#daughter!reader

The kiss started out sweet, innocent. You and Mack, laying on his bed, movie playing in the background. It’s the first time you’ve been together in person in months, and you haven’t let go of each other since your plane landed in San Jose earlier this evening.

Mack and Will picked you up from the airport, then took you to their favorite pho restaurant for dinner. Then you and Mack dropped Will off at his apartment, and came back here, to Mack’s. The rest of your trip to San Jose, a week long, is jam-packed full of fun activities, catching up with people, going to one of Mack’s games tomorrow. But tonight, you both agreed that it would be best to just have a quiet night in with just the two of you.

At first, the intention was just to put on a movie, cuddle, and then fall asleep.

That didn’t last long.

Pretty soon you were kissing his cheek. And then his lips. And then you were straddling his lap, making out with more desperation than you thought was possible.

Mack’s tongue is in your mouth, massaging yours. His hands are planted on your ass, holding you tight against him as his hips twitch up every few seconds. He’s hard. Really hard.

You can tell by the way Mack’s hands are gripping and kneading at the fat of your ass, how he’s shaking with the effort to hold himself back from dragging you across his boner, that he wants more. His entire body hums with barely restrained need, fingers gripping you just a bit too tight, his kisses a bit too eager. This is the farthest the two of you have ever gone, heated makeouts that stutter to an end once Mack realizes he’s not going to be able to hold himself back very much longer.

Every time you reach this point, this level of hunger and anticipation, and then Mack pulls away. Separates your bodies, puts as much space between you, and clenches his eyes shut while taking deep breaths.

And while it can definitely be a little frustrating that he has yet to allow the two of you to go farther than heavily making out, you do understand why.

You’re a virgin.

There were a few guys before Mack, but not very many. And of the few, you didn’t feel comfortable having sex with any of them. Definitely not losing your virginity to them. So you held off. When you started dating Mack, you were very transparent from the beginning about how you’ve yet to go all the way with someone, and that you want it to be with a person that you love and can trust.

Well, there’s no one you love or trust more than Mack.

You’ve decided that tonight is the night. You want him, so badly, and you know that he wants you, too. It’s definitely a little bit intimidating to think about, but you want this, want to do it with him.

And, quite frankly, your fingers just aren’t cutting it anymore.

You test the waters by grinding down, ever so slightly, on Mack’s thick bulge, which has been pressing into your core for the past ten minutes. He groans, low and hot, into your mouth, hips stuttering for a few seconds before he schools them back into complacency. You smirk, kissing the corner of his mouth, then his jaw, then finding his pulse point and beginning to suck a mark into it.

Mack’s head tips back, little moans escaping his mouth as you swivel your hips. You kiss up and down his neck, one hand tangled in the hair at the nape of his neck, the other sliding under his hoodie and t-shirt, scratching lightly at his ribcage. His entire body shudders, and you smirk.

For a few seconds, he loses himself in it. Mack plants his hands on your hips, grinds up into you, and holds you down against him so that you can both feel it. He’s moaning unashamedly now, eyes clenched shut, heat rising up his cheeks.

The air between the two of you is charged with so much electricity you both feel like live wires, moving frantically and desperately.

But then it hits him. What he’s doing, where this is headed.

“Wait,” Mack’s voice is breathless, chest still heaving up and down as he starts to push you off of him, face full of pain at just the thought of stopping.

“No, no,” you say, hands grabbing Mack’s and putting them back on your hips. He looks up at you, eyes wide, shocked and hopeful at the same time. “Don’t stop.”

Mack’s eyebrows are nearly in his hair now. “What?” he gasps, sitting up straighter. “W-What… what are you talking about?”

You place your hands on Mack’s cheeks, then lean in to press a sweet kiss to his lips. When you pull back, you just look at him for a second, gather your courage, and then say it. “Mack… I’m ready.”

“Ready?” he echoes, a look of pure disbelief on his face, like he’s trying not to get his hopes up.

“Yeah,” you giggle. “I’m ready. To have sex. With you.”

You feel Mack’s cock twitch below you.

“A-Are you sure?” he stutters out. “Because, you said that you wanted to have your first time with someone who you love and trust, and I don’t want you to rush anything because you think I want it. I’m totally okay. Don’t do it because you think I wanna do it, I only wanna do it if you wanna do it. I don’t want you to feel pressured, or worried, or–”

“Mack,” you cut him off. “I love and trust you. So much. I want to do this with you.”

He just blinks at you for a few seconds, before his shocked expression slowly morphs to one of happiness, and excitement.

You let out a yelp of surprise as Mack flips the two of you so that you’re laying down, and Mack is holding himself above you.

He kisses you again, smushing your lips together, teeth clashing. You’re both smiling into the kiss, giggling a little bit. There’s a sense of disbelief in the fact that this is actually happening, that you’re about to have sex for the first time.

Mack isn’t a virgin. He’s only had one long-term girlfriend (who he lost it to), and another girl that he hooked up with right before he got drafted. So even though he’s got slightly more experience with you, he’s by no means experienced.

“We’re um, we’re gonna have to get you ready. Prep you,” he says, pulling away suddenly.

You smile at him, biting your bottom lip. “Okay,” you respond. Your hands slide down from where they’ve been holding onto his shoulders down to your shorts, and hook your fingers in the waistband. “So, should I take these off?”

Mack gulps, eyes glued to the little sliver of stomach exposed by your shirt having ridden up a bit. He just stares hungrily for a few seconds, before apparently remembering that you’d asked him a question. So he looks up again, pupils dilated, and nods.

He shifts to the side so you can shimmy your shorts down your legs. You kick them off, leaving you in just your cotton panties, and a tiny tank top. His eyes rove up and down your body, drinking in every curve, every bit of exposed skin, practically drooling at the sight of you.

Mack looks up again, your eyes locking with his. “You’re so beautiful,” he says.

You know he’s not just talking about your body. That he’s talking about every part of you, your mind, your personality, and also your body. The reverence in his voice makes your heart soar, makes you smile, because you never thought that you would ever feel this loved. It’s an amazing feeling, and you’re so incredibly grateful that you have such an amazing boyfriend.

Mack leans in and softly kisses your lips, then your cheek, then your neck, then your shoulder. He kisses down your body, finding his way to your hip. He’s laying on his stomach now, gazing up at you with such soft, lust-filled eyes. He holds your gaze as his thumbs slip under the thin fabric at your sides, caressing your hipbone.

You watch with bated breath as he lifts his head, anticipation and arousal curling low in your stomach. Eyes still locked on yours, Mack leans in and presses a kiss to your clothed cunt, soft as ever.

“Haah,” you breathe, fingers twitching at your side.

Mack’s eyes drift closed, pressing his face harder into you. His tongue peeks out, kitten licking at your core. You let out a gasp at the feeling, one of your hands clutching the sheets, and the other flying to the back of Mack’s head, finger tangling in his hair. He stays like that for a minute, tongue wetting your panties, eyes closed in bliss. When they flutter open, slow, they’re glazed over, hungry.

His hold on the sides of your panties tightens, and he inches it down ever so slightly. He pulls back just enough to ask in a hoarse voice, “Can I?”

“Yeah,” you nod frantically, excitedly. “Yes, please.”

Mack smirks, and doesn’t hesitate. The drag of the fabric sends shivers down your spine as he slowly exposes you, your knees coming together as he pulls your panties off your feet and tosses them somewhere over your shoulder. He tsks, placing his hands on your knees and slowly spreading them, coming face to face with your center.

“Don’t hide from me,” he murmurs softly. “Never, baby.”

He settles himself back on his belly, throwing your ankles over his shoulders while simultaneously hooking his arms under your thighs. You can feel his breath ghosting over your folds, your entire body shuddering with anticipation and arousal, eyes half-lidded as you watch Mack slowly lower his head, mouth opening.

You inhale at the feeling of his tongue flattening against you, licking from your hole up to your clit. Your entire body feels like it’s on fire, a shiver wracking through you as his lips find your clit and close around it, sucking harshly once and then pulling away.

“How’re you doing, baby?” he asks, already panting. You’re staring up at the ceiling, breathing heavy, mind racing and already empty with how amazing it feels. Mack taps your thigh lightly, bringing your attention back to him. “You gotta talk to me, babe. Gotta tell me what feels good, so I know you’re enjoying yourself.”

You playfully roll your eyes, but smile down at him. “Feels good, Mackie. Keep going,” you reassure as you play with Mack’s hair, massaging his scalp with your fingers in the way that you know he likes. He hums happily, accepting your response, and then he’s back to work.

Up until now, the only person pleasuring you has been yourself. With your fingers and toys, lots of times throughout your life. But it’s never felt like this. This electric, this all-consuming, this… amazing.

Mack’s lips are wrapped around your clit, sucking gently but steadily, causing your back to arch. His tongue keeps moving down to gather as much of your wetness into his mouth, greedily slurping it up. The combination of the sight of him, absolutely going to town on you, as well as the audible wet sounds is almost too much for you to handle, your entire body buzzing with the sensation of your boyfriend’s mouth on you, sucking and licking so perfectly.

And right when you start to think there’s no way that this could possibly get better, you feel Mack’s finger prodding at your entrance.

He lifts his eyes, searching yours for any sign of discomfort. You moan, nodding your head, and then he pushes in.

For some reason, you thought you had a good idea of what it would feel like to have something inside of you like this. You’ve been using tampons since you were sixteen, when Anna (Geno’s wife) finally explained how they work.

You were absolutely not prepared.

A gasp leaves your mouth as Mack pushes in to the first knuckle. He holds it there for a second, tongue laving on your clit to distract you from the feeling of the stretch. It’s a foreign feeling, but not an unpleasant one. Mack wraps his lips around your clit and starts sucking, the feeling punching another moan out of you.

He slips his finger in farther, farther. More and more as you loosen up, and then he’s shallowly pumping it in and out, eyes flicking up to your face every few seconds to gauge your reaction.

“M-Mack…” you whimper, throwing your head back against the pillows. “Oh f-fuck,”

You feel him smirk against you, finger plunging in and out of you. He’s going slow, but deep, curling his finger when it’s buried to the third knuckle, caressing a spot inside you that you didn’t even know existed, a coil of arousal tightening in your belly with every movement.

But then he does something else.

He pulls his finger out all the way. You start to whine at the loss of touch, but it’s quickly cut off by the feeling of two fingers pushing into you.

Mack’s eyes are glued to your face, noting every little change in your expression as he starts slowly fingering you with his middle and ring fingers, kitten licking your clit to keep you opening up for him. Your thighs are shaking, attempting to close with every push in, but his shoulders are blocking them.

You clench around his fingers, small uh uh uhs leaving your mouth at his actions, and Mack clenches his eyes shut. He drops his forehead to rest on your hipbone, fingers continuing to plunge in and out of you. The wet squelch of your cunt is music to his ears, and the sight of you like this is something that he’s been dreaming about for months. He never wanted to pressure you, and has gone to great lengths to make sure you never felt like you had to do anything with him just to make him happy.

Mack has spent the last six months imagining you every time he wanted to get off. Cock in hand, eyes shut, cheeks pink, he would imagine all the things he wanted to do with you, all the things he wanted to do to you.

Actually seeing you like this? It’s ten million times better than he ever thought it would be.

He doesn’t realize that he’s doing it, not right away at least. But you do.

You glance down at Mack, breathing heavily against your skin, fingers steadily pumping in and out. Through your haze of pleasure, you notice something. Mack’s hips are shifting, up and down. And then it dawns on you: he’s humping the mattress.

Another loud groan leaves your mouth at the realization, your stomach getting hot, and you feel your arousal begin to gush again, coating Mack’s fingers and hand. “Oh my god,” you sob, your own hips bucking up to meet his fingers with every thrust.

All of a sudden, it’s not enough. You need Mack to be getting off too, to have him closer to you than anyone else has been, to have him inside of you.

