#hea

Andrew knew something was wrong four days into his sentence. It had begun as a tickle of a thought in the back of his mind during the trial, and he pushed it away as hard as he possibly could, but it would drift to the forefront of his mind at night as he tried to sleep, his cell mate snoring loud enough to wake the dead. 

He didn't like the thoughts rushing through his head, but the evidence was there, plain as day: he was busted when they had never been busted before. Their plans were meticulous and foolproof, and no one had been left behind before, not even if they were injured and had to be carried.

The cops were there too fast, he thought, glaring up at the underside of the bunk. His hands clasped together and tightened to the point of pain. It's like they knew we were there. Baz was adamant I take up the rear. 

So how had Andrew been busted and arrested? 

He didn't want to think that his brothers, that Smurf, had planned for him to be caught, but it was the only logical answer. He knew why, too. 

Andrew met Charlie by pure chance. It'd been on the beach, the sun slowly descending beyond the horizon. It was the only place in his life where his mind went quiet, the sound of crashing waves overtaking the constant thoughts screaming in his head. 

Then the dog appeared, dripping with saltwater and panting happily as it licked at his face and wiggled onto his lap.

Andrew had always loved animals, but Smurf had never let him have one. He'd feet the stray cats and dogs on the street when he was younger, but Smurf had dissuaded him from doing that when she'd broken an elderly, three legged cat's neck in front of him as a kid.

The dog in his lap was bigger than the strays he'd fed. Its fur was long and dripping, and Andrew immediately clocked it as a long haired German Shepherd. He gave up remaining stoic and pet the thing, lips twitching when it leaned into his hands, oh, so trusting.

“Vader!” A voice hollered, and Andrew glanced up and stared as a woman, younger than him, hurried barefoot across the beach. “Oh, my god. I'm so sorry.” 

Andrew remained silent, merely watching as the woman grabbed the dog, Vader's, collar and dragged it away, chastising the dog while looking embarrassed. She was wearing a pair of shorts longer than those the girls in California usually wore, as well as an oversized t-shirt. Her hair was long, a dark blonde, hanging over her shoulders in two, loose braids. 

She looked at him apologetically, and Andrew felt his breath hitch. She was beautiful, in a way the women he usually interacted with weren't. “Sorry,” she murmured, stroking the dog's head. “He's usually more well behaved.” 

“It's okay,” Andrew made himself say, words stilted and dry. “I like dogs.” 

She smiled at him, amused. “I'm Charlie, this goober here is Vader.” 

Andrew felt his lips twitch when the dog whined and shifted, clearly disliking being restrained. Charlie sighed and released the dog, who stared up at her adoringly and panted. “How old?” He asked, watching as she lobbed a tennis ball along the beach, the dog sprinting after it barking.

“Three,” she replied, shrugging. “He's a good dog, just a lot of energy.” 

Andrew stiffened when she sat next to him, staring at the ocean as Vader leapt through the shallow waves, tennis ball in his mouth. “I'm Andrew,” he said stiffly.

Charlie smiled at him, extending a hand. He warily slipped his into hers, shaking it. “Nice to meet you, Andrew.” 

It became a regular thing, almost accidently. Subconsciously. He'd head down to the beach at sunset when he could to clear his mind, and he would inevitably end up with a lapful of Vader, and Charlie would sit next to him and they'd either remain in comfortable silence or they'd talk about nothing and everything, alternating who'd throw the ball for Vader. 

Some nights they'd be there for hours, others barely twenty minutes, but Andrew found himself looking forward to seeing Charlie and Vader, his tense shoulders relaxing when he heard the dog's bark or see her making her way toward him, a smile brightening her face when she spotted him. 

It made his stomach twist weirdly. He didn't know what it was. He liked it, craved it.

Weeks turned to months, and things changed the night Charlie invited him to her apartment for dinner. He knew he shouldn't have accepted. A girl like Charlie shouldn't be mixed up in his family, in him, but Andrew couldn't help himself, so he followed her and Vader back to her apartment, helping her bathe the dog and letting her bully him in the kitchen to make tacos, directing him around the small, cramped space. 

