Six year old Pamela Jones skipped happily down the hallway of the house. The special day was not until the next day, but at the moment she was as happy as a child on Christmas Eve. Only, this was not Christmas Eve. It wasn't a holiday and no world event would be taking place. Instead, a few agents would be taking them into the city so that her mother could grocery shop, and she was going to get to go too. Sure, it may have sounded boring to any other kid, but Pamela rarely got to see the city.

Upon reaching her mother's room she leapt onto the bed and began to gently nudge her. "Mommy?" she said softly, "Mommy, it's time to get up."

Her mother grumbled and flipped over turning her back to her daughter. "Mmmm…no, hon, it's Saturday," she sleepily mumbled, "Not yet."

"But, Mommy," she said standing up on her knees as she began to gently rock her mother back and forth, "I need you to teach me how to curl my hair. I want to look pretty tomorrow." Her mother rolled back over and faced her daughter. She smiled and tucked a strand of her daughter's ink black hair behind her ear. "Okay, sweetie," she said, "Just give me a few minutes and go get dressed." With that, the little girl hopped off the bed and excitedly skipped back down the hall to her room.

Veronica looked at their reflection in the bathroom mirror as she ran a comb through her daughter's soft wavy black hair. Pamela resembled her in a lot of ways. She had the same shaped eyes; big and round with long eyelashes, and the same full lips. There were, however, hints of her father in her appearance as well. Her hair color came from her father, and they shared the same eye color of clovery green. Her skin was an even mixture of her own light bronze tone and his fair complexion giving her the skin tone of honey. Sometimes she saw traces of him in her smile. This always gave her mixed emotions. She would do anything it took to protect her daughter from him if he ever came back, but at the same time she was grateful to him. She would not ever go back to undo her relationship with him solely because Pamela was the good that came of it.

Pamela looked up at her mother who had lost herself in her thoughts. "Are you okay?" she asked.

Veronica shook her head and smiled. "I'm fine, baby," she said, "Just thinking about a few things."

"What are you thinking about?"

"Just some boring grown up things," she said, "You wouldn't be interested."

With that, she opened up the drawer and took out her curling iron. She then proceeded to show her daughter how to properly curl her hair.

Pamela twirled around in the red dress she was wearing. "Thanks, Mommy!" she said, "Can you help me tomorrow too?"

"Don't twirl around too much, sweetie," her mother said, "I didn't put any hold in your hair today, and your curls may drop."

But Pamela couldn't help it. She felt and looked like a princess. She spun so fast that she almost lost her balance and fell. Her mother caught her before she could hit the floor. "Come on, sweetie," she said, "How does waffles and whipped cream sound?"

Pamela beamed. "Can I put on the whipped cream?"

Her mother smiled and nodded.

She helped her mother get out the waffle mix and stir the batter. She wanted to add chocolate chips, but her mother said that whipped cream and syrup was enough sugar for the morning. Pamela gave her a pouty face, but this time it didn't work. "Sweetie, go turn on our favorite song," her mother said as an attempt to distract her from her disappointment. It worked. Pamela skipped into the dining room and found the speakers. She picked up her mother's iPod and scrolled to "Orinoco Flow" and pushed play and quickly skipped back into the kitchen to dance like a ballerina as her mother prepared the waffles.

Veronica hummed along with the music as her daughter twirled and twirled around her. "Could you set the table, Pamela?"

Like a good girl, Pamela danced to the pantry and grabbed some napkins, two paper plates, and two placemats and then danced back into the dining room where the music was coming from.

Veronica came in shortly after her with two glasses of orange juice. Pamela grabbed a seat behind one placemat as her mother set down the glasses and waited patiently for her to return with the plate of warm waffles. Her eyes lit up when she came back with not only the waffles, but the can of whipped cream. Her eyes lit up. Veronica laughed as her little girl just could not wait to get her hands on the can.

Pamela smiled at the can as if it were a heavenly gift. "Mommy, say 'ah,'" she said as she stood on top of the chair. Her mother leaned her head back slightly and opened her mouth. Pamela bushed the tube and she accepted the sugary treat before Pamela sprayed some into her own mouth. They both laughed as they licked their lips of any excess cream. "Let's put some on the waffles before they get cold," her mother suggested.

As she watched her daughter eat across from her, she couldn't help but wonder if she was truly happy. She was getting the education she needed from a specially hired tutor, exercise on a daily basis, and she did her best to spend as much time with her as possible, but her life was far from normal. There were few kids on the S.H.I.E.L.D. base, and those few kids were not so accepting of her. There was also the fact that her father was out of the picture. That had both advantages and disadvantages. On one hand, her father was a terrible man who she should never know, but Veronica had seen a different side of him that few people did. There was also the fact that she knew Pamela would start asking questions one day. Until then, she thought to herself as she watched Pamela load more whipped cream on her already smothered waffle, I'm just going to keep enjoying Saturdays.