“Mack,” your voice is wrecked. “Mack please. Need you inside of me.”

His head snaps up, jaw dropped open. He starts nodding, frantically, easing his fingers out of you as gently as possible. He leaves one last loving lick to your clit before sitting up straighter, hands reaching to the back of his shirt to tug it off frantically and throw it over his shoulder.

You do the same with your tank, grunting slightly as it gets caught on your ear. When it clears your head, you open your eyes to see Mack staring directly at your tits, jaw dropped, drool beginning to pool in the corner of his mouth. In the same moment, your eyes dart down to Mack’s lap, which is now exposed. He’s still wearing his jeans, which sport a large, painful-looking bulge. You watch in amazement as Mack’s hand drifts down, and starts palming at the bulge, just at the sight of you.

Butterflies take flight in your stomach as you let out a hot breath.

He just looks at you for a second, eyes drinking in every inch of you. You shift a little bit, which seems to snap him from his stupor. He swallows, thickly, and then starts pulling his pants and boxers down, his blushing, hard cock popping out.

Your eyes widen. “Oh… my god,” you mutter, sitting up straighter to get a better look. Sure, you’ve watched porn before, seen a few dirty pictures in magazines and things like that, but you’ve never seen a penis in real life before.

One of your hands reaches out, curious. Without thinking, you wrap your fingers around his length, feeling the warm, smooth skin throb as soon as you touch it.

“Fuck…” Mack breathes, eyes glued to your hand on his cock. His chest goes bright red, stomach clenching and a helpless little noise leaving his mouth as you squeeze.

Your eyes snap up to the way he reacts, amazed at the sight and feeling of him. You pull your hand back, Mack watching, heart racing, as you reach down to your cunt, gather some of your slick, and then return your hand to his cock. Mack nearly doubles over as you start stroking him up and down, the glide easy now that you have the lubrication, smiling at his reaction.

“Y’gonna kill me,” he gasps out, eyes glued to your hand, at the innocent, curious way you’re touching him. He only lets you go on for about a minute, suddenly grabbing your hand and ripping it away from him. When you look up, curious and worried, he rushes to reassure you. “It feels so, so good baby. I just… I won’t be able to last.”

The admission brings another smile to your face, but worsens the ache in your pussy.

“Are you… are you ready?” Mack asks, bracing his forearms on either side of your head. His thick cock rests heavy on your stomach, precum drippling down from his tip and onto your navel.

You nod, heart thumping against your ribcage, anticipation building in your stomach. “Yeah,” your voice is shaky, but there’s a smile on your face.

Mack is smiling, too.

He pulls away, reaching for his jeans. You shiver, wrapping your arms around yourself, and watch as he pulls his wallet from his back pocket, reaching inside to reveal a condom. You give him a look at the fact that he had one in his wallet, had one ready, but he ignores you as he rips it open, and slides it on with pink cheeks.

When he returns, he holds himself above you again. One hand holding him up, the other wrapped around his cock. He gives it a few tugs, before lining himself up with your entrance.

The feeling of his head pressed to your hole has you reaching up to grasp his shoulders, eyes locking onto his. Mack gives you the softest, most reassuring smile, one hand moving to caress the soft skin of your thigh next to his hip, before pushing in.

“Oh!” you yelp. Just the head is inside you, and you already feel split in half. You glance down, gasping once again when you realize just how much more has yet to enter you.

“You okay?” Mack asks, nuzzling into your cheek, pressing loving kisses against your skin. “Talk to me baby, tell me how you feel.”

“G-Good,” you stutter out, taking deep breaths, willing yourself to relax. “Y-You’re big….”

Mack groans, hips stuttering, as he drops his head to your shoulder. He pushes in another inch, causing you to hiss, nails digging into his shoulder. “Can’t say things like that, baby,” he says into your shoulder. “Gonna make me cum too soon.”

You smile, wrapping your arms around his neck and holding onto him as he eases the rest of the way inside. He goes slow, gentle, thumb finding your clit and pressing into it to make you feel good.

When he’s pushed all the way in to the hilt, he stays like that for a few moments, letting you adjust to the feeling. He holds you, pressing kisses to your face, whispering loving words into your ear. “Doing so good, baby, so pretty. Taking me so perfect. You feel so good.”

You can feel him practically vibrating with need, his stomach clenching, chest heaving against yours. His hips twitch every few seconds, desperate for stimulation, but he holds himself back. Forces himself to stay still for your benefit. It’s sweet, and you’re eternally grateful for him, and how thoughtful he is. That, and you’re also thankful for how pretty he looks like this. Pink cheeks, mouth dropped open in a constant low whine, cock twitching inside of you every time you clench. He grinds into your clit, moving as little as possible while also trying to pleasure you.

You have the most perfect boyfriend in the world.

“Mack,” you say, voice unsteady yet confident. “You can move now. P-Please, move.”

Mack does his best to not look too excited, but fails. He nods, and dutifully raises himself up a bit, leaning in to kiss you as he pulls his hips back, swallowing your moan at the feeling of him sliding out of you. His thumb finds your clit again, pressing on your button as he slides all the way back inside, the dull head of his cock thumping against that spot again. That spot that feels really good.

After that, it’s like Mack can’t hold himself back anymore. He pulls back again, thrusting inside with as much gentleness as he can muster while also trying to sate his need for you. Little noises leave your with every thrust, little moans and whines and whimpers that were music to Mack’s ears.

He moves to your neck, softly sucking marks into the soft skin there. You whine at the feeling, tilting your head to give him better access as he continues to pump himself in and out.

The steady thump of him inside of you, combined with the feeling of him kissing at your pulse point and pressing on your clit, has you teetering on the edge within minutes. You can tell Mack’s there too, based on the way his moans have gotten louder and closer together, directly in your ear, and the way his thrusts are getting sloppier.

Mack takes a deep breath, then starts doubling down. “Cum for me,” he says. “C’mon baby, let me feel it.”

You’re shaking like a leaf, eyes rolling to the back of your head with pleasure. Your nails are digging into Mack’s biceps, he hisses but doesn’t falter.

“S-So tight…” he grunts out as he continues fucking you like his life depends on it, the steady smack of his hips hitting yours sounding throughout he room, mixing with your moans and his. “Feels so good baby. So good….”

You hit your peak not long after that, the coil snapping in your stomach. You cry out, legs wrapping around his middle, holding him to you as you ride it out.

Mack finishes, buried inside you, nose pressed to your cheek while you come down from your orgasm. He lays against your for a few minutes, neither of you saying anything as you catch your breath. You stay pressed together like that, Mack softening inside of you, your fingers tangled in his hair. For everything that you and Mack have done together before this, you’ve never felt closer to him than right now, and you fucking love it.

After a few minutes, he lifts his head, looking at you with such raw concern it makes your heart ache. “Was that okay?” he asks. “Are… are you okay?”

You nod, feeling a blissed out smile come onto your face. “I’m great,” you say breathily, laughing a little bit. “That was… amazing.”

“Really?” Mack sits up straighter, disbelief written across his face.

You nod, pulling him down and into a kiss. “Yeah, Mackie. That was great. I’m so thankful that my first time was with you.” Your smile is wide, pressing your forehead to his.

Mack just kisses you again, smiling into it, holding you tight.

You know that it’s early, that you probably shouldn’t be thinking things like this, but Mack is it for you. You know it. The connection that the two of you have, the way he makes you feel. For most of your life, it’s been just you and your dad, and a part of you thought that it always would be. You really struggled meeting people your age growing up, especially guys. You never thought that you would experience love like this, and feeling like this with Mack? You’re so unbelievably grateful for him, and count your lucky stars for him every day.

The two of you lay together like that for a few minutes, basking in each other’s presence, holding each other. After such an intimate moment, combined with the fact that this is the first night you’re going to spend in each other’s arms after being apart for so long.

“I love you so much,” Mack whispers into your ear, pressing loving kisses to your cheek. “I can’t believe how lucky I am, that I get to be with you.”

You smile, feeling your entire being swell with love and happiness. You open your mouth, about to say something, when your phone buzzes on the other side of the bed.

Groaning, you reach over, pulling it closer to you before picking it up.

“Oh fuck,” you say, laughing. “It’s a text from my dad.”

“What?” Mack sits up, panicked.

You giggle at his reaction, as if your dad were to walk through the door at this very moment and catch the two of you… like this. “He’s just asking if I got here safe,” you smile, typing out a quick response. “You’re fine, babe.”

Mack lets out a sigh of relief. “Okay, good.”

He lays back down, nuzzling into your neck, letting out a sigh of relief. In a few minutes, you’re going to tell him to get up and clean you off. Maybe take a shower, but you’re concerned about how well you’ll be able to stand, considering your legs feel like jelly right now. Then you’re going to fall asleep in your boyfriend’s arms, and you’re going to sleep in tomorrow morning.

Nothing has ever felt more natural than this.

This feels like the start of forever, the beginning of the rest of your life with Mack, and you can’t wait to see how your life intertwines with his.

Rebecca shifts Yn higher on her hip, pressing a kiss into her daughter’s curls. Yn doesn’t respond.

Normally, this would be her favorite part of the day.

“Mi amor,” Rebecca murmurs softly, brushing her thumb along Yn’s chubby cheek. “Look, Carmen’s here.”

Carmen looks up from her coffee immediately, eyes lighting up. “Hola, princesa,” she says warmly, switching to Spanish without thinking. “¿Quieres venir con tía Carmen?”

Yn usually would. Usually, she’d wriggle free, toddle over, climb straight into Carmen’s lap and chatter away in her mix of toddler Spanish and nonsense sounds. But today, Yn only tightens her grip on Rebecca’s shirt, her little face scrunched into a pout so deep it looks practiced.

Her bottom lip trembles.

Rebecca sighs quietly.

“She’s still upset,” she says apologetically.

Carmen reaches out anyway, gently tickling Yn’s foot. “Ay, pobrecita. Still missing Papá?”

Yn sniffles and buries her face into her mother’s shoulder.

Across the table, Lily leans forward, resting her chin in her hands. “That bad, huh?”

Rebecca lets out a small, helpless laugh. “Carlos went to press half an hour ago. You’d think I dropped her off at boarding school.”

“It’s because she’s literally his shadow,” Kika says fondly, sipping her drink. “I swear, I’ve never seen a child more attached.”

“That’s an understatement,” Rebecca replies.

Yn Sainz, three years old, curly-haired, brown-eyed, stubborn in the exact same way her father is, is not just attached to Carlos. She is glued to him. If Carlos stands, she stands. If he walks, she waddles behind him as fast as her short legs allow. If he sits, she climbs. If he disappears, even for a moment, the world might as well be ending.

Carlos encourages it too much.

He carries her everywhere. On his shoulders through the paddock, balanced on one arm while talking to engineers, perched on his lap during meetings when no one dares to say a word. Yn loves it. Loves being close, loves tangling her fingers in his hair, loves pressing her cheek to his neck and whispering secrets only he is allowed to hear.

Rebecca has learned, over time, that separating them is an emotional operation requiring planning, patience, and usually tissues.

Today was no different.

Carlos had crouched in front of Yn before leaving, holding her tiny hands in his big ones.

“Papá has to go talk for a little bit,” he’d said gently. “I’ll be back, okay?”

Yn’s eyes had immediately filled with tears.

“No,” she’d said firmly, shaking her head. “Papá come.”

“I know, cariño,” Carlos had whispered, pulling her into his chest. “I know.”

Rebecca remembers the way his jaw tightened, the way he’d closed his eyes for a second like physically walking away hurt him. It always does.

Now, sitting at the café, Rebecca feels like she’s carrying half a heartbreak in her arms.

Lily tries next. She slides her chair closer and opens her arms. “Do you want a cuddle with Lily?”

Yn peeks up briefly, eyes red and glassy, considers it, then shakes her head and hides again.