They ate tacos and drank beer on her tiny balcony off the living room. Between bites and sips they talked about nothing and everything. Vader slept at their feet, whining and yelping through dreams. 

It was the most relaxed Andrew had been in years. He loved it. It terrified him. 

Softness was not something Andrew was acquainted with. Not as a Cody, as Smurf's feral guard dog. 

Charlie was softness incarnate. She was shorter than him, all soft curves and smiles. She baby-talked to her dog and owned a soft sofa piled with cushions and blankets. She wore oversized clothes made of the softest fabrics.

Andrew was all hard, cultivated muscle and sharp edges. His voice was always low and flat, brusque and hard. He had never touched another person without the intent of harm.

But she never flinched when he touched her, never shied away from him even if he had a bruise on his jaw or temple. 

She was too good for him, but Andrew had always been greedy. He always wanted more than he had. Smurf had told him so, spewing venom in the same sentence as a saccharine baby.

Charlie never let him clean up after dinner. She'd relegate him to the sofa, some movie playing on her beat up TV. She'd always join him after, pressed against his side and so warm and fucking soft.

The first time she kissed him, Andrew was stiff as a fucking board. He'd been kissed before, but the women doing the kissing had been paid to feign enjoyment, and they'd never been so soft and gentle with him. 

He didn't know what to do with it.

He never wanted it to stop. 

Charlie backtracked, apologies dripping from her lips when he didn't kiss back. She looked mortified, her cheeks red and eyes darting, dampness collecting along her eyelashes.

Andrew slipped his hand along the nape of her neck and hauled her back in, kissing her back once his brain rebooted. He wanted to crawl inside her skin and live there, but he settled for pulling her into his lap and licking into her mouth, swallowing her soft fucking moans and whimpers, hoarding them in his hollowed out chest cavity greedily. 

Her hands slid into his hair gently, tightening when his own hands slid down to grasp her waist, her hips, her fucking thighs. She whimpered when he sucked her tongue into his mouth, when he ground his hips up into her.

Andrew groaned when she whispered his name, grinding down on him. When she hurriedly pulled his shirt up and over his head, soft hands running down his chest and over his arms. 

She loosed a high pitched moan when he attached his lips to her neck, gently biting down over her pulse point, soothing the mark with his tongue. She turned bashful when he pulled her shirt off, stammering bullshit about not being as skinny or beautiful-

Andrew shut her up by kissing her hard and filthy, running his hands over her soft belly, cupping her tits in his hands, thumbing over her nipples. Her hips bucked into him, her chest heaving every time she pulled away, her hazel eyes dark with want.

Her eyes went wide and incredulous when he stood, holding her easily in his arms. When he carried her into her bedroom and laid her back on the bed, asking silently for permission with his hands at her waistband. 

Andrew had never had sex that wasn't a little bit violent. A desperate rutting against a woman emitting fake moans and groans, desperate for the wad of cash in his pocket. 

Charlie was different. She made him want softness for the first time in his life, unashamed and desperate for it to a degree that terrified him. 

He pulled her shorts off, then his own jeans, and laid between her legs, hands gripping her thighs as he feasted. He had to pause to pull her hands away from her mouth, staring up at her darkly.

“I want to hear you,” he told her, voice gravelly and full of want.

Charlie's moans and bitten off curses, the reverent way she said his name as he licked into her, made his entire body break out into goosebumps. He feasted on her, lips wrapped around her clit as he slid two fingers into her tight, wet heat. 

Vicious, male pride expanded in his chest when she splintered apart around him, back arching off the bed, her thighs clamping around his head. 

Andrew's heart stuttered alarmingly in his chest when she reached down and pulled at him weakly, dragging him up her body until their hips were pressed together, her soft stomach and tits pressed against him. He choked on a groan when his cock slid through her hot, wet folds.

“Andrew,” she whispered, cupping his face. He wanted to die when she wiped under his eyes, and he realised he was crying. But she merely kissed him, shifting her hips impatiently.

They gasped into one another's mouths when he slid inside her. He grasped handfuls of the bedsheets, entire body tensed as he fought off his orgasm. He wanted this to last, to be seared into his brain forever. 

