"Daaaaad!"

The front door slammed, and small feet in hiking boots clomped down the hall.

"In the kitchen!" Oliver called out, closing the oven door with his elbow and putting the moussaka on the stove top to cool a little. He pulled the oven mitts off and watched his son walk into the kitchen.

The ten-year-old stopped at the counter, and dipped his finger into the taramasalata. "I found the source of the mysterious odor."

"Hey. Fingers." Oliver plucked a slice of cucumber out of the salad and handed it to his son. "Use this. Now what's this about the smell?"

His kid dragged the cucumber piece through the creamy dip and crunched down. "Mmmm," he hummed around a mouthful, closing his eyes in youthful ecstasy. "Fish paste."

Oliver's lips twitched. "Tommy. The smell."

Tommy opened his eyes, and pushed his glasses up his nose in a gesture so reminiscent of his mother that Oliver almost melted.

"Oh. Yes. It's Olivia, Dad. She found a gigantic dead turtle and dragged it out by that big ant hill behind the house. She wants the shell, and she thinks the ants will pick it clean." Unlike his sister, he thought the whole thing absolutely disgusting. Serious, responsible, and older than his ten years, Tommy had time only for his computers and his books.

"Where is your sister, anyway? Mom will be home any minute, and lunch is about ready."

"I don't know." Tommy carefully selected another slice of cucumber, unaware of the effect his words were about to have on his father. "Maybe she's in her room?"

Oliver, in the middle of taking plates out of the cabinet, looked at his son sharply.

"What do you mean? She didn't come back with you? Where...hey. Tommy." He put the plates down and turned his son toward him. "Look at me. Where did you leave her?"

"We were out by the ant hill." Tommy appeared to grow aware that he might be in trouble. "She was checking on her turtle. I was sitting on a rock, reading, and when I looked up, she was gone."

The bottom fell out of Oliver's stomach, and his heart started racing. He reached out a hand to steady himself against the counter as darkness encroached on his vision, and fought the churning panic before it completely took over.

"Dad?"

The small, uncertain voice of his son provided grounding, and brought him back to reality.

He steadied his voice. "It's OK, son. Go on and set the table. I'll go find her."

Oliver strode out of the house and down the path into the rocks behind the house, fighting against the flicker of fear in his belly that threatened to overwhelm him. He broke into a jog, calling out to his daughter as he made his way to the ant hill.

There was no sight nor sound of Olivia when he got to the pile of decomposing flesh that was his youngest's latest experiment.

"Olivia!" he yelled, spinning around, frantically searching for her. "Olivia!"

With a muffled curse, he was about to head further away from the house, into the wilderness, when he heard the sounds of footsteps on loose rock. A little tow-headed girl appeared, limping and cradling something of vital importance in her cupped hands.

"Hi Daddy!" She didn't look up from her hands, completely unaware that her father was coming apart at the seams. "Look what I found! It's a turtle egg!"

She was absolute mess, as usual. Her pony tail was askew, tendrils of hair standing up crazily around her face, the bloody scrapes on her knees joining the bruises on her shins, some of them fresh, others fading.

He was in front of her before she could even look up at him, lifting her onto a boulder so he could check her for injuries.

"She was just laying them, and I took one for my collection!" Olivia prattled on, oblivious to her father gently prodding her injured knees, or the storm brewing inside him. "There were tons, so I think she won't mind."

Oliver, having made sure his daughter was intact, went from fear to anger in a heartbeat, and fought the instinct to haul her off the rock to land a series of stinging slaps to her backside. Instead, he gritted his teeth, and lifted her into his arms for the journey home.

"You were supposed to stay with your brother."

Olivia was still inspecting her egg, handling it with unusual care for someone her age. "Actually, he was supposed to stay with me. I told him where I was going, he was supposed to follow me." She squirmed in his arms. "Daddy, I can walk."

"Be still. You're limping, so I'm carrying you home."

Apparently, his tone was a little more curt than he had intended, because Olivia looked up at him. "Are you mad, Daddy?"

He took a deep breath. "A little bit, sweetheart. But only because I was scared."