Kika pulls a silly face. Nothing.

Carmen hums a soft Spanish lullaby. Yn sniffles harder.

Rebecca rubs slow circles on her daughter’s back. “She’ll calm down,” she says, though she doesn’t fully believe it. “She just needs time.”

“She’s like a little duckling,” Lily says softly. “Imprinted and everything.”

Rebecca smiles sadly. “Tell me about it.”

Minutes pass. Coffee cools. Conversation continues around them, but Rebecca barely hears it. Yn stays quiet now, not crying, just sulking. The worst kind of sadness. Her arms are locked around her mother’s neck, her head resting heavily against Rebecca’s shoulder like the weight of missing someone is too much for her small body.

Then, suddenly, Yn stiffens.

Rebecca feels it before she sees it.

Yn lifts her head. Her eyes dart past the table, past Carmen, past the street.

“Papá,” Yn breathes.

Rebecca turns.

Carlos is walking toward them.

He’s still in his team polo, sunglasses perched on his head, phone in one hand. He looks tired in that post-press way, shoulders slightly tense, jaw tight, until his eyes land on Yn.

Everything softens instantly.

There is nothing subtle about the way his face changes.

“Hey,” he says, stopping mid-step.

Yn lets out a small gasp, like she’s been holding her breath the entire time.

“Papá!” she squeaks.

Before Rebecca can even react, Yn is wiggling free, practically launching herself out of her arms. She stumbles for half a second, tiny legs moving too fast, and then she’s running.

Carlos drops his phone without caring.

He crouches just in time.

Yn crashes into him, arms flinging around his neck, face burying into his shoulder with a sobby sound that breaks something deep in his chest.

“Hey, hey,” Carlos murmurs instantly, wrapping her up tight. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”

Yn clings to him like he might disappear again if she loosens her grip.

“Papá go,” she says shakily.

“I know,” he whispers, pressing his cheek to her hair. “I’m sorry, cariño. Papá’s back now.”

Rebecca watches from her chair, heart aching and melting all at once.

Carlos lifts Yn easily, settling her on his hip. She immediately tucks herself closer, one arm around his neck, the other gripping his shirt like an anchor. Her tears slow, then stop completely, replaced by quiet sniffles and deep, calming breaths.

“Better now,” Carmen says softly, smiling.

Carlos glances up, a sheepish smile on his face. “Sorry,” he says. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“You didn’t,” Rebecca replies gently. “She’s been like this the whole time.”

Carlos looks down at Yn, thumb brushing under her eye. “That bad, hm?”

Yn nods seriously, her face still pressed into his shoulder.

“My poor girl,” he murmurs.

Rebecca stands and steps closer. “Press went okay?”

He exhales. “Yeah. Same questions, same answers.” He pauses, then adds quietly, “I hated leaving her.”

Rebecca reaches out, resting her hand on Yn’s back. “We know.”

Carlos adjusts his grip, lifting Yn a little higher. She sighs contentedly, like everything is finally back where it belongs.

“I’ll just—” Carlos starts, gesturing vaguely. “I’ll stand here for a bit.”

“No rush,” Lily says with a grin. “Clearly you’re occupied.”

Carlos chuckles softly. “Always.”

Yn peeks up then, eyes still a little puffy, but calmer. She reaches up and gently pulls Carlos’s sunglasses down onto his nose.

“There,” she says, very pleased with herself.

Carlos laughs, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Gracias, mi estilista.”

Rebecca watches them, the way Yn mirrors him even in stillness, how her hand rests on his chest exactly where his would if he were holding someone else, how her legs hook around his waist like muscle memory.

She knows there will be many more moments like this. Many more separations, many more reunions that feel just as intense. It’s hard. Sometimes exhausting.

But standing there, watching her husband sway gently with their daughter in his arms, whispering to her in soft Spanish, Rebecca knows one thing for certain.

Yn has never, ever doubted where she belongs.

Sometimes through silence that lasts just a little too long to ignore.

Sometimes through words that stop halfway and are never picked back up.

Sometimes through doors that close so softly you almost convince yourself they were never open at all.

And eventually, you stop noticing it happening.

That's how it gets you.

Not in the breaking.

In the getting used to it.

Because once you start adjusting, you stop questioning what's missing.

Or you pretend you don't.

It's easier that way.

To name it something harmless.

Distance.

Busyness.

Timing.

Anything but absence.

Oh, how naive you had been.

Because time doesn't fix things like that.

It reveals them.

And sometimes...

it chooses the worst possible moment to do it.

Your steps don't slow as Gotham moves around you.

The city is still alive in the way it always is, loud and indifferent, like it has no intention of ever looking up at itself. Light spills across wet asphalt. People pass without really seeing each other. Somewhere far off, a siren cuts through the air and fades just as quickly.

You've learned how to exist inside it without really being part of it.

Most days, that's fine.

Today, it isn't.

There's something sitting under your ribs again. Quiet. Familiar. Wrong in a way you can't explain without sounding dramatic, so you don't try.

You've done that before.

So you keep walking.

The manor comes into view.

Same silhouette. Same weight. Same silence it always carries like it belongs there.

Home.

The word doesn't quite land the way it should.

So you let it go.

Something is off.

Not in the way storms announce themselves, or in the way danger sharpens the air until it hurts to breathe.

This is quieter.

Wrong quieter.

The manor is never loud, not truly. But it is also never empty.

There is always movement somewhere.

Cass passing through without a sound but never without presence.

Steph talking too much in one room and laughing too loudly in another like she refuses to let the house stay serious.

Duke drifting between daytime and nighttime like the manor never quite decides which version of him it prefers.

Tim's focused chaos. Damian's controlled sharpness. Dick's attempts at filling silence with noise that almost works.

Even Bruce, when he is present, makes the space feel occupied in a way no one else manages.

Even when people leave, someone remains.

That is how the manor survives itself.

But today.

None of that exists.

You notice it in layers, not all at once.

First, the lack of movement in the air.

Then the absence of overlapping footsteps in different parts of the house.

Then the realization that you cannot pinpoint a single room that feels "in use."

The manor is not just quiet.

It is unused.

Your steps slow in the hallway.

You listen harder, like effort could force something familiar to appear.

Nothing answers.

No Jason, or Dick.

No Tim, or Damian.

No Cassandra, or Stephanie.

No Duke, or the expected noise of Alfred.

And definitely no Bruce.

But that's expected.

Your phone is already in your hand before you fully decide to use it. Nothing about it feels intentional, as if your body moved ahead of your thoughts and your mind is only catching up in fragments.

You don't call anyone. You don't even unlock it at first. It just sits there in your grip for a moment too long before you let it fall back into your pocket, like it was never meant to be part of anything important.

The house should correct that feeling immediately. It usually does. There is always something to interrupt silence here, always something to pull your attention sideways before it settles too deeply into itself.

But nothing does.

You pass through rooms without meaning to linger in any of them. Spaces that should carry traces of presence instead feel reset, as if time itself skipped over them and forgot to leave anything behind. Even your own footsteps sound slightly misplaced, like they belong to someone who isn't supposed to be here alone.

It should register as strange. It does register, but not loudly enough to become panic, only enough to sharpen the edges of your attention as you move.

By the time you reach the lower corridor, you're no longer checking rooms so much as confirming a pattern you don't want to name. The absence is consistent in a way it shouldn't be, repeating itself through every space you pass like the house has been quietly emptied without explanation.

You turn the corner and the grandfather clock is there, waiting at the end of the hall like it always has been. Ancient wood. Brass pendulum frozen mid-swing. You have watched your family disappear behind it more times than you can count. They never told you the combination. You figured it out anyway, years ago, by sitting in the dark and listening to the sequence of clicks.

Your hand finds the mechanism. You press.

The clock swings open.

The stairs go down. Cold air rises up. The lights flicker once, then hold steady, and you take the steps two at a time because something in your chest is telling you to hurry.

The cave opens around you. Platforms and screens and the row of suits standing empty. The main computer is alive, screens lit up across the entire wall, data streaming.

Windows are open everywhere. Tracker maps. Communication logs. News feeds. Security camera footage from half the city.

Alfred is at the keyboard.

He is not sitting. He is standing, hunched forward, his fingers moving across the keys in a way you have never seen before. Alfred does not type frantically. Alfred does not do anything frantically. He moves through the world with the kind of calm that comes from decades of managing chaos. You have watched him clean blood off the cave floor without his hands shaking. You have watched him serve tea during a crisis like it was any other afternoon.

Right now, his hands are shaking.

He pulls up another window and types something and the window closes and he pulls it up again. He is muttering under his breath, words you cannot catch, his voice rough and low. His jacket is unbuttoned. His hair is slightly disheveled. You have never seen Alfred with his hair out of place before.

You stop at the bottom of the stairs.

"Alfred?"

He does not hear you. He is cycling through camera feeds, each one showing a different part of Gotham, each one showing nothing out of the ordinary. Streets. Intersections. Alleyways. People walking. Cars driving. The city moving like nothing has happened.

He pulls up a map. Dots appear. Red dots, each one labeled with a name. Bruce. Dick. Jason. Tim. Damian. Cassandra. Stephanie. Duke.

None of the dots are moving.

"Alfred," you say again, louder.

He flinches. His shoulders jerk. He turns his head, and his eyes are red. Not just tired. Red in the way that comes from not sleeping, from staring at a screen for hours while the world refused to give him answers.

"You are here," he says. His voice cracks. "Good. I need you to look at something."

He turns back to the computer. His fingers start moving again.

"I have gone over this data seven times," he says. "Seven times. Their last known positions are all marked. They were fine. They checked in. They responded to each other. And then at 1:47 AM, every single signal went dark."

He pulls up a timeline. The lines are perfect, consistent, then they stop. All at once. The same millisecond.

"That is not possible," he says. "Technology does not work that way. People do not work that way. I have called everyone. Every contact. Every ally. No one has seen them. No one has heard from them."

His fingers hover over the keyboard. Then he pulls up another window. A communication log. You see the names scrolling by. Timestamps. Messages. Voice calls.

"Last night, at 1:35 AM, they all checked in with Barbara," Alfred says. "Separately. Each one confirming their position, their status, their route home. Barbara logged each check-in. She told them to stay safe. Standard procedure."

He scrolls down.

"At 1:46 AM, Barbara sent one final message. A group message. Just a reminder about a morning meeting."

He points to the screen. You see it. A single line of text from Barbara to the entire family. Tomorrow 8 AM. Don't be late.

No responses.

Alfred scrolls further. The log continues. New entries appear every few seconds, timestamped with the current time. 4:31 PM. 4:32 PM. Each new entry shows the same thing. Same locations. Same vitals. Same status updates. As if every few seconds, the system is recording the exact same information again.

"The logs are still active," Alfred says. "They are still transmitting. But nothing is changing."

He refreshes. A new entry appears. 4:33 PM. Location: Batman, last known coordinates unchanged. Heart rate: same as 1:47 AM. Suit status: same as 1:47 AM.

The data is identical to every entry that appears.

He pulls up the tracker map. The red dots are there. Bruce. Dick. Jason. Tim. Damian. Cassandra. Stephanie. Duke. Their positions are frozen. But beside each dot, the system shows a green checkmark. Signal active. Connection live. Receiving data.

The data just never changes.

"And Barbara?" you ask.

Alfred opens another window. Barbara's tracker. The clock tower. Her dot is there. The log shows entries every few seconds. Same location. Same status. Same everything. The timestamps keep moving forward. The data stays frozen at 1:47 AM.

He turns to look at you. His face is pale.

"I do not understand what I am looking at," he says.