Andrew met Charlie's eyes as he rolled his hips into hers, their mouths dropping open. Her legs wrapped around him tightly, one of her hands - so fucking soft - cupped the back of his neck, the other pressed against his chest over his pounding heart. 

He wanted to tuck his head into her neck and hide from her soft, piercing gaze but found himself unable to do much but slowly, agonisingly slowly, pull out of her and thrust back in just as slowly. 

Lovemaking, his brain supplied dumbly, this is what those trashy books talk about. This isn't fucking. 

He kissed her, but ended up merely panting into her mouth as they found a deep, slow rhythm that had him teetering on the edge of his orgasm the entire time. 

“Andrew,” she gasped into him, her inner muscles clamping down around him, hard.

“Charlie,” he groaned, thrusting hard into her one last time, his ironclad grasp on himself snapping as he emptied himself into her, his orgasm somehow the most intense and softest thing he'd ever felt.

They laid like that for a while, him on top of her, face pressed against her neck, her fingernails gently scratching over his scalp, him softening inside of her.

After several moments, he gingerly pulled out, watching as his come leaked out of her, and laid beside her, trembling as she tucked herself against his chest, head under his chin. 

Andrew had never had anything so soft and good, and he didn't ever want to let it go.

***

Charlie meeting Deran and Craig was accidental, and Andrew remained tense the entire time they were close to her, their eyes all knowing and understanding as they flicked between her face and Andrew's, their tangled hands.

His biggest fear was Smurf finding out. He knew his mother. She was covetous. She would never approve of him finding someone so soft, so useless, to the family as Charlie, even if he knew she wasn't useless. She made him good. Made him want to be good.

Smurf would twist that goodness for her own use, or obliterate it and smirk as Charlie was destroyed, as it sent Andrew off the deep end. 

Once Charlie left the beach, giving him a shy kiss before she departed, Vader loping at her side, he ignored the probing stares of his brothers; he trusted them, he did, but he didn't know whether their loyalty to Smurf was stronger than their loyalty to him.

“How long?” Deran asked idly, turning his gaze to the setting sun. 

Andrew swallowed. “A year.” 

Craig whistled. “Never knew you were so good at keeping secrets from Smurf.” 

He turned and stared at his brother. His hand lashed out and grabbed Craig's shirt, hauling him closer. “She'll never find out, will she?” 

“Woah, that's not-” Craig began.

Deran gripped Andrew's wrist and pressed against his shoulder. “That's not what he meant, Pope. We won't say anything.”

“Yeah?” Andrew ground out, shoving Craig away. “You won't let it slip when you're outta your fuckin’ head on coke?” 

“Brother,” Craig said seriously, jaw working as he tried to find the words. “I won't say a word.” 

“Neither will I.” Deran crossed his arms. “She's good for you. I saw the way you looked at her, Andy.” 

Andrew turned away, clenching his jaw. He knew how he felt about Charlie, even if he had never verbalised it. He had tried to push her away, to protect her. But she had stubbornly remained, even after he'd snapped and yelled at her, explaining in excruciating detail every fucked up thing his family had done, that he'd done.

There had been no fear in her eyes when he shoved her against a wall in her apartment, wanting her to be scared, needing her to be scared of him, so she would realise he was fucking poison, so, so bad for her, a rot she should carve out of her life. 

She had merely held him close and whispered those fucking words, kissing him so fucking softly afterwards. “I love you, Andrew. You're not what she made you.” 

“I want out,” he said roughly, not looking at his brothers. They remained silent, unsurprised. “I need out.” 

“We'll help you,” Deran said, glancing at Craig. “Won't we?” 

“Yes,” Craig said, grasping Andrew's shoulder. “We'll help you.

A month later, Andrew was in prison.

***

Charlie sometimes found herself wondering if it had all been worth it. If he had been worth it. Andrew Cody was not an uncomplicated man. It was a herculean effort to be with him, especially after he told her everything about himself and his family, but then she'd look over at the little boy and girl playing in the living room, so much like him, and she would find herself fighting tears as she thought he was so fucking worth it I fucking miss him.

