#fic suggestions

Libby Grambs was not freaking out.

She was not freaking out. She was not spiraling. She was fine.

So what if her mother was doing interview after interview, talking about things she knew nothing about, just so she could rake in as much cash as possible? It meant nothing in the grand scheme of things.

It had been a couple of years since Libby had an actual conversation with her mother, and as much as she loved her, Libby felt the most free and at peace when she kept communication with her mother at a minimum.

She set down her phone—the new phone Alisa had bought her because her old one was a glorified noise box now, on the table in front of her and sighed.

Her hands itched to do something, something to take her mind off the clips she had just seen, but she had already baked enough to feed a small community over the past week and even the great Xander Hawthorne could only eat so many baked goods before he needed a palate cleanser break, so that was off the table.

She could watch a movie? No, not distracting enough.

Do a DIY project? No inspiration. She'd probably end up scrolling Pinterest for an hour and not get anything done.

Explore Hawthorne House some more? She almost got lost last time, so she was taking a break from that.

Libby's leg bounced up and down and leaned back in her seat, fighting the urge to rub at her face, lest she messed up her makeup. She already had some foundation under her nails.

She closed her eyes and practiced some breathing exercises to try and expel the thoughts racing in her mind.

In for four.

Out for eight.

In four.

Out eight.

In.

Out.

In.

Ou-

"Trust me, Darlin', sleeping in that chair is a recipe for back pain."

Libby's eyes snapped open at the sound of that voice. Nash's voice. Warm and smooth and and soft and playful and deliciously country.

"Thanks for the advice," she chirped, "but I'm pretty sure I'm immune after sleeping on my old mattress for five years. And I wasn't sleeping."

She tilted her head back as Nash sauntered into the room. He was wearing his usual, a cowboy hat with some worn jeans and a white t-shirt that had seen better days.

Libby tried not to stare at him for too long. Failed. Then tried again.

Nash chuckled, and the sound resonated somewhere in her chest. "Right. You're immune to most things in this house. How could I forget?"

"I'm offended," she joked.

"You've a right to be. Next time I forget, you can kick me, yeah?"

"Mmm."

The cowboy came to sit in a chair near Libby, far enough to be at a respectful distance but close enough that Libby wanted him closer.

No! Bad Libby! Do not think about Nash Hawthorne or his closeness.

They sat in silence for a bit. Libby didn't mind sitting in silence with him. It was some of the only comfortable silence she got nowadays. The House was just so big that it couldn't be filled with noise all the time and when a large space got quiet, it got the bad kind of freaky.

Silence with Nash was calming. He was calming. In the craziness of her everyday, having an outlet of calm was nice. As a general rule, she tried not to think about all the kinds of stuff her sister and his brothers got up to on a daily basis. All the stress that came from that wasn't good for the soul.

"Worried about the kids?" Nash asked lazily.

Something tightened in Libby's stomach. The kids. Right. Avery and The Boys. Hearing him say something like that so casually made her mind wander just a teensy bit. She could imagine him saying something similar in the early morning, an arm draped around her and his nose buried in her hair as they basked in some alone-time before starting parenting duty later in the day.

Woah, there, girl. Calm the hell down. She reprimanded herself.

The goth shook her head. "No. I try not to anymore. If something happens with Ave, I trust her to tell me herself."

The last time she trusted Avery to tell her about trouble, her younger sister had kept a whole shooting from her. She made Avery promise to not do that again.

"I see."

"You hear."

That made him laugh. Libby loved to hear it.

She reached forward and picked up her fancy phone, unlocking it, and promptly jumping back in her chair at the loud clip playing on it. She had forgotten to exit that or even turn her volume down before closing it earlier.

"My daughter has always been a trouble maker. Ever since she was a child. Always rebelling and doing the opposite of what I told her to do. Just look at how she dresses. How could she ever care for a seventeen year old like Av-"

Libby fumbled to turn her phone off, lower the volume, anything.

Embarrassment flooded her veins like a drug as she pushed the phone across the table. A very bad drug that doesn't do anything good. Like nicotine or something. Very suddenly, she was immensely grateful that she had put on a full goth look today so that Nash couldn't see her blushing.

She looked down and caught her lip between her teeth, knowing she probably had lipstick staining the off-white incisors black. Libby didn't dare to look at Nash. She wasn't a hurt bird or an injured animal, she just couldn't bear to see the look of pity she knew would be on his face. She hated it when people took pity on her.

She was a survivor. Not someone to be pitied. She was strong.

But then again, strong people weren't immune to everything.

"Was that-"

"-yes. It was." Libby cut him off and looked up, conjuring up a fire in her eyes to burn the pity out of Nash's.

However, when she looked at him, there wasn't a trace of pity anywhere in his expression. It was hard to decipher what he was thinking, but his jaw was set and there was a crease between his brows as he looked at her. Like he was enraged but trying to keep a lid on it.

The fire she summoned died as quickly as it came. "What?"

"She always talk about you like that?" His voice was hard. It took a lot to get a rise out of Nash Hawthorne, but clearly this was something that set him off.

Libby shrugged. "I guess? I never really noticed it."

Lie. Complete lie. She always noticed it, she just learned how to let it roll over her over the years. Hurtful words were better than the alternative.

"Don't lie to me, Lib." The hardness dissipated from his voice, giving away to a butter soft centre.

"I dunno," she amended, "I've had to hear her talk about me like that for my entire life, Nash. I just tune it out."

"How could she ever-" he cut himself off, "-it's obvious she doesn't even know you. The real you."

"Yeah, well, it doesn't really matter, now, does it? She's out there spreading lies about me left and right just for a cheque." She looked down again, at her hands in her lap.