Taglist

@kohaiyuki @wisefuncherryblossom @suvivve @eas-8 @diamondnightsky23 @marcspectorondeeznuts

Jack's relationship with your mother was unconventional. Still mourning the loss of his wife, Jack had bumped into your mother at a bar after trying to smother his feelings with alcohol and ending going home with her. They had formed a with-benefits pact afterwards, neither wanting a relation but rather a way to blow off steam. Your conception followed a few months later and Jack kept his opinion to himself; he didn't want a child, not while he was still knee deep in grief but he would never ask or tell your mother to get an abortion so he left the decision in her hands, stepping up when she decided to keep the baby.

Their co-parent dynamic didn't last long, your mother left when you were only four weeks old, still in NICU. Traumatised by the c-section and your subsequent stay in the NICU, she bowed out, unable to deal, leaving you with just your dad.

You had your first surgery before you had even hit two weeks, an open heart surgery that Jack spent the duration of stalking the halls of the hospital, unable to physically sit still. When he returns to ward, he finds you in the observation room, hooked up to a ventilator, chest tubes protruding from your tiny little body, machines tracking vitals, ready to blare in alarm when something strays from the perfectly calculated numbers it desired. 

He wasn't allowed into the room, forced to look at you from the other side of the large window, watching as your chest moved with every breath you took. The nurses had assured him that you'd only be in there for a few days, under constant observation to make sure that everything went well post-surgery and then you would be back to your regular room.

Your surgeon, the best in the city–is beside him, telling him that everything went to plan, there were no complications and it was the best outcome they could ever hope for. You weren't totally out of the woods yet, your life would be filled with complex medical issues, but this was the first step of many. 

When you were three years old, you moved to Pittsburgh, your father got a job offer there and that's where you have ever since. 

You were kept firmly away from the hospital, more specifically the ED unless you had a medical emergency. Your weakened immune system paired with the ED waiting room was Jack's worst nightmare, so you were strictly ordered to stay well away. 

Your surgeries and hospital visits hadn't stopped since you were a baby but instead of having you go to PTMC, you go to the closeby children's hospital. It's not that he didn't trust the doctors who worked in PTMC, but he preferred having you in the children's hospital.

Your father loved what he did, he loved the buzz it gave him, the high stress, busy environment is what he excelled in. Despite it being a second home; a place that he secretly loves a lot, it was also a place of too much death and despair and sometimes miracles but it was enough to keep you away.

The people he worked with knew he had a daughter, he was always happy to talk about you, updating Lena and Dana with whatever milestone and accomplishment you had achieved over the years, happily flaunting the homemade keychain you made him; multiple hanging from his backpack in a multitude of colours and his phone wallpaper was one of the first times he got to hold you, when you were still so tiny and fragile, curled up his chest, soaking up his body heat.

Despite your existence being known, only one of his colleagues had ever met you and that was Robby when you were seven. After an extremely rough shift, Robby didn't want to go home to his empty apartment so he reached out to Jack whose day off it was and Jack invited him around for beers, take out and whatever sports game that was on that night. You were meant to be at a friend's house for a sleepover, a rare occasion that Jack only allowed with the few parents he approved but your friend had fallen sick, the first signs appearing after a few hours. Your friend's parents knew of your medical issues and how strict your father is concerning your health so your friend's parents quickly bundled you up and drove you home.

Your dad hadn't answered his phone but you had assured Mrs Myers, your friend's mom, that he would be home. Your dad tended to be more of a homebody, preferring to stay at home on his days off so you knew he would be at home.

You release a sigh as you dump your backpack on the front porch before you incessantly ring the doorbell, knowing that it would irritate your dad. You peer over your shoulder, looking at where Mrs Myers idles in her car parked in front of the car, waiting until she sees your dad open the door before she pulls away.

It's not long before you see the entrance lights flicked on through the window panels of the door before the familiar silhouette of your father appears, beelining towards the door. 

Your dad blinks down at you in surprise before they land on the car idling at the curb. Mrs Myers gives him a one handed wave before she peels off down the street and your father is looking back down at you in confusion. He's quick to crouch down, hands simultaneously checking your body for any scrapes of bruises and checking to see if you had a fever. 

"What's wrong? Why are you here? Are you sick?" The questions spill from your dad in quick succession.

"Anna started to get sick so Mrs Myers took me home," You tell him, letting him fret over you, completely used to it now, "She called and texted you but you didn't answer."

Your dad pats his pockets, searching for his phone before he sighs, remembering where he left it, "Sorry buggie, I left it in the kitchen. I have a friend over, I got distracted."

You raise your arms up at him, wanting to be lifted and though you were too old for it, Jack always indulged you, telling himself that it was because you were still small for your age.

"A friend?" You may be young but you knew your dad didn't hang out with friends that much, "A girl- friend?"

Your dad rolls his eyes at you but a smile tugs on his lips as he lifts you, settling you on his hip before he swings your bag onto his free shoulder and re-enters the house. He pulls your shoes off, throwing them down to the heap of shoes near the door and dumps your bag on the staircase to remind him to bring it upstairs later on. He swings through the kitchen to collect his forgotten phone and a pizza flyer before he enters the living room where you're greeted with a stranger. 

Your hands tighten in your dad's t-shirt, gripping harder when he tries to set you down on the ground, apprehensive of the stranger.

"Lovebug, this Robby. I work with him at the hospital." Jack tells you, "He had a bad day at work so I'm trying to cheer him up."

Robby stands, staying far enough away to give you space and extends his hand out, greeting you, "Hello, I'm Michael. It's nice to meet you."

You giggle at his seriousness, as if he was introducing himself to an adult and not little you. You reach forward, one hand still gripping your dads t-shirt as you shake the extended hand, "I thought your name is Robby?"

"It is, it's my nickname. My last name is Robinavitch, so people call me Robby." Robby explains as he settles back onto the couch. Your dad once again tries to place you down but you protest, looking up at him in confusion.

"I'm just gonna get us some drinks," Your dad tells you, nudging you so that you sit down properly before handing you the pizza flyer, "Here, look at this and choose what pizza you want."

Happily distracted, you hum as you read the options as your dad dips out of the room, returning only moments later with two beer bottles and your water bottle, setting them down on the coffee table before he falls back onto the couch with a sigh, sitting in the middle of the couch.

Your hand automatically rests on his arm, as if to remind yourself that he's right next to you and hasn't disappeared. Robby spies it and flicks his inquisitive gaze over to Jack, "Clingy?"

"Stage four clinger," The huff that comes out of Jack is fond, "It's my fault though, I'm a bit of an enabler."

"She's your kid, it's understandable," Robby rationalises. 

"Whenever I look at her all I see is that tiny baby who had to fight through every odd to get here today. She's already had three surgeries and she's only seven, she's got a lifetime of surgeries ahead of her plus she gets sick so easily, a simple cold will wipe her out for a week and it'll take another week to get her back to full health." Jack glances down at you, making sure you were properly distracted before he turns back to Robby, "I feel like I'm failing her sometimes, always keeping her by my side, wrapping her up in so much bubblewrap but I'm scared that if I don't then something will happen to her."

Robby watches you for a moment, noting how comfortable you were curled up into your fathers side, still looking over the flyer not bothered by the conversation happening beside you.

"I think you're doing a great job."

Jack looks at Robby in shock, not expecting him to say that.

"Look at her, sure she's a bit clingy but she's seven and you're her whole world. She's in and out of hospitals but she has you and you're always there when she wakes up after a surgery, you're there when she's sick and you help her recover and she knows, more than anything else in the world, that you're there for her." Robby continues, " She has friends and sleepovers and even when they're cancelled she gets to chill at home with you and order pizza."

Jack doesn't respond at first, absorbing Robby's words. He had always doubted his fathering abilities, solo parenting along with working long hours had him harbouring a lot of guilt but Robby's words settled something within him.

"Daddy!" Your chirp, waving the flyer in front of him to grab his attention, "I'm ready. I know what I want!"

"You're ready? Okay, how about we give the flyer to Robby so he can choose his while you tell me what you want." Jack says as he passes the flyer over to Robby.

"I want a cheese pizza."

Robby snorts into the glossy pizza menu. Ten minutes of deliberating only to decide on cheese pizza is something only a seven year old could do.

"Just cheese?" Jack asks, "Are you sure?"

"...And sweetcorn!"

"Okay, okay," Jack laughs as he reaches for his phone, dialling the familiar number that he called at least once a week as he turns to Robby, "You ready?"

Now almost ten years later, you have transformed into a little independent butterfly, often hanging out with friends or at the part-time job you convinced your dad to allow you to get. Your dad still fretted over you; quarantining you whenever you or your friends got sick, not wanting to take the risk and he always checked up throughout the day, especially ever since he moved to the night shift.

Jack still carried the keychains you made when you were younger on his backpack and the background on his phone was still of you but it was no longer the one of you as a baby as Jack had frequently changed it over the years as you grew.

It was the fourth of July, you were hanging with your friends all day while your dad pulled a daytime SWAT shift before working his regular nightshift. You had raised your concerns with him, criticising him for working the whole day with minimal rest in between but he brushed off your concerns and even though you didn't like it, you trusted him to know his limits. 

Your dad had been going along like normal, you woke up feeling fine, you ate breakfast with your dad and the early afternoon you had spent with friends was fun, doing last minute grocery store runs for the barbeque, fighting against everyone else as they did the same thing.

It wasn't until the sun began to set; the sky darkening into a deep orange, the bonfire was burning steadily and the stronger drinks that you were technically too young to drink were getting passed around, did you get hit with a sudden shortness of breath. At first you thought it was your asthma playing because of the fumes and smoke coming from the bonfire so you dug through your bag for the inhaler you always carried with you and took a couple of puffs in hopes it would settle your lungs but to no avail, the heaviness remained.

Then comes the wave of fatigue and you stumble over your feet as your chest begins to feel heavy, like someone was crushing it, putting on so much pressure it felt like you couldn't breath.

Your breath was coming out in panicked pants as one of your friends caught on to what was happening, rushing over to your side as they helped you lay down flat, crying out over her shoulder for someone to call 911. 

You faintly hear someone call out 'Call Mr. Abbot too!', before you pass out completely.

"Ah fuck…"

Robby curses as your unconscious body is wheeled past him by the emt's, straight into Trauma One with Al-Hashimi, Langdon and Javadi quickly following behind.

"Dana?" 

The charge nurse hums in acknowledgement.

"Page Abbot. Tell him it's urgent. Top priority. ASAP."

Dana looks up at him, confused, painting her features as her eyes briefly flutter to the busy trauma room before they return to Robby, "For this patient? How do you know that you will need him?"

"For an emergency contact. That's his daughter." With that, Robby pulls off his hoodie and disappears into trauma one.

Dana stares in shock as Robby disappears into the room before reality slams into her and she's reaching for the phone and dialling Abbot's number. She knew Jack had a daughter, she had even seen photos but Robby's reaction was more than just as simple as his friend's kid coming through, he knew something was seriously wrong before the rest of them did.

Trauma One was heaving with a mess of bodies and energy, Al-Hashimi and Langdon were trying to stabilise your vitals, calling at each other over your body, guessing what could have caused your condition. Javadi was at the computer, eyes wide as she read through your medical history, telling the doctors your chronic conditions, everything that could possibly be contributing towards your current condition.

They had only just managed to stabilise you, with the cardiology consult with them. Your vitals just pushing at the boundaries, ready to dip again at any moment when your father finally storms in, still disheveled as he only had woken up moments ago, the incessant buzzing of his phone waking him from his brief nap, his heart dropping at the notifications from your friends and Dana.

Jack ignores everyone in the room, he heads straight to your side and takes you in, trying to figure out what happened to you. He's quiet as he rubs his thumb across your cheek and only takes his eyes off you to take note of what your monitor displays.

"What happened?" Jack's voice is low and full of emotion.

"She collapsed at a bonfire with her friends," Robby tells him, "Her friends told the EMTs that at first she was struggling to breath and she tried her inhaler but shortly after that she collapsed."

There's a pause before Jack speaks again, "...Is it her heart?"