The day Deran and Craig had shown up to her house with a duffel bag full of cash, a stolen car, and their words forceful and desperate, Charlie felt like her world was crashing down around her. 

“He was arrested.” Deran was helping her pack her clothes. “Too easily. It was a set up. Smurf knows about you.” 

Charlie had felt fear before. The nights Andrew had a job, or when he'd come home bruised and bloody, or that one memorable time he'd been fucking shot and she had used her sewing skills to patch him up. 

But this fear was something else. Smurf had set Andrew up to be arrested for a job, and god knew how long he'd be locked up, and now Charlie was vulnerable.

Smurf wouldn't let her live, that much she knew. 

Deran and Craig helped her pack up her shit and Vader. They swore to make her disappearance look as though she was dead. They'd explain to Andrew once he was out. But she just had to go and stay alive; they'd grown oddly fond of her the past month they'd known her. They knew Andrew fucking adored her, worshipped the ground she walked on.

If Charlie died, they were sure Andrew would fucking murder Smurf with his own bare hands. They weren't doing this to protect Smurf, fuck no. They were doing it to protect Andrew. 

Charlie stood and watched as they trashed her house, as Deran cut her palm open deep and had her smear some blood over certain parts of the apartment. Tears burned her eyes as she let blood pool on the bathroom floor. 

“It's rushed, but Smurf will buy it,” Craig muttered, wrapping her hand tightly. 

“Craig,” she whispered, throat tight. She'd wanted Andrew to be the first person she told. “I'm pregnant.” 

Craig froze, and Deran's face fell. “Fuck,” Craig whispered. “Shit. Okay, you need to get out of Oceanside. Now.”

Charlie was bundled up into the stolen car with a duffle bag full of cash with a gun tucked into the glovebox. Andrew had insisted she learn to shoot for her safety. She was kind of glad he had. 

“Drive east and don't stop.” Deran leaned into the window. “I'll figure out a way to tell Pope you're safe.” 

“Thank you,” she whispered, shifting the car into gear.

“Go,” Craig said sternly. 

Charlie went.

***

The one thing Andrew wanted to do the second he stepped out of prison was find Charlie. She hadn't written to him once. It wasn't like her. He knew she would write. Something had stopped her from contacting him.

He didn't want to entertain the idea that she had been found out. That she was gone. Him being locked up was a lesson from Smurf, he knew that much. She'd figured it out somehow. He knew Craig and Deran wouldn't have said anything. He trusted his brothers.

He hadn't ever really trusted Baz or Smurf, not for years, even if he was tied to them irrevocably. 

Getting back to Oceanside was easy, but finding out Julia was dead and her kid, J, was living in his room was like a punch to the gut. Finding out Charlie was gone was even worse. 

Baz and Smurf were shifty, barely meeting his eyes. She kept up the usual saccharine tone, baby's falling from her lips like a snake's poison from fangs. He had spent a long time in prison just thinking, sorting through his memories and thoughts and reorganising them.

They had sold his house. His fucking house. Charlie was gone. Craig and Deran kept shooting him pointed looks.

Then, Smurf finally snapped, unable to help herself.

“Your whore is dead,” she said blandly, cutting up cucumbers for the salad. “The woman you were going to choose over your own flesh and blood.”

Andrew went still, breath caught in his chest. He stared at her, gaze dark and dead and empty.

Charlie, dead. Gone. Her softness turned stiff in death. His hands clenched into fists. 

“She was bad for you, baby,” Smurf said, smiling sickly sweet. “So I got rid of her for you.” 

Andrew wanted to take the knife from her and shove it into her throat, to rip open flesh and watch her bleed out onto the kitchen tile. He'd never imagined her death so viscerally before. 

Craig and Deran were tense where they sat, watching Andrew warily.

Baz was smirking faintly as he counted hundred dollar bills. So, he was in on it too. That didn't sting as much as Andrew thought it would. Baz had never truly liked him, and the feeling was fucking mutual.

He had learned many important lessons in prison, from her, and managed to hold himself back by the skin of his fucking teeth. 