"You don't believe any of that bullshit, do you?"

"No. Of-of course not."

"Darlin'."

Libby stood up out of her chair abruptly, curling her arms around herself and staring straight at Nash.

"Look, Nash. I know I can take care of my sister, okay? Is that what you want to hear? Because I know I can and I have for two years! I know I'm capable and I know I'm not every horrible thing my mother says about me." She paused, a breath shuddering its way out of her chest. "It's just… you don't know what it was like to grow up with someone like her around."

Instantly, she felt awful for saying something like that to Nash. He didn't look offended, though, more like he was intently listening to her, even though she was almost-but-not-quite-yelling at him, so she didn't let the guilt drive her decisions like she normally would have.

"Do you wanna tell me what it was like?" His voice was almost a whisper as he leaned forward, bracing his forearms on his knees and tilting his head back to look up at Libby.

He wasn't condescending, he wasn't asking her this with ill intentions. He looked at Libby and saw someone who needed to let out some anger, release old baggage, beat a dead horse, tell someone something and have them be on her side for once. Libby could tell that just with the inflection in his tone.

It was a wonder how Hawthornes could manipulate a tone like that.

Libby's eyes flicked to the side as she weighed her options. On one hand, she really needed to talk to someone about this. On the other, did she really want to dump all of her childhood trauma onto Nash Hawthorne?

Well, she was about to.

"When I was a child," she started, already feeling her throat burn, "the only thing I ever wanted in the entire world was to make my mom happy. To see her smile and have her hug me and tell me she loved me more than anything. She was so unhappy all the time, and I thought it was my fault. She used to talk about how, one day, Ricky would come back and we would be a family again and that's when she would finally be happy."

She blinked back tears welling in her eyes and looked to the ceiling as she continued. "Whenever I would do something bad, like drop a cup or spill food, she'd get really mad at me and hit me. I never really held it against her. I mean, I had done something bad, right? I deserved it. And when I was seven, Avery was born, and my mom was upset all the time. She yelled, calling me horrible things and saying even worse things about Hannah and Avery. It was like nothing I could do would make her happy, it only made her more and more upset. And when she was upset, she hit me, and all I wanted was for her to not be upset with me anymore so I let her."

Tears began to roll down her cheeks, her dramatic eyeliner was undoubtedly coming in streaks down her white makeup, and her breath hitched as she spoke. She still remembered how it felt to be struck as a child, holding in her tears because she wanted her mother to be happy with her again. The memories and emotions attached to them were roaring in her mind like violent waves and she couldn't shake them off.

She was so caught up in her emotions that she didn't realize when Nash stood up and wrapped his arms around her in a comforting hug, pressing her face to his chest. Libby was definitely getting makeup all over his old shirt, but she didn't care all that much as she gripped onto his waist and sniffled.

"I know you know it's not your fault, Lib, but I'm gonna say it anyways because I know it's good to hear, okay?" He whispered, swiping his thumb back and forth across the back of Libby's head.

Libby took in the smell of Nash, the cozy earthy scent mixed with sharp leather, and nodded. "Okay."

"It was not your fault that she hit you, Libby. You were a kid. There was no reason for it. You are the strongest person I know, and I hate that you had to go through that even for a second." He leaned down and kissed the top of her head, placing his chin on her crown afterward.

They stood there for a while, Nash holding Libby while she let out her feelings and smeared her makeup all over his shirt, until Libby spoke again.

"Y'know, whenever I talk to her, all she ever does is tell me what a horrible child I was like she doesn't even remember any of what actually happened." She whispered.

"She can join Skye in that club, then." He joked.

Libby laughed, a quiet and broken laugh that hurt to do because of how much she had been crying. "Yeah, they can share their sides of the stories over brunch."

Nash snorted. "They'd have a grand ol' time, huh?"

"Probably."

The melted goth pried herself away from the cowboy's warm embrace and took a deep breath. She then looked at his shirt and started giggling. Oh, yeah, her makeup was totally ruined.

Nash looked down to where Libby was looking and smiled at the sight of his soiled shirt before he started chuckling too. Thankfully, he was wearing white so her foundation wasn't all that visible, but her black eyeliner was everywhere. It looked like a pen had exploded on him.

"I'll buy you a new shirt." Libby promised through giggles, her sour mood turning sweet.

Nash shook his head and pulled at the ends of his shirt. "Nah, I like it. Call it abstract."

She rolled her eyes hard. Only Nash Hawthorne could look at a foundation-eyeliner-highlighter-eyeshadow covered shirt and not want to get another one because he "thinks it's abstract looking".

In the back of her mind, Libby knew it was because she was the one to ruin his shirt and he wanted it as a keepsake, but she didn't dwell on it for too long. She couldn't let Avery be right. Her and Nash were not a thing. Definitely not. Totally not. Probably not.

She opened her mouth to speak again, but before she could, a cowboy hat was dropped on her head and Nash was gone.

That Bastard! He came in here to give me another cowboy hat? Of course he did. She grimaced internally.

Taking the cowboy hat off, she charged after him. Cardio was not her strong suit, but she had spent the last few weeks learning the ins and outs of the House. She didn't have Hawthorne knowledge, but she had enough.

The thoughts of all the absurdities her mother had said completely left her mind as she chased after Nash. How could they stay when she had a cowboy to chase and plan the death of? Okay, death probably wasn't on the table, but he couldn't keep getting away with this! She'd see to it that he didn't.

Libby's mother would have to try a lot harder to get under her skin now that she had the ever reliable Nash Hawthorne on her side. He was steady and solid, like a mountain she'd love to climb. But, most importantly, he cared, truly cared, about her. He was always in her corner and that was enough for her.