He felt a small, warm hand on his cheek and looked down at his daughter. She stared back at him with a serious, knowing look. "I'm okay. Just a few scratches and bruises. I'm a kid, that's totally normal."

"You're too smart for your own good, Livvie," he muttered.

"Too smart for your own good, you mean," she quipped.

He stopped, and looked down at her with mock severity. "Are you sassing me, kid?"

She grinned cheekily up at him. "Yup."

Oliver started walking again, feeling considerably lighter now that his daughter was safe in his arms once more, and clearly her usual irreverent self.

"Boots." Oliver spoke on autopilot, when he put Olivia down in the entryway and she made a bee line for the kitchen in her dirty footwear. The six-year-old stopped, toed off her hiking boots, and kept walking.

"Back were they belong."

She came to an exaggerated stop, did a silly walk backwards to her boots and picked them up to put them in the closet.

"I'm going to get the first-aid kit." He pointed down the hall. "Wait for me in the kitchen."

She turned, and he was sure he saw an eye-roll. "Daddy, I'm f..."

"Olivia." His tone shut down all argument.

She closed her mouth and headed into the kitchen without another word.

Oliver braced himself against the bathroom counter, and took several deep, calming breaths, looking at himself in the mirror.

"You are never going to survive this," He told his reflection, taking in the crow's feet around his eyes, and the salt and pepper in his hair. She's going to kill you. They are both going to kill you."

"Who's going to kill you?"

He looked up to see his wife watching him from the doorway.

"Olivia. Tommy. Olivia went missing again."

"Oliver." Felicity inserted herself between him and the sink and took a hold of his face. "I talked to Tommy while you were out looking for Olivia. She didn't go missing. She was out playing, and you couldn't find her for a few minutes."

He wrapped his arms around her, pressed his forehead against hers and closed his eyes. They stood silently for a moment, listening to the kids arguing in fluent Greek in the kitchen.

"When I found out Tommy had come back alone..." Oliver's voice shook slightly. "When I realized there was no one who knew where Olivia was, I started blacking out."

Felicity pulled back to look at him, eyes full of compassion, but kept her hands on his face. "Oliver, don't you think it is about time you talked to someone about this?"

He pulled his face free and bent to get the first aid kit out of the cabinet, and to avoid her searching eyes. "Talk to someone about what?"

She waited until he was standing again, and stayed silent until he looked at her. "I'm no expert, but I think you might have a mild case of PTSD."

Oliver snorted. "I've had PTSD. This is nothing like..." He stopped. Some of the things he had experienced were similar to how he'd been after he got back from the island. Not nearly as bad, but he couldn't deny that there were similarities.

Felicity looked at him with nothing but empathy and understanding.

"Our daughter went missing for 24 hours a few months ago. After everything I went through on the island, how could that possibly trigger PTSD?" he argued.

"You don't have to go through something like that to have PTSD. A frightening event is all it takes. And you do have some of the symptoms. I know you're having trouble sleeping at times, and that you have bad dreams, and I'm willing to bet anything that you're having flashbacks and hiding it from me. I also know you're terrified of it happening again, and you feel guilty for it happening in the first place."

She smiled. "Oliver. You are a born protector, and you need to be in control of everything around you. Add children into the mix, especially your own, and you're a ticking time bomb. It's impossible to be in control of everything when it comes to children. Especially when it comes to Olivia. I'm surprised you lasted as long as you did."

Oliver considered his wife's words, and wondered as well how he hadn't gone absolutely insane years ago. When he had held his son for the first time, a quiet, serious baby looking up at him with a steady blue-eyed gaze, he'd been terrified. When he held his daughter, red-faced and squalling angrily, tiny fists flailing, he'd nearly had a panic attack.

"I do worry about Olivia a lot more than Tommy."

"So do I. Tommy is a responsible kid who thinks before he acts. I mean, the kid is 10 going on 30. Olivia, on the other hand..." Felicity smiled fondly. "She's the spitting image of you in so many ways."

Oliver looked pained. "Not helping, honey."

"She's reckless and impulsive..."

"And scary smart. Like you."

"...and scary smart. Add to that her love of nature and biology, and you're going to have to expect her to fall out of a few trees or into ponds or something."