“Mm,” he grunted, sipping his beer. 

Smurf eyed him carefully as she dumped the cucumber into a salad bowl. 

Andrew was already plotting. 

****

Smurf knew from almost the beginning that Pope had met someone. She wasn't stupid. She was fucking intelligent, and she knew immediately that she had to put a stop to it, no matter what. Pope was hers, her boy; his loyalty had to be first and foremost to the family, to her, no one else. 

She told Baz. He'd do what she wanted him to, especially if it meant fucking over Pope. The boys had never truly gotten along. Her poor Pope felt replaced when Baz came around, not even blood but family in all ways that matter. He'd hated Baz ever since, but quietly. Silently. He never verbalised his dislike of Baz, but Smurf could see it, especially when she began grooming Baz to take over one day, overlooking Pope.

Pope was a blunt instrument. Oh, he was smart enough. But his viciousness was more useful as family muscle, not leadership. She had raised him that way. She had built her boys up into the tools they were, and she'd rather die than let them step out of line.

Especially for some fucking girl.

Baz swore he'd follow Pope, but it took time. Pope was good at losing a trail, even if the man didn't actually know he was being followed. 

It took months, but Smurf was patient enough. Pope would either let the girl go, or she'd kill the distraction. 

Then Baz returned, looking perturbed. “What,” she stated coldly.

“He's in love with her,” Baz told her confidently. “This isn't a fling, Smurf. I watched them. He looks at her like she's the center of his universe.” 

Smurf gently put the knife in her hand down on the chopping board. She was unnerved. She never knew Pope to care so deeply, except perhaps for his twin. That girl had been trouble, but Pope had chosen her. The family. 

“You think he'll run?” Smurf looked up, meeting Baz's gaze. He nodded slowly. “Then we need to remind Pope why that's a bad idea, don't we?” 

“Yeah,” Baz murmured, smirking slowly. “Some prison time, maybe.” 

Smurf picked up the knife, slowly and meticulously cutting through the beef on the chopping board. “Good. See it done. After, get rid of her, too. Drop her name to people who don't like Pope; they'll do worse than we ever could.” 

Baz's smirk was nothing short of vicious, and Smurf nodded dismissively at him. He left the kitchen, sauntering outside to join the others. She stared through the open door, savagely slicing through the beef when she saw Pope smirking with Deran, acting innocent when he had betrayed her. Betrayed their family.

He would dearly regret it, and come to realise that the only people who would ever truly care for him were his family. 

***

Charlie leaned against the door frame and watched her twins sleep. They looked so much like him it made her chest ache, especially their son. He was like a mini Andrew; the same soft curls, the hazel eyes and freckled skin. 

Jules was his father's son, though without the childhood trauma. He was fiercely protective of his sister, and even Charlie herself. She adored him.

Marcella was softer, though no less fierce. She reminded Charlie so much of Andrew, and a little bit like herself. She had Andrew's hair, too, though Charlie's eyes and complexion. 

Vader lifted his head from where he lay between the twins' beds', ears pricked and body tensed.

Charlie turned, dread filling her gut as a car's headlights flashed through the front windows of the cabin. She flew into action, swiftly shutting the twins’ bedroom door and hurrying to her room where she kept her gun. 

She could hear muffled voices coming from outside. Men's voices. She loaded her gun with shaky fingers and cocked it, freezing when someone fucking knocked at the door. 

Charlie stood and tiptoed toward the front door, heart pounding in her throat. She held the gun in her left hand, and slowly unlocked the door with her right. She shifted, keeping the left half of her body behind the door as she opened it.

It felt as though her breath was punched from her chest. She stared up at Andrew, her mouth dropping open in shock.

“Andy,” she breathed, mindlessly flipping the safety on her gun before she placed it on the table by the door. “You - you're here.” 

Andrew's gaze roved hungrily over her face, tears in his eyes. She shoved the door open further and leapt into his arms, wrapping herself around him completely. One arm banded around her waist tightly, his other hand burring into her hair. 

“Charlie,” he whispered, voice wrecked. “She said you were dead.” 

She pulled back, cupping his face. “I'm here. I'm alive.” 