This time the cardiology consultant speaks up, "Yes. She needs emergency surgery, as soon as possible."

"Here?" Jack looks up at them, panic swimming in his eyes, "It can't be here. She goes to the children's hospital for everything, her doctor is there and every surgery she's ever had since she was three has been there. She has to go there."

The cardiologist exchanges a look with Robby before they speak again, "I understand this is difficult Dr Abbot but we're running out of time here. We don't know if they're affected by hacking either and even if they're not, requesting a transfer and getting transport over there will take time we don't have."

Robby steps forward, clasping Jack on the shoulder as he bends down to whisper to him, giving them a little bit of privacy from everyone else in the room. "I know you trust the team over there more than anyone else but you have to trust the one we have here right now. She needs surgery, Jack."

Jack gazes down at you again, seeing your eyelids flutter as you slowly gain consciousness before he looks back up at Robby and nods, "...She needs the surgery. What do I need to sign?"

The consent form is pushed in front of him and Jack immediately signs it, prompting the room back into motion again. Instructions are being called as they begin to take you upstairs to surgery.

You're half conscious as they move you into the elevator but your eyes remain on your dad. He had taken a hold of your hand at some point but you were gripping as hard as you could.

He tries to pull away once you reach the surgical floor but you cling to him, your eyes watering with tears, "Please stay…"

Jack turns to the cardiologist, ready to beg to stay in some capacity when the surgeon nods before he could even open his mouth, "Sterile scrub and gown up and you can stay during anaesthesia."

Being an attending physician at the hospital had its perks it seemed.

Jack squeezes your hand and presses a kiss to your forehead, "I'll be back soon buggie. I'll be there until you go to sleep, I promise."

Jack, scrubbed up, is by your side as anaesthetic does its job. 

"I love you so much buggie, you're my world." Jack whispers to you, eyes watering as he watches you eyelids slowly flutter closed, "My whole world and I'll do anything for you. I'll be right by your side when you wake up as well, I promise."

Jack continues to whisper to you until he has to leave, reminding you that you were strong and you would get through this unexpected surgery and you would continue to get stronger and stronger.

Your drift in and out of consciousness at first, not having a grasp on where you were or what had happened. You can tell your chest hurts and you can hear solid beeping whenever you're briefly conscious but when you wake properly, the first thing you notice is the tube in your throat, catching you off guard as you choke around it.

"Hey, hey, it's okay." A voice tells you, "Try to breathe normally…that's it, nice and slowly…in and out, that's it."

Wherever you are suddenly gets busier, multiple people are talking over each other and multiple hands on you. It overwhelms you but there's nothing you can do other than sit through it, letting it wash over you. Someone holds your hand through everything, their thumb running over your knuckles repetitively as they whisper something about buggie.

The room slowly quietens again but someone is calling your attention, it was a nurse explaining what was happening. You would remain on the ventilator for a little bit longer as they monitor you to make sure you could breathe comfortably enough on your own, then they would take you off it.

Once they leave you stare absentmindedly into the room, trying to short your racing thoughts out. You can't remember how you got to the hospital but you could guess why you were there judging by the soft ache in your chest. 

"How you doing lovebug?"

The voice startles you and you flinch as you look to your right, blinking in confusion at the man beside you before it suddenly hits you all at once. Tears spill from your eyes as you reach towards your dad, unable to speak but he knows what you want to say.

"I know honey, I know." Your dad comforts you, "I'm here for you."

You squeeze his hand, hoping it conveys what you want to say and when your dad tears up, you know it was.

Having to be in the presence of this man was somehow more infuriating than listening to your teammates talk about him and how cool and chill he was. He'd never been cool or chill with you! Not in the nine years you'd know him.

Your mother had simply left you there. With a bag and a letter pinned on your top. Hal was running late for work. He hobbled out trying to put his left shoe on. Only to freeze at the sight of a little girl, alone on his doorstep, in the rain.

Looking into your eyes—although red and puffy he'd recognise them from anywhere. How could he forget the shameful mistake he'd made several years ago...

Ever since that unfortunate day, you've been Hal Jordan —the Young Justice team's favourite Green Lantern's problem. For the first few years of your life, you'd been your mother's problem. Most nights you lie awake wishing you'd stayed being her problem. She wasn't perfect, she did abandon you in the rain on the doorstep of a man she hadn't seen in over years, but at least she seemed to have a slight care for you.

Your childhood should've been magical. And sometimes you trick yourself into thinking it was. All those hours you'd spent staring up at the glow-in-the-dark stars on your ceiling, you'd pretend you were outside—in your garden or on some other planet—star gazing with your dad. The galaxy and sci-fi themed decor of your room confused your child mind into believing all those hours spent jumping around your room—alone—with a plastic spaceship in hand, were real galactic adventures with him.

You wish you could say that those days of hopeless wishing were gone, but even now—at your grown age you find yourself staring at the glow-in-the-dark stickers Wally had insisted you needed, wishing that one day maybe those dreams of stargazing could happen. The crinkled posters sitting on your desk waiting to be put up taunt you. Wally found them shoved into a box and told you they were cool. After he'd made fun of you for being such a space nerd. He said they add something to your room. Your room at Mount Justice held a closer resemblance to a safe house rather than a teen girl's bedroom. Maybe it was the underlying desire to leave and never look back. The fear that if you tried to settle, fit in and find your place in this world you would suddenly realise not a single person actually cared for you.

The Young Justice team had already been formed. The JL had decided that you would join the team once you returned from your space oddity. You weren't thrilled to hear the news. You returned from your trip only to be met by your dad—waiting to drop some news on you.

"What?" You asked. Your shoulders were tensed. You were sore and tired and he was the last person you wanted to see right now.

"I've got something to tell you." He frowned a little at your lack of enthusiasm.

"I can tell." You deadpanned.

He sighed. "The Justice League has formed a new team. It consists of their students."

"No."

"What do you mean no?" He squinted.

"I'm not joining your team." He called out your name.

"Your already set to join the team. It'll be good for you."

"Good for me to miss more school than I already am?" Your voice raised.

"You're joining the team! They're expecting us right now." He raised his voice right back.

You scowled, but piped down. Your arms were crossed as you trailed behind him. You glared at him the whole time.

"Behave," Hal gave you a pointed look through the mask.

Your rolled your eyes and continued walking towards the closed doors. There was muffled voices behind the door.

"Please?" Hal pleaded. He opened the doors. Your vision was filled with colourful costumes and stupid smiles.

"Green Lantern, how nice of you to join us." Batman commented sarcastically. He looked to the clock wall. Ten minutes late—they better get used to it with you.

"Sorry, got held up with her mission." Hal laughed.

"These are the members of the League," He gestured to the adults in the room. "And these are your teammates." He gestured to the teens. Most of them sat down.

One of them got up and walked towards you.

"I'm Robin, team leader." He reached his hand out to shake.

You stared at his hand for a moment before feeling a nudge beside you. You uncrossed your arms and shook his hand.

"Green Lantern." You said bluntly.

Robin introduced you to the rest of the team. You looked at each of them boredly. You could hear Hal sighing behind you. You might not have been looking at him but you could see him pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Are we done?" You asked.

Hal called out your name tiredly.

"You know how I am. Should've given your team a heads up." You left the room abruptly.

"I'm sorry, she's just cranky from her mission." Hal apologised to the League.

"She's not what I expected..." Dick muttered.

"Let's hope when she settles in she'll be more willing to work with us and her team." Diana sighed.

"Can someone please make sure she finds her room?" Dinah asked the Young Justice team.

"Go help her out." Barry gave Wally a gentle shove.

You eventually found the empty bedroom. You dropped onto the bed assuming the empty room was yours. Your bags were thrown into a corner beside some boxes. There was a welcome card on your nightstand—probably from one of the girls. You didn't care to read it though. Rapid knocks on your door had you groaning and slipping off the bed. You swung the door open expecting Hal but were met with a smiling ginger boy.

"Hey!" He greeted with a toothy grin.

"Hi."

"Black Carnay asked me to make sure you found your room and got settled in—"

"I'm settled just fine."

"Okay! Can I see your room? You can come see my room if you want!" He beamed. You squinted your eyes as if you were being blinded by his energy.

"I'm Kid Flash—you can call me Wally." He pointed a thumb at himself.

"You should see Zatanna's room, she does magic! Don't go into Roy's room—it's always messy."

You don't know how but at some point he ended up in your room. Sat on the edge of your bed, talking your ear off. You stood with your arms crossed staring at the boy.

"I know you said you were settled in just fine, but you haven't even opened your bags?" He pointed at the corner of bags and boxes.

"I'll do it eventually." You sighed.

"Here let me help you!" Before you could blink he was already on the floor opening your boxes.

He started to unpack the boxes, commenting on ever single thing he pulled out. You hadn't packed the boxes—Hal did. The boxes were filled with stuff from your bedroom at Hal's house. Space posters, a telescope, a man on the moon lamp you'd begged him for, and more.

"So have you always been a space nerd? Or was it just when you became a Green Lantern?" Wally asked.

"I've always liked space. Growing up with a Lantern kinda made it that way." Wally lit up at your addition to the conversation. It was the most he'd heard you talk.

"You know, my uncle and your dad are like best friends! Which means we're going to be good friends!" You laughed at his juvenile thought process.

You didn't notice the dreamy look on his face as you laughed at him.

"Hey, you should put these up over your bed!" He pulled out a pack of glow-in-the-dark stars. You remember Hal buying you some. You'd stacked books and whatnot onto your bed because you couldn't reach the ceiling.

"I'll put them up later."

"I'll put them up for you." He was already stood on your bed sticking the stars to the ceiling before you could protest.

"Thanks."

"No problem, stargirl. It's what friends are for!" You nearly gagged at the response.

Some time had passed. The team had gone on several missions and spent days training together. But after all of this their toughest challenge yet was trying to get you to spend time with them. You were cooperative on missions but you would train on your own (unless Diana forced you to train with everyone else). The one thing they couldn't overcome; you wouldn't hangout with them. Just as yourself. You were simply Green Lantern to them. They'd tried to get you to go to the arcade with them. As usual, you said no and retreated to your room.

"She smiled during training, I thought for sure she'd agree to go out today." M'gann frowned while putting her shoes on.

"Think you all just need to accept that she doesn't like us." Roy piped up.

"Don't say that, we're a team. She works just fine with us on missions." Dick responded. "I just don't get how she'll work fine with us out on the field but refused any other interaction with us."

"Hey, Wally! You coming with us to the arcade?" Artemis called out.

"Nah, I'm beat after that training." He grabbed some snacks from the kitchen and headed off.

"Did he hit his head on training?" Artemis asked.

"I think she possed him." Roy whispered.

You were sat at your desk reading a book. Boxes still sit in the corner of your room, but some posters had been put up, your man on the moon lamp was on your nightstand, there was stationery on your desk and some clothes in the closet. You still hadn't fully settled in though.

"Hey stargirl!" Wally kicked your door open and flopped onto your bed.

You took the headphones off one ear and spun your chair around to see him sprawled out comfortably with a pile of snacks. Some of your favourites in the mix. You still didn't know how he kept finding out things about you. Sometimes you did let your guard down around him, letting bits of info about your personal life slip out.

"Do you wanna play something?" He asked.

You marked your page with a bookmark before pausing your music and pulling your headphones around your neck.

"What do you wanna play?"

"Hmm," He contemplated. "Oh! Have you ever played heads up?"

"No."

"Hold on, let me download it."

A couple hours flew by. You played several different games and ran through the snacks. At some point you shifted from the desk to the opposite end of the bed.

"We should play 20 questions." He suggested.

"Sure." Your answer was hesitant, but you didn't realise. You fidgeted with your sleeves as he stared at you, thinking of his questions.

"Alright, what's your favourite subject?"

"Physics."

"Really?" His voice pitched higher. "Suppose that makes sense, space and stuff." He laughed.