Oliver squeezed his eyes shut at her words, and a tremor coursed through him. Felicity pulled the first aid kit out of his hands, set it on the counter, and pressed her body up against his, wrapping her arms around him. He opened his eyes at the contact, and she had never seen him look so wild.

She knew him so well, he didn't need to say anything for her to pretty accurately guess that he was wishing he could somehow lock his daughter up until she had learned some sense, or even better...

"No, Oliver. We are not hiring a bodyguard to watch our daughter for every second she is out of our sight."

Oliver raised an eyebrow. "How did you..."

She gave him a look. "Seriously? I know you inside and out by now. I can read you like an open book."

"Twenty-four hours, Felicity. She was missing for twenty-four hours."

"And we found her. You found her, Oliver, just like you said you would. And half the island turned out to help. And she was fine..."

"She wasn't fine."

"...she had some scratches and bruises, a badly sprained ankle, and she was suffering from mild dehydration. She was fine."

Oliver rubbed his hands down his face and dropped his head, eyes squeezed shut, fingers lacing behind his head. "She could have broken her neck!"

"But she didn't!" She pulled his arms away and pushed his chin up, forcing him to look at her. "Oliver. She didn't. You have to stop doing this to yourself. You'll go crazy if you keep this up."

He smiled tentatively and slipped his arms around her, the tension slowly melting out of him. "What would I do without you?" Then, getting serious, "Where would I be? Who would I be?"

"I'm not sure I want to think about that," she laughed. Then she too got serious again. "Listen, Oliver, I don't think it's fair to put Tommy in charge of watching his sister. That's too big a responsibility for a ten-year-old. I don't want that kind of pressure on him."

He sighed. "I know. I realized that today, when I saw the look on his face. He thought he was in trouble. I'll tell him over lunch."

Felicity smiled in relief. "Good." She kissed him softly. "Now..." she whispered against his lips. "How about a quick fuck before we go back out there?"

Her words went straight to his groin and he moaned. "God I love it when you talk dirty," he rasped, his arms tightening around her. "But what about the kids?"

Felicity pulled away from him and closed the bathroom door. "The kids are why it's going to have to be quick."

Oliver went into action immediately, hauling Felicity back to him and lifting her onto the counter, his hand scrabbling at the hem of her dress.

"Wait!" she hissed, pushing his hand away. "I want to watch us." She hopped off the counter and turned, reaching for the back of her skirt.

Now it was Oliver's turn to stop her, locking eyes with her reflection, his voice low and deep. "Hey. That's my job."

With a suggestive smile, Felicity bent forward, bracing her arms on the counter, and thrust her ass out in invitation. Oliver wasted no time pushing the material up to her waist.

A loud knock sounded on the door, and they leaped apart like teenagers caught in the act.

"Mom? Dad?" It was their daughter, talking to them through the door. "Are you coming out soon? My knee hurts and I'm hungry!"

"We're coming!" Felicity called out, arranging the folds of her dress.

"No we're not," Oliver muttered. "We never even got the chance to try."

Felicity snorted, opening the door. "We were looking for this." She held up the first aid kit.

Olivia crossed her arms, eyeing her mother suspiciously. "With the door closed?"

"We were doing secret grown-up stuff." Oliver said as he came out behind his wife. "To the kitchen, kid. Let's take a look at that knee, and have lunch."

"You were kissing, weren't you?" She looked up at him shrewdly, falling in beside him.

He smiled down at her, tugging her pony tail. "Something like that, yes."

"Gross." Olivia wrinkled her nose in distaste and gave an exaggerated shudder.

Oliver seized the moment. "Yes. Totally gross. Never forget that."

Felicity stifled her laughter and followed them into the kitchen.

Back in the kitchen, Oliver lifted his daughter onto the counter.

"Eeew..." Olivia pushed the bowl of taramasalata away from herself with one finger, like it would contaminate her. "Fish paste."

"Actually, it's fish egg paste," Tommy taunted from his seat in the breakfast nook, not even looking up from his tablet.

Felicity rescued the so-called fish paste from the counter before Olivia sent it over the edge in disgust, and set it on the table near her son.

"Tommy." She held out her hand. "The tablet."