Andrew kissed her, and Charlie loosed a muffled sob against his mouth, tightening her arms around his shoulders. 

A throat cleared loudly, and Andrew heaved a breath against her before he let her go, setting her back on her feet. She looked behind him, smiling upon seeing Deran and Craig. 

“Hi,” she said. 

“Good to see you,” Deran said, amused. 

“How did you find me?” She asked, bemused. She'd been living in the middle of nowhere for years, only ever going into town when she needed supplies. 

“You told me about your grandfather's cabin,” Andrew murmured, voice raspy and eyes rimmed in red. He stroked her cheek softly, gently running his thumb over her bottom lip. 

“Yeah, once,” she said, voice strangled by emotion. “Years ago.” 

Andrew kissed her forehead. “I remember everything you told me.” 

“Mama?” 

Charlie turned and smiled at Marcie, who rubbed sleepily at her eyes. Andrew inhaled sharply behind her, a strangled noise coming from his throat. “Hey, honey,” she murmured, crouching to pick up her daughter. 

Andrew was staring at their daughter, chest heaving. She stepped closer, blinking tears from her eyes. “Marcie, honey, this is-”

“Daddy,” Marcella said, abruptly awake. Charlie fought the urge to sob hysterically when Andrew's breath hitched and a tear rolled down his cheek. She'd put up photos of Andrew around the cabin, and told their kids about him every day since she brought them home from the hospital. 

“Yeah, sweetheart, it's daddy,” she whispered, voice choked with emotion. 

Marcella trustingly reached for Andrew, whose hands flew up on instinct to take her. He glanced at Charlie, who nodded, and he oh, so gently took Marcie into his arms and cradled her close. 

“Hi,” he whispered, pressing his nose to her hair. She wrapped around him, snuggling close. 

Charlie ushered Andrew and his brothers inside, smiling slightly at the dampness in Deran's eyes and the almost painfully stoic expression on Craig's face. 

“Let me go get Jules,” she murmured, leaving the room before they could question her. 

Jules was sitting up on his bed, rubbing his eyes and yawning. “Mommy,” he whined, clinging to her once she picked him up. 

“Guess what, buddy?” She murmured, carrying him into the living room. Andrew sat with Marcella curled up on his lap, her thumb in her mouth.

“Holy shit,” Deran muttered, staring at Jules in her arms. Craig's jaw was hanging open, eyes wide.

Andrew's breath audibly hitched. “Twins?” He asked, voice cracking. 

“Yeah,” she said, sitting next to him. 

“Daddy?” Jules asked, leaning forward with wide eyes. “Mommy! It's daddy!” 

Charlie's eyes burned as Jules scrambled to sit on Andrew's lap beside Marcella. He stared, breathing loudly, as tears unabashedly rolled down his face. “Yeah, sweetheart, daddy's…daddy's here.”

“Fuck,” Craig grunted, wiping almost angrily at his eyes. “Allergies or some shit.” 

Deran snorted. “Yeah, I'm sure.” 

Andrew held the twins close, leaning down to kiss their foreheads. He met her eyes, beckoning her close with a tilt of his chin. She slid closer, leaning up to kiss him. 

“I missed you.” Charlie pressed her forehead to Andrew's. 

“Missed you, too.” 

“How were you able to come here? What about-?” 

Deran cut her off nonchalantly. “Oh, Smurf and Baz are in prison.” Charlie choked on her own spit, making Deran grin. “We told Andrew what really happened and he lost his fucking mind.” 

Charlie gazed at Andrew lovingly. He smiled slightly and grasped her hand, still managing to keep the twins on his lap. “How-?” 

“I made sure to tip off the cops to their last heist. Once Deran and Craig were in the clear, I called ‘em anonymously and they were hauled away red handed.” Andrew's smirk was cold and deadly and so fucking sexy Charlie had to shift positions. 

“Smurf rarely goes on jobs, but this one was more personal for her, a bit of a vendetta against this chick - she shot her, and Baz shot her friend, so they're both in prison for twenty-five years to life, at the least,” Craig explained, looking oddly relieved. 

