this time was different. Drake had left her. He deserved whatever anger she felt toward him, but he hoped that she could forgive him.
He turned back to watch Toby lying on the bed. He'd settled on some show that sounded like CSI, maybe. One of the CSI shows anyways. It shocked Drake to really consider the fact that there was a kid in his room, a kid under his care. He wondered if this is what it would be like with Ana when she got older. He tried to imagine her at Toby's age. She'd looked like Sam, but with a few of his features too. Strong, but delicate. He pictured her with dark hair like her mother's, and blue eyes like both of her parents. She'd be the most beautiful girl ever, and her smile would light up Daddy's world.
He needed to be with Ana, needed to be there for her as she grew up, for her first crawl and first steps, her first words and first dance with a boy. He could teach her to surf and play guitar. He'd love her and give her the best of everything, the best of himself.
But what did he know about being a good parent?
Toby sat on the bed, sadness still swimming in his heart, the loss of his mother so fresh.
Yet Drake could think of nothing comforting to say or do. What would a father say in a time like this?
He'd never had a father to show him, at least not his own father. The Seeker had told him his father had been a doctor, someone who ran off with his mother before she'd been killed. What had they been like? What kind of person would he be if they hadn't put him in the system and left him there? Would he have been the kind of man who would have stayed with Sam and his baby, if he'd been raised by a family who cared?
Drake looked back toward the ocean, and then toward the city lights. His father could still be out there somewhere. Why hadn't he tried to find Drake? He'd left him, but Drake wouldn't be that kind of father.
Besides, he'd had someone to give him the wisdom of a parent. Father Patrick had raised Drake to know what to do, even if he didn't see the priest as often as he would have liked.
He walked back into the room and sat next to Toby. He thought about putting his arm over the boy, to offer comfort, but decided against it. "Are you okay?"
"What?" Toby asked, as if he wasn't listening, though Drake was sure he heard.
"Are you—" Drake stopped himself. Of course Toby wasn't okay. Crap. "Do you want to talk about what happened?"
Toby seemed to think about it. "Nah." He turned his attention back to the show.
"We're going to drive to Washington tonight. It'll take two days."
"Why?"
"I have... friends there." Drake wondered if that was true anymore. "They'll take good care of you."
"Thanks, but I don't need them."
"I'm sorry, Toby, but you need someone to look after you. You can't just live on the streets."
"Why not?" The boy turned to face Drake. "I spent most of my time out there anyway. It's not like my mother did much to raise me."
Drake understood that, remembered the times when he hated coming home to parents that felt nothing like parents. Still, he needed them. Kids needed someone.
"If you stay on the streets, it's only a matter of time until someone finds you, calls social services. Then you'll be in the system, thrown around from one home to another."