He closed out and handed it to his mother, who placed it on the counter. Electronics where not allowed at the table during mealtimes.

"Alright, let's do this." Oliver opened the kit, removing cotton swabs and disinfectant. There was a brief battle and a loud shriek as Olivia tried and failed to stop him from cleaning her scraped knees with the "stingy stuff" - they were out of the child-friendly version - followed by a few seconds of angry tears and sulking. But she was soon distracted by the prospect of her father's moussaka, her absolute favorite.

Oliver dished out the moussaka, and Olivia carefully carried each plate to the table, the tip of her tongue poking out between her lips. He brought the last plate himself, holding it out so Felicity could add some of the salad.

"Ok, guys, quick family meeting." He set the plate down in front of his son, and slid in next to him. "Tommy, you're no longer your sister's keeper. I should never have put you in charge of her. I want you both to look out for each other, but you're not responsible for each other. That's my job."

"And mine," Felicity chimed in.

"And your mother's," Oliver amended. "And you," he continued sternly, pointing at his daughter. "You are not to wander off on your own again. If you want to go somewhere, you need to tell one of us where you are going."

"I told Tommy." Olivia crammed a huge fork-full of moussaka in her mouth. "He didn't hear me."

"You need to tell your mom or me, Liv," he clarified. "That's not negotiable. Understood?"

"I might not be able to do that, Daddy," she said, clearly not understanding - or choosing not to understand - the seriousness of what he was saying. "I would have lost the turtle if I'd had to come back and tell you first."

Oliver closed his eyes and took a deep breath through his nose. He opened his mouth to speak, but Felicity had already stepped in. She gently took the fork out of her daughter's hand. "Olivia. Look at me." She waited until she had her full attention. "Forget the turtle. The island is full of turtles, it won't be the last one you see. You either tell us where you're going, or you don't go out on your own anymore. Is that clear?"

Olivia wanted to argue, but she was a smart girl, and she knew when the battle was lost. "It's clear, Mom. I won't go anywhere without telling you."

"That's my good girl." Felicity gave her her fork back, catching Oliver's eyes. He shot her a grateful look. I love you, he mouthed.

She gave him a gentle smile, and slow-blinked her love right back at him.

"How does that even happen?" Felicity whispered, looking at their sleeping daughter in awe.

They were standing in the doorway of her bedroom, having checked on Tommy first, before heading off to bed themselves. Tommy had been curled up under his sheets in a neatly made bed and tidy, spartan room. Books were arranged in tidy rows, alphabetically by genre, and his clothes were folded neatly on a chair. Only his desk, covered in computer guts and sundry tools, was a mess.

Olivia on the other hand...her room looked like she had brought half the island in with her. Anything that happened to look interesting was collected and brought back to her lair. Rocks, insect casings, and the molted skins of snakes were randomly arranged on shelves and table tops with no apparent sense of order. A rickety desk held a microscope, inexplicably lying on its side, and a glass-topped box which housed her collection of eggs. Animal bones and clothes were strewn around the room.

The child herself was sprawled on her stomach across the whole bed, visible in the soft glow of her aquarium. Her pajama top was bunched under her armpits and her pajama pants were hanging off one ankle. No matter what she wore when she went to sleep, she somehow almost always managed to kick off her clothes during the night, ending up naked.

"I used to do that all the time, apparently," Oliver laughed quietly.

Felicity leaned against him. "Was your room also such a mess?"

"No." He put his arm around her and kissed her temple. "Billionaire mansion, remember? We had staff to clean up after us."

With one last look at their offspring, Felicity quietly closed the door, and they continued down the hall to their bedroom.

Oliver was writing in his journal when Felicity came out of the bathroom, naked, and slipped into bed beside him. She stretched out on her back, and closed her eyes with a deep, exhausted sigh.

He marked his page with the pen, and set the journal on the night table, turning off the light.

"Hey," he murmured at the dark ceiling. "The kids are asleep. Wanna finish what we started before lunch?"

"Absolutely," she responded sleepily. "We have to seize our chance when we can, right?"

His voice, when he replied, was rough with sleep. "Right."

Neither of them made a move, and they fell asleep within seconds of each other.