“Jesus Christ,” Charlie breathed, a weight she hadn't really been aware of falling from her shoulders. “So…we're safe?” 

Andrew squeezed her hand. “Yeah, sweetheart, you…and our twins are safe.”

“I can come home with you?” She asked, voice breaking. 

Andrew's expression softened. “Yes.” 

Charlie beamed.

****

Returning to Oceanside after three years in the middle of nowhere was a bit of a culture shock for Charlie, but utterly exciting for Jules, Marcella, and Vader. 

Andrew drove, one hand steady on the steering wheel and the other tangled with Charlie's. He'd all but refused to let her go since they'd been reunited at the cabin. 

Deran and Craig had taken another car, muttering about not wanting to be near their sexual tension, shuddering dramatically and dodging Andrew's hits, though Andrew had been sporting a light blush. 

He pulled into the driveway of the Cody Compound, the house still under his name. The cops had raided it, but hadn't found anything except some cash and a gun in Smurf's room, further nailing her ass, and some drugs in Baz's. 

Charlie climbed from the car and let Vader and the kids out, smiling widely when Marcella promptly raised her hands at Andrew, the man melting and immediately lifting her to perch on his hip. 

Deran and Craig's car pulled in behind them, and Jules bounced on his toes excitedly before sprinting toward Craig as he climbed from the driver's seat.

“Woah, buddy,” he grunted, Jules raising his hands. Craig glanced at Charlie, who raised her eyebrows pointedly, and he picked his nephew up, swinging him onto his shoulders. 

Jules giggled like a madman, just as much of an adrenaline junkie as his uncle. Craig barely winced when he gripped his long hair tightly.

“You're back,” an unfamiliar voice said, and Charlie turned to see a teenage boy stepping out the front door.

“Yeah,” Andrew said, tangling his free hand with Charlie's. “J, this is Charlie. Charlie, this is - Julia's son, my nephew, Josh.” 

Charlie smiled at him warmly. “Hi, nice to meet you.” 

J returned the smile guardedly. “You're Uncle Pope's girl?”

She laughed slightly. “Uh, yeah, I guess I am.” 

Andrew kissed her temple. “You've got cousins, J.” 

J smiled at Marcella, who hid her face in Andrew's neck and waved shyly. “Hi,” she mumbled around her thumb. 

“That's Jules with Craig,” she explained, huffing when Vader barrelled over and nearly wiped J out at the knees. “And that's Vader.” 

J crouched and ruffled Vader's fur, his smile a bit more natural. “Hey, buddy.” 

Andrew led Charlie into the house and gave her a brief tour, Marcella still on his hip. She stared at him as he led her into the master bedroom, which smelt like fresh paint and had furniture boxes lining the wall by the door.

“I had J paint the room while we were gone,” he explained. “It was…hers. Now it's ours.” 

J appeared behind them, looking excited. “Deran and Craig told me you were pregnant when you left, but not with twins. I had some stuff delivered, though, can I show Marcella?” 

Charlie's smile was soft and maternal. “Sure, thanks, J.” 

J held his hands out to Marcella, who went with him happily when J mentioned toys, then carried her off down the hall with a quip about “mommy and daddy needing alone time.” 

Charlie snorted a laugh and looked up at Andrew, whose gaze was hungry. “Andy-”

He scooped her into his arms and carried her into their new room, kicking the door shut behind them. “I missed you so fucking much,” he all but growled, pressing open mouthed kisses to her neck. She moaned softly, fisting her hands in his hair, mourning the shorter length. “Every day I thought about you; I knew something went wrong when you never wrote or called.” 

“I'm sorry,” she murmured, pressing her lips to his. “Deran and Craig told me I had to go because she knew-”

“Don't blame you, honey,” he murmured, pressing feather-soft kisses across her jaw and over her lips. “You're here. You're safe. You - our twins.” 

Charlie cupped his face, catching his tears on her thumbs as they fell. “I love you,” she whispered, kissing him softly.

Andrew gasped a sob, squeezing his eyes shut, hard, and reverently laid her on the bed. He opened his eyes and met her unwavering, teary gaze. “I-” he choked on the words. He'd never said them before, he realised. He was terrified. He was elated. “Charlie, I-I love you.” 