"Uhm, what's your favourite planet?"

"Venus."

The questions went on. Wally asked all sorts; stuff about school, space, your personal preferences on random things. You then made it to the last 5 questions.

"Have you had your first kiss yet?"

"No." Your cheeks felt warm at the question. You cleared your throat to signal to Wally to move on.

"Wait, so you've never had a boyfriend or anything?" He was so surprised by your answer.

"No. You've got three questions left." You replied quickly. Your cheeks kept heating up and you hated it.

"What? That's not fair!" He protested. "I was just—suprised that you've never dated! I mean you're—beautiful." He choked a little before the compliment.

You stared at eachother for a moment. His face went a little red and your face wouldn't stop getting hot. Your heart was beating faster than usual. You swallowed the urges creeping up your throat and took a deep breath.

"You've got three questions left." You said softly.

"Uhm—uh have you ever had a crush on someone?"

"—I-I don't think so?"

He laughed. "What do you mean? And that's doesn't count as a question!"

"I don't know. I just—how am I supposed to be sure?"

"I think you just know." He said with a smile.

The staring and hot feeling came back for another moment. You couldn't help staring into his eyes, but at the same time you felt uncomfortable.

"One question."

"I have two questions left! That didn't count."

"Yes it did, ask me the last question."

"Fine," He looked around your room to try get inspiration. "What would you do if you weren't a Green Lantern?"

"Leave."

"Huh?"

"I'd leave. I'd move somewhere for college, leave all this behind." You gestured to your ring and out the window to the surroundings of headquarters.

"What would you study?" You'd never had someone ask you about yourself—only about your ring or your dad—with genuine interest. You and your interests weren't what people wanted to know about.

"I want to be a scientist. I really wanted to be an astronaut when I was younger." You laughed at yourself. "I'd like to study the universe in more depth. I don't really get the time to do that when on missions."

"Of course you do, stargirl." Unlike the first time he was he in room, you caught the dreamy look I'm his eyes.

The sound of chatter brought you back to reality. The rest of the team had returned. The realisation that you've done it again washed over you. You'd spilt out more information about yourself again. You've been so good at keeping to yourself when it came to the League and the other Lanterns. Something about Wally made it so easy to just talk.

"I think I'm going to get ready for bed." You began looking for your pyjamas, silently signalling for him to leave.

"Oh, goodnight then."

Fury boiled in your veins. Hal was getting on your nerves again. It's not rare for him to get on you about your mistakes and bad behaviour. But that's all he does. He points it out and you argue. Suggestions are never made on how to change for the better, and reasonable conversations are never had. Just screaming. And crying behind closed doors.

That's what was happening. You were sitting on the floor of your bedroom, sobbing. Post-mission exhaustion and the guilt of messing up didn't pair well with speaking to your dad. He did try to have a level headed conversation with you—but you didn't feel like having one. You tried to walk away and just resulted in voices being raised.

Your throat hurt and your head ached. Instead of training or studying or doing anything useful—here you are—sat on your floor crying like a kid.

"Stargirl?" A quiet voice asked on the other side of the wall.

"What?" Your voice cracked.

"Can I come in?" Wally's words came out slowly. He was carefully deciding what to say, not word vomiting like usual.

You sat rigid for a minute. Your tear-soaked hands paused where they were wiping your cheeks. Heat filled your bones but you couldn't tell the difference between the anger your dad made you feel and whatever showed up when Wally was around.

"N–no! Go away." You choked on a sob.

You didn't want to be seen like this. Not by anyone. Especially Wally. You don't want to be weak in front of others. You can barely stand being weak in front of yourself. The glow of the stupid stars he had stuck up highlighted the tears on your hands. Your face too, but your mirror was flipped around so you couldn't see.

"Then," He sat down with his back against the door. "Can I stay?"

The sight of him leaned against the door. A sad frown on his face. Paired with brows furrowed from concern. The image filled your mind and it stabbed your heart. No matter how much time passes, and all the things you go through with him and the team—you can't bring yourself to understand why he wastes his time on you. Part of you knew why—but you didn't understand—or believe it to be true. You inhaled a shaky breath and stood up. You quickly wipe your face before opening the door. Wally grabbed onto the door frame to hold himself up. He tilted his head up to stare at you from the floor.

"Get up." You nodded your head. "You look stupid."

He stood instantly—about to ask if you were okay, but you just turned and sat on your bed. Door left open. An invitation no one but him had ever received. And he didn't let the invite float alone. He took it immediately. Stepping inside your space and closing the door behind him. Wally cautiously moved closer and took a seat on the edge of your bed. Your room was dark. Beside the stars on your ceiling. Curtains drawn and lights off. As he debated what to say or if to say anything at all, he studied your room. Like he did every time he invaded your space. More posters had been put up. Your desk was cluttered with books and stationery. A few trinkets are scattered across the surfaces in your room. A CD player was plugged in under your desk, and it's worn stickers are peeling off. Three CD cases were piled beside it.

Wally smiled softly. You were actually settling in. Slowly—but it was happening.

"Wanna talk about it?" His voice was gentle. Not in a baby way but a sweet way.

You tugged on your sleeves. You were curled into yourself. You sniffled and looked anywhere but at him. Well, you tried to look anywhere but him, yet your eyes kept flickering back to his green eyes. It was self-torture. Looking away and looking back just to get scared by the sincerity in his eyes.

"...Got into a fight with Hal..." Wally barely picked up what you said.

He stayed silent. You took a deep breath and gave him a quick look.

"I—" You bit your lip as you searched for your words. "I messed up."

It physically pained you to say it. To be so vulnerable and Wally knew that. He also knows this conversation could've never happened months ago.

"I got—I uhm—" You hiccuped.

Wally's hand grazed your hand. It flinched at the feeling of his skin but you didn't retract from him. You went quiet and still. His hand slowly intertwined with yours. His grip was loose but grounding. You were free to let go. But he was there and letting you know he would always be there.

"I don't know." Those were the words you settled on.

The same as always. Anytime your conversations got uncomfortable (vulnerable) you chose those words. They were a reflex at this point. When your teachers would ask why you were falling asleep in class—"I don't know". When your friends worried over your bruised and bandaged body—"I don't know". When Hal would beg you to tell him why you weren't focused on the mission—"I don't know". And whenever Wally would question your emotions. When he would find his way beyond the walls you had built and convince you to let the ice around your heart melt.

"Are you sure?" You stared at him in disbelief.

"I think you do know." His thumb brushed across your knuckles. "Your smart, stargirl."

If the conversation weren't so serious and there weren't tears in your eyes, he would've laughed at your dropped jaw.

"—I-I don't know how to explain it."

"Try, please?"

If Hal had spoken to you like this you would've taken it the wrong way. You would've stated another screaming match. Something about Wally made it different. And that you honestly didn't know. You didn't know what this was. And you hated it. You hated the unknown. It was scary.

"I want a normal life."

That was the most honest thing Wally's ever heard from you. It's the most honest thing you've ever heard from yourself.

"I don't want this responsibility." Your ring glowed dimly in the dark.

"I don't want to miss school. I don't want to miss hangouts with my friends. I don't want to upset people," You bottom lip wobbled. "But that's all I seem to do."

Wally's eyes stung at the sound of your voice wavering.

"I don't know why he doesn't like me. I don't understand why he kept me."

At this point you'd broken into sobs again. You did everything you could hold the sobs back but they and the tears escaped you. Wally held onto your hand. His grip got tighter. He tried to ground you without overstepping.

You continued to cry. To pour your heart out to Wally. Vulnerability coursed through your body but it felt like bacteria. Unfamiliar—dangerous even. Something that shouldn't be there. Something that needs to be removed—and that's when you shot up from leaning on his shoulder. A wet patch stained his top. The conversation had brought you two closer. Mentally and physically. But your fear was about to unravel to strings of faith Wally had worked so hard to tie together.

"What? You okay?" Wally's voice was groggy.

Your eyes were bleary. Your body was warm and your lips were chapped. Your room was brighter. A small amount of sunlight beamed through your closed curtains. You had fallen asleep. From your position beside him and the indentation on his clothes, you could tell you fell asleep curled into him.

You cleared your throat. "Sorry." Your voice was raw and it hurt to say that one word.

"For what? What time is it?"

"You should go." You shuffled away from him.

"Star—"

"Please go." Your voice was broken but demanding.

With a sad look, he stood up from your bed. His fingers slipped from the spaces between yours. He exited the room but not before saying,

"Thanks for talking."

His tone was sincere, gentle, and kind. It was everything beautiful. It was light.

Wally West, is your teammate. The closest thing to being your friend and yet so far from it. Ever since the day you arrived—all moody about it—he's been persistent in getting to know you, in becoming someone to you. It was scary. It sounds silly to say. He'd never done anything that would typically make people scared. But he was just so nice, and his presence was warm. You found yourself relaxing, settling. Your piece was finding its way in the puzzle we call life. You thought that would've made you happy. It just scared you though. You thought when you found your place and your people you wouldn't have this ache in your body. Every time he'd get too close—nearly persuade you to join the team hangouts, have you accidentally pour your heart to him—you'd get a new kind of ache. An unfamiliar aching in your heart. And it scared you because you didn't understand it.

This fear is what led to today's events. It's what wound Wally unconscious in the Med Bay, your dad yelling at you for compromising the mission, and an ache you hadn't felt in a long time resurfacing.

You hadn't spoken since that night. Well, you hadn't spoken since that night. It was like you had just joined the team. Your relationship had gone back to square one. Wally would greet you with a small smile and you would respond with a nod. Only now there was an underlying guilt and fear. You would nod with hesitancy. He realised he wasn't welcome to barge into your room anymore. The invitation had been revoked.

"What happened?" Dick enquired.

They were waiting for a video game to load. Almost the entire team was in the room. All doing their individual things, but pausing the hear what Wally would say.

"What do you mean?" Wally let out a nervous and dead-sounding laugh.

"You and her. Something changed—we can all tell." Artemis piped up, she was sitting on the floor fixing her bow.

"Yeah, she's gone all cold again. Even to you." Dick added.

Wally's heart stopped for a split second. He didn't want to air out your private conversations. He couldn't. He wouldn't.

"Nothing." He scratched the back of his neck and avoided his friends' gazes. "She's probably just tired. The Lanterns have had her busy lately!"

"You go out with us now." Conner implored from across the room. "You stopped going out so you could spend more time with her."

"Alright Conner, no need to announce my life to everyone here!" Wally snapped.

"Did you guys fight?" M'gann wondered.

The room went still and turned to Wally.

"No?" His voice was weak.

You hadn't fought. But you didn't seem happy with him.

"No?" Dick repeated.

"Uh—we didn't argue—we just—" Had a very serious conversation where she opened up more than she's ever before and I'm so proud of her for that but then she shut me out and I don't understand why. "She's tired that's all." He concluded in a faltering tone.

Dick stared at him. He was breaking him down and reading him like a book with a stare. And Wally now started to feel guilty. Your flickering glances appeared in the forefront of his mind. Did he make you uncomfortable? Did he overstep? Waves of guilt crashed over him and he suddenly had no interest in his new video game.

"I'm actually not feeling great," He set his controller aside and stood up from the couch. "You can play if you want Conner."

He left the room in a brooding state. And Dick could tell. He was very familiar with brooding people after all. He wanted to go after him—he's his best friend. But what would he say? How does he comfort Wally if he doesn't understand you? He can't assure him that everything will be alright. He didn't know what had happened and it didn't seem like Wally knew either. How can he help if he has no evidence to study? All Dick did was shut down the console and retreat to his room.

Training had been going horribly. You couldn't keep it together. You were impossible to work with. Everyone tried and no one succeeded. Wally was their only hope to get you back to being cooperative before the big mission—but you wouldn't even look at him.

"We need to talk." Hal said from the door of the training room.

It was just you in there. Letting out your frustrations on the poor punching bag.

"About what?" You droned.

Hal sighed hearing your voice. You sounded exhausted. You looked exhausted. There were dark circles under your eyes.

"You aren't cooperating with the team anymore." You threw a punch and struck the bag. "Why's that?"

The echo of the punch lingered as you looked up at him.

"Why do you care?" Your voice was barley above a whisper but you were clearly snarling.

"I'm your mentor and your—" You threw another hard punch. Harder than the last.

"Oh shut up Hal!" You threw your gloves off and marched up to the door.

"Don't!" He blocked the door. "We need to talk. The upcoming mission is important. You can't be this off key with your team."

Your face was drooping. A solemn expression dressed it.

"I've managed so long on my own. And they've managed so long without my cooperation." You shoved through his arm blocking your path.

"They'll be fine." You stormed down the hallway.

Hal watched you disappear. He ran a hand down his face and braced himself against the doorframe.

"Please stay safe."

The mission was going great. That's what you would say if you were a pathological liar. It was going horribly. You'd all gotten separated. Yet somehow you and Wally found your way to eachother. The monster of a villain you were trying to stop was currently rampaging through his lair. You and Wally were hidden behind a large beam trying to come up with a plan or something.

"I can build a construct—"

"Are you mad at me?" Wally blurted out.

"What?" Your eyes were wide.

"I know this isn't the most conventional time to talk but you've been avoiding me and I think you're scared—"

"W–what? No I'm not!" You started to raise your voice but remembered you were hiding.

"You keep avoiding things, stargirl. You avoid me, the team, your dad—"

"Don't you dare go there!" You grabbed the collar of his suit. Your voice raised too loud before you could stop it.

"You don't get to go there! You don't know what you're talking about!" Your eyes were stinging and your face was hot.

"It's the only reason I can think of! Why would you avoid unless you were scared?" Wally was pleading with you to reason with him.

"Just because I said a few things to you doesn't mean you know me. You don't! You don't understand me—so don't act like it!" You fists were shaking.

Your yells covered up the sound of the creature you were hiding from approaching. Its large fist crashed into the pillar. Debris went flying. Crashing against the walls of the fortress. Particles dirtied your costume. Blood dripped past your eyes. It wasn't yours. Wally reacted within seconds. He had pulled you closer to him and shielded you from the debris. While you were both stunned the monster grabbed Wally. He was trapped in the thing's fist. He squirmed and wheezed. His body felt crushed by the monster's grip.

"Put him down!" You shot a beam of green at the monster's eye.

The creature groaned and threw Wally out of his grip. He was sent flying into the wall across from you. The impact caused cracks to form. You watched in horror as the cracks spread. The monster cried in pain in the background, Wally lay unconscious on the ground with blood dripping from his head. You stood frozen watching the cracks crawl up the ceiling. More debris was flying. Not from a pillar. The ceiling was coming down on top of you both. You ran to Wally, skidding onto your knees and forming a construct around the two of you. You shielded him with the construct and your body.

"Oh shit..." You muttered as the debris weighed down on your construct.

You would only be able to hold it up for so long. You could only hope the rest of the team was okay and that someone would show up and get you both out of the mess you made. As you helplessly watched the blood seep from Wally's body guilt began to drown you. Why do you do this?

"...I don't want to upset people,' Your bottom lip wobbled. 'But that's all I seem to do.'."

A strangled cry escaped your lungs. Dust replaced it. The diet and dust from debris escaped into your construct. You fell into a coughing fit. Your vision started to blur. You couldn't tell if it was dust in your eyes or if you were about to pass out.

"Kid Flash!" You think that was Robin's voice.

The weight was getting lighter, probably Conner. But you couldn't bare it and the dust in your lungs any longer. Everything went dark.

The Med Bay smelled of chemicals and quiet beeps of monitors filled the air. Your body felt stale. Your lungs felt dusty and old, like they belonged to a smoker not you. With a groan, you sat up in the cot. Your ring was glowing dimly in the dark room, the only source of light aside from the lowering moon. The oxygen mask on your face felt suffocating. You pulled it off and stood up, ripping the curtains to the side. The metal screeched. The Med Bay appeared empty—until you spotted drawn curtains with faint voices behind them.

"He's going to be okay Iris."

You recognised that voice as the Flash; Barry Allen. You had never met Iris but you'd heard of her through Wally. And you know how much she meant to him, and he to her. You felt responsible for this. Wally's injuries, Iris' worry, and Barry's stress. You felt responsible for it all. The weight felt heavier than the rubble you were previously trapped under. Part of you desperately wanted to see him. Maybe hold him and repeat the sweet nothings he would whisper to you. But you didn't, instead, you silently left the Med Bay.

You stood in the kitchen, a glass in hand as you filled it from the tap. You only got one gulp before you heard him.

"What the hell was that?" His voice wasn't raised but you knew this conversation would end up loud.

You set the glass down with an aggressive thud. Barry must've told him you were awake. Your mind thought of the conversations and arguments you've had with Hal and Wally. Thinking about Wally made you think about his accusation; that you were avoiding. Not just him, but your dad and the team too. Hal was going on about the mission, your mistakes, and begging you to turn around—to say something.

"Why did you keep me?"

"Sorry?" Hal was truly bewildered by your question.

You turned to face him. "Why did you bother keeping me?"

"Your my daughter—"

"Well, you don't act like it!" Your fists clenched at your sides.

"This isn't about me and us, it's about—" Hal backtracked.

"It is about you and us though! Everything is!" Tears began to pool the corners of your eyes.

"Dad, I'm tired. I'm so tired of this." You gestured to the building and yourselves with your ring hand. "I just want a normal life,"

Hal took a cautious step foward. His mouth opened to speak but your words tumbled out first.

"With a proper family."

"I don't remember what she looks like. I barley see you—and when I do, we yell and I run and I cry. Alone. My friends hate me because I can't respond to messages—I miss hangouts and give terrible excuses. My teachers look at me the same way they look a kids with deadbeat parents. Cause you're never there! You miss meetings—you—you forget to pick me up..."

You choked on a sob in the middle of your tangent. Everything was coming out all at once. Just like it did with Wally.

"I don't know when the last time I made you proud was. I don't know if I ever have." You sniffled as your bottom lip quivered.

"I know I'm a problem—"

"You're not a problem." Hal interjected.

"—but I am! And everyone knows it, everyone acts like it. I can't understand myself! I don't know how to be the way people want me to be!" You took a shaky breath as hot tears fell from your eyes.

"I shouldn't have joined this team—I should never have sworn that oath! You shouldn't have kept me!" You angrily wipe your teary face.

Hal was broken at the sight of you. He knew he wasn't the best dad, but he thought he was better than this. He never thought he would be the father to upset his kid the way he has you. He never for a moment thought he would be the root of his kid's problems. Every issue you had, or caused, all seemed to stem from your childhood. The improper childhood he gave you. Due to his lack of presence up until you became a Green Lantern. As you ran out of the kitchen all your moments together flashed before him. He couldn't think of a time before you were a Lantern—minus the day you showed up on his doorstep. He ran a hand down his tired face and sighed. He fucked up bad.

You knew you shouldn't have. You knew from the start this wouldnt work—wouldn't last. It's why you constantly put off unpacking. Your boxes and bags were still half packed. You shoved your essentials into the bags. Clothes, hygiene products, bandages...as you sorted through your nightstand drawer you found a polaroid. It was you and Wally. The picture was taken one of those nights he ditched team hangouts to sit around your room. He didn't know who the camera belonged to but he found it and wanted to take a picture. He took two, kept one for himself and left the other behind for you. You sniffled as you stared at the picture. You were smiling. It was smaller than his, but bigger than the usual practiced one you used. It was genuine.

"Stargirl!" Your bedroom door banged open.

You snapped your head up. Wally was dressed in comfy clothes provided by his auntie. Bandages were wrapped around his head. There was some red blotches on the white material. A bruise peeked out from underneath. You winced at the sight.

"What are you doing?"

You stood up, shoving the polaroid into your pocket and walked over to your bag. You knelt down and threw your CDs into the bag before zipping it up.

"What I should've done from the start."

"You're not leaving, are you?" You felt immense guilt from his cracking voice. "You can't!"

"What's the point of staying? No one wants me here—look what I've done!" You screamed.

Your lips began to quiver again. Your face felt hot and you know the moonlight was highlighting the tears on your cheeks.

"I want you here, stargirl!"

"You want to have a Green Lantern! Trust me, there's better ones out there!" You swung your bag over your shoulder and began to walk out the door, but he stopped you.

"But they're not you! I don't want a Green Lantern if they're not you!" He gripped your shoulders.

"Why would you want me here if my own family doesn't even want me? He doesn't care about me—"

"I do!" Wally cried. "I care about you—you're so important to me." Tears began to run down his face.

"I know your life is complicated and you see yourself as complicated—"

"I am." You turned your head away from him.

"—and that's fine!" A hand slid up your neck, resting on your jaw and guiding you to look at him.

"But just stay, and be complicated with me." He pleaded through sobs.

Wally cared about you more than anyone. He loved you and all your flaws—even if they hurt him. He loved it when you let him in even if that meant you would push him away later. He wants to be there for you. He wants to help you overcome your problems and figure yourself out. He wants to be there when you are scared and when you aren't.

"Let me figure you out, please?"

You broke down into a sobbing mess. You hiccuped and sniffled. Wally felt your body shake beneath his hands. He took a slow step foward and pulled you in. You cried into his shoulder as his hands rested on your back and neck.

"I'm sorry! I—I know I'm difficult, and I pushed you away. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to I just—I don't know what to do..." Your hands clawed at his shirt, trying to ground yourself.

"I'm sorry for yelling—and getting you hurt."

"That wasn't your fault. You saved me, stargirl." Wally whispered.

"I'm sorry for pushing. I shouldn't have brought it up on the mission, and I shouldn't have called you out like that."

"No," You pulled away from his embrace to look at him. "I needed to hear it."

Wally slid the bag off your shoulder, letting it drop to the floor. You used the sleeve of your jumper to wipe the tears off his face. Careful to not irritate any injuries.

"Wanna go star gazing?"

"Wally, the sun's starting to rise." You pointed at your window.

"You can still see a couple," He took your hand in his. "You can tell me about the constellations and I'll try find them."

He gently pulled you out your bedroom doorway and headed for an exit.

The early morning breeze felt nice against your warm cheeks. You took a deep inhale when you stepped outside. The two of you lay down and stared up at the sky. The deep midnight colours were fading away as the orange and pink hues took over. A sliver of the perfect sky blue peeked over the horizon, following the rising sun. Wally was right, you could still see a few stars in the darker parts of the sky.

"So, Venus is your favourite planet, what's your favourite constellation?" You turned your head over to find him already looking at you.

"Perseus and Andromeda," You answered and turned back to gaze at the stars.

"You can see them in the northern hemisphere most of the year. Perseus and Andromeda are both Greek Mythology figures. Perseus was returning from killing Medusa when he saw Andromeda chained to a seaside rock. She had been chained up by her parents King Cephus and Queen Cassiopeia, as Poseidon had sent the seat monster Cetus to destroy their kingdom as punishment for boasting about how beautiful Andromeda was. An oracle told them to sacrifice their daughter."

You turned back to find Wally still staring and listening internally.

"Perseus saved Andromeda and killed Cetus. Then he asked to marry her, but she's was already promised to her uncle Phineus. So Perseus killed him too, and they got married."

Wally had that lovesick look on his face again. If Dick or Roy ever saw that look on his face they would be howling laughing. He looked helplessly in love, a little pathetic. And he wouldn't have it any other way.

"You're such a nerd, stargirl."

"You're the one who asks." You scoffed.

"I like listening to your voice." He admitted.

You sighed. The morning breeze, the pastel colours that bled through the sky, his hand in yours—it was perfect. You didn't fully understand it all. And that was okay. You were okay.

It was common knowledge that the ring chose it's user. You never understood why the ring chose you though.

"Perhaps the ring knew you needed it. That you needed to feel purpose—guidance."

That's what the other Lanterns would say.

Whatever the case may be, you find yourself feeling glad for the ring. It's strange, something you once hated, made many futile attempts to rid of it, now feels precious. It felt right on your finger. Not like an abandoned ring—fitted for someone else and forced onto your hand—it felt like it was yours. And you're happy that it's yours. Without the ring you would've never ended up here; gazing at the stars with someone so special.

Jack Abbot wasn't a strict dad by any means — After losing his leg; after losing his wife, it felt unfair to beg for anything more than for his daughter to be happy, healthy, and — most importantly — safe. Her safety was the one non-negotiable that he had set in place when raising her. She had driven to a party and drank anyway? She called him and he would pick her up, no lecture given. She felt unsafe at any given point, no matter because of who or what? She told him or a trusted adult (the list was short of the adults he trusted — Robby, Dana, Shen and Ellis) and they would take care of it.

"Hey, Grumpy! Haven't seen the kid around in a few? Where's Tiny?" Parker Ellis grinned as she slid up next to Jack at the nurses station, head tilting at him as she saw the way he just starred intensely at his phone.

Hey, you OK? was the message starring back at him menacingly, the timestamp next to it reading two hours earlier. He blinked blearily at the tiny Send beneath it, willing it to change into a Seen.

"Abbot?" Ellis called out again, her grin slowly melting into a concerned frown.

Jack's head snapped up, dropping the hand holding the phone "Hm? Oh, uh, she had exams this week. 's out with her friends tonight to celebrate their newfound freedom."

"Oh— I see how it is!" Ellis hummed thoughtfully, the grin reappearing, "Grumpy Abbot has a hard time letting go."

Jack shook his head ever so slightly "It isn't like that."

It really wasn't like that. Jack trusted his daughter — more than anyone, probably. He had raised her — all on his own ever since she was a three years old toddler that threw tantrums when served broccoli for dinner and asked When is mommy coming home? while dangling her legs from a swing — and he knew he had given her every single ressource to make smart decisions and to know that, even if she had a crashout (whatever that meant; Jack had long given up trying to understand the way she spoke) he was there to pick it up, piece by piece.

In simple terms; he had raised her to be his best friend.

Jack didn't trust anyone else — Not with his daughter. Certainly not with his daughter.

His fingers moved swiftly over the screen again, Ellis' laughter barely audible over the ringing in his ears. Call me when you get this please. Love you. He send the text, mentally chastising himself for opting out of sharing locations with her in fear of coming off to overbearing.

The doors to the pitt slid open, a trauma being wheeled in fast and steady, effectively pulling Jack back into the chaos of the ER and — after the brief panic that it could be her had subsided — he was by the gurney, sharp and focused, the worry over his daughter only a distant pain in his chest.

The trauma took a lot longer than Jack had thought — MVA, three victims; a family. The daughter, only six years, had died after Jack spend 47 minutes perched over her chest, doing chest compressions until the sweat dripped down his forehead and now he was sprawled out in a chair at the nurses station, too exhausted to even think about making the way up to the roof.

"That was a rough one." Shen sighed, leaning up against the hub across from Jack, hands fiddling with the straw in his Dunkin Donuts cup.

"The child ones always are. Always makes you wonder..." Lena trailed off with a frown, noticing the tight set of Jack's jaw. Everyone at the PTMC knew about Jack Abbot's daughter — Tiny Abbot as Shen and Ellis always proclaimed so lovingly when she once again spend one of Jack's night shifts, huddled up in a seat next to Lena, head stuck in a book. By now they had also all noticed, that Jack seemed to be on edge that night, hands and eyes trained to react at the slight buzz of his phone. 
Shen furrowed his eyesbrows, mulling over whether it was safe to ask or if Jack would rip his head off for just as much as suggesting that something was amiss when the ringtone Jack had specifically set for his daughter made his body jerk into action.

"Kiddo, hey!" Jack breathed, all the air escaping him in one as he registered her name in bold letters on his screen. The relief was short-lived, however, when the line crackled; a tiny whimper cutting through the jumbling noise.

"Dad? Dad, I— I'm sorry. My friends— They left me. I'm drunk, I don't know— They kept saying I should loosen up and I should drink more and then they just left me! I'm scared, I—"

The sirens in Jack's head were blaring two times over as he listened to his daughter's babbling and blubbering "Hey, baby. Baby, it's okay—" he cooed, jumping up to his feet against the strain it put on his prosthesis. "Yeah, it's okay. I'm at work but send me your location, okay?" he turned over, eyes wide with a panic that was entirely unusual for the always so stoic doctor "Lena, call Robby. Kiddo's in trouble, I need him to pick her up."

Lena nodded, hands already grabbing for the red phone — hospital emergencies only policy be damned. Tiny Abbot was one of PTMC's own; a staple in the dysfunctional family that was the night shift and, most importantly, the one thing to bring Jack Abbot from the dark every single time.

"Dad, I'm sorry." Tiny sniffled and she sounded so sad Jack had a hard time not ditching work to pick her up himself. His head spun to string together the worst images it could muster — The idea of his daughter sitting on a curb somewhere far out of his reach, only a dim street lamp as company as she tried to keep herself warm (She never took a jacket with her; no matter how much Jack nagged).

He let out a sound somewhere between a sob and a sigh, scrubbing his free hand over his face to get rid of the haunting images "You've got absolutely nothing to apologize for. You hear me, kiddo? Nothing." he soothed desperately, shooting a look at Lena "Send me your location and I'll have Robby pick you up and bring you here, okay?" he added after Lena gave him a nod and a brief thumbs up.

53 minutes — That's how long it took from the moment his daughter had hung up the phone to call Robby ("uncwe Wobby" as she used to call him all those years ago) to the doors of the ER sliding open to reveal a worried-looking Robby — an usual sight; dressed in sweatpants and a faded band tee — arm wrapped around Jack's daugher. She looked even more sad than she had sounded; Robby had brought her one of his hoodies and a pair of one of her sweatpants that were always flying around at his place to change into in the car and, mixed with the smudged make-up Jack had watched her put on mere hours ago, she looked like a lost little lamb brought to the slaughter.

"Tiny Abbot..." Shen frowned, as he appeared next to them, holding out a fresh Dunkin Donuts' iced coffee "Grumpy Abbot told us what happened so I immediately got your favorite. Donuts are in the break room."

"Thank you, Johnnie." she sniffled, giving him a watery smile, that had Shen's frown deepening, as she took the cup tentatively "Where's dad?"

Shen grimaced "Still with a patient, kiddo. He should be out soon— C'mon let's get you seated. You need something?"

She shook her head, letting Robby and Shen guide her over to a chair at the safety of the nurses station. All she wanted was a hug from her dad — letting him wrap her up in his arms and keeping her safe from all the bad things like he did when she had a nightmare as a kid.

It took seven minutes — seven agonising minutes for Jack, who'd been told that his daughter had arrived safely — for him to finally dismiss himself from the room; eyes seeking out his daughter's form immediately.

She was still sitting at the hub, legs pulled up to her chest with Robby keeping watch over her from his place leaned up against hub across from her. Her eyes were cast down to her fingers fiddling with the straw from her iced coffee but as soon as she recognised the sound of his uneven gait her head was flying up, relief melting her body into a slumped form as she found his gaze.

"Hey, kiddo." he breathed out, pulling her up to her feet and crushing her against his chest with no hesitation "Are you okay?" he murmured, pressing a tender kiss to her head.

She hummed, nodding against his scrub top "'m okay, just... sad, I guess." she shrugged. Jack nodded wordlessly — He had had his suspicions about her friends for a while now; they always seemed nice enough during the few moments they spend at their place. Every now and then, however, Jack heard the quiet comments — He heard the insults, cowardly slipped into a passing comment over a snack at their dinner table, saw the glances and smirks shared when his daughter wasn't looked but he'd kept quiet about it; had smiled at his daughter when she came home all giddy and giggly and had told her how happy he was that she did have finally found friends, after all.

Now he loathed himself for never saying anything.

He pressed another kiss to her head, one heavy hand moving towards her back to trace absentminded circles. Jack had always been good at fixing injuries or sickness — He knew what to do when she fell and scraped her knee and he knew how to take care of her when the flu once again caught up to her, but he always struggled with the emotional side of parenting. Years and years of therapy had helped; he was better at being emotionally present now, the words of comfort came easier to him now, but — every now and then; just like now — he had a hard time figuring out what to say.

"Are you good to go home?" he asked instead as he pulled back, eyebrows furrowed together in almost paralysing worry "Robby's gonna drive you and stay with you until shift change."

"Okay, okay..." she muttered quietly, rubbing her eyes with a muffled sniffle, before bringing herself back against her dad's chest; head flush against his broad chest "'m sorry, dad."

She didn't know what she was apologising for — For worrying him? For drinking? For losing friends? Again? Surely, he didn't think it was cute for his sixteen years old to say that her dad was her best friend.

Jack shook his head vehemently, shifting his stance so she could lean all her weight on him without his prosthesis hurting "Kiddo. You are not at fault here — Absolutely not; in no way. People who do that? Who guilt-trip you into getting drunk and then abandoning you? These people are not your friends and they never were."

His daughter cried something in his chest and it took a beat for Jack to understand that she had said, that she just wanted to belong.

"You belong, baby." Jack spoke firmly, slipping a finger underneath her chin to look into her eyes "You belong with me. You belong in this life. You belong."

She sniffed again, more tears spilling over but yet she nodded, rubbing her head against his chest one last time before taking a final step back. Robby was there immediately, his arm coming up to wrap itself around her shoulder again "Let's get you home, kiddo, hm?"

She nodded tentatively and — after a last hug and a long kiss to her forehead — Jack had to watch his best friend guide his daughter out into the dark night that awaited them outside of the hectic walls of the pitt.

The remaining two hours of his shift dragged on for seemingly forever — All he wanted was to get home to his daughter, maybe stop by the breakfast place they frequented at every Saturday morning and get her one of the cinnamon buns she loved, and put on her favorite movie in the living room where he could keep an eye on her.

Jack Abbot may not be a man of emotional loaded words, but, what he was was a man of actions.

By the time he finally stepped into the townhouse he and his daughter had been living in for the past fifteen years the sun had long risen behind the horizon "Kiddo? I'm home." he called out softly as he closed the front door with one hand, the other one clutching a bakery bag, the sweet smell of cinnamon following him.

Jack had spend the last two hours berating himself for never saying anything — He'd spend ten minutes in between patients, doing the breathing exercises his therapist always spoke off and Lena still called him out for looking brooding — and the cinnamon buns felt like a kind of peace offering now; an apology of sorts for failing her.

"Dad?" a voice breathed. Jack's head whipped around and, for the first time, Jack understood why everyone at the PTMC called her Tiny. His daughter was standing in the doorway to their living room, her favorite fluffy blanket wrapped around bony shoulders and a stuffed rabbit Robby had gotten her when she was younger and refused to go to sleep every time her dad was on night shift clutched to her chest.

She looked like a little kid, all over again.

"Hey, baby." Jack swallowed down every heavy feeling, forcing the corners of his lips into a soft, weary smile as he held up the bag. "I have cinnamon buns."

Her face twitched into something akin to a smile despite the tears brimming hot and heavy behind her waterline. "Robby already helped me move all the blankets and pillows to the sofa."

"Hot chocolate and Princess Diaries?" Jack grinned.

"You always know how to cheer me up, old man."

Jack huffed out a laugh at the old man, dismissing his go-back carelessly by the door as he moved to wrap an arm around her. With a tender kiss to her head he began guiding her towards the sofa, turning off the police scanner while he was at it — He didn't need that today.

Today was all about her.