Tears spilled from the corners of Charlie's eyes even as she beamed up at him, thumbs stroking his cheeks and temples. She pulled him closer, lips pressing against his hard. 

Their lovemaking - something that filled Andrew with so many emotions he felt he was going to burst - was slow and soft and gentle, fingers laced together, eyes connected as they rocked together, as they panted into one another's mouths.

After, Andrew held her close, their foreheads pressed together. “I love you,” he murmured, smiling when she beamed. 

“I love you, Andrew Cody,” she whispered, running her hand over his buzzed hair. “But I miss your curls.” 

He laughed, loudly. She looked utterly amazed, a grin on her face. “It'll grow back.” 

“Good.” She kissed him. “Marry me?” 

Andrew stared at her, breath hitching. “Charlie.” 

“I never want to be away from you again, Andy,” she said. “I want to be with you for the rest of my life.” 

“I want that, too,” he said, voice barely a whisper. He had never admitted anything he'd wanted aloud before. His voice was ragged and full of need. “I want-”

She kissed him. “You have me. Forever.” 

He smiled. 

****

3 years later 

J looked up from the grill he was standing at, flipping burgers, when a high-pitched, excited scream echoed through the backyard. A grin tugged at his mouth when his niece, Marcie, went flying through the air as Deran tossed her off his shoulders, cackling when Adrian caught her and began tickling her. Jules sat on the edge of the pool, beaming as Andy swam towards him with Willa in his arms. 

Charlie stood by the grill, little Cameron perched on her hip as she sipped from a cold glass of wine. Lena was sitting on a spread blanket under an umbrella, Cath relaxing beside her, entertaining five month old Alex. 

“You good, kiddo?” Charlie asked him, ruffling his hair. Cameron beamed and squirmed, reaching for his uncle J. 

J gladly took Cameron into his arms, perching his two year old nephew on his hip. “Yeah, Charlie, I'm great.” 

It wasn't a lie. When J had first come to live with Smurf after his mom's death, he had been more than apprehensive, especially upon learning about the family business. He'd lived a childhood full of drugs and crime, so it felt kind of inevitable that after his mom's death he'd fall right back into it. 

But then Uncle Andrew had been released from prison, and J had overheard Smurf mentioning “Pope's whore” being dead.

Barely a month later, Smurf and Baz were in prison, and J's life was once more turned upside down, but for the better this time. 

Andrew, as the oldest Cody brother, had taken firm control of the family after Smurf and Baz were sentenced to 25 years to life each. He banned drugs and hard alcohol from the house, especially once his kids and Charlie were there - the family business went legit; well, as legit as a real estate business could be when built with stolen money.

Deran bought a bar, one that was fully legal, and ran it with his not-so-secret boyfriend Adrian, and even Craig was on the straight and narrow. The family was like a real family, and J knew it was mostly because of Aunt Charlie. 

Charlie had moved in with Marcie and Jules barely a month after Smurf and Baz were arrested, and she was like a whirlwind. J couldn't help but adore her. She was so unlike anyone he'd ever met before. Real and honest and loving. 

She very visibly adored Andrew, something J was baffled by at first. He cared about his uncle, he did, but everyone knew Pope was weird. A lot of it had to do with his childhood, J knew that, and didn't blame the guy; Smurf had fucked up all her kids, but they were trying to do better.

Deran and Craig had been wholly unsurprised when, barely three months after Charlie moved back home, she was pregnant again; it was J who bet it was twins again, and won the pot when Andrew and Charlie came home looking utterly bewildered; twins, fraternal, boy and girl. 

J cackled whenever he remembered Charlie and Andrew announcing the kids names the day they were brought home from the hospital; Cameron and Willa, for their uncles. 

J had never seen Craig cry, but the man had openly and unabashedly sobbed while holding his namesake, his niece. Deran had been a bit more restrained, but no less touched. 

Andrew and Charlie swore up and down that they were done after the second set of twins, only for Charlie to throw a pillow at Andrew's head the day she found out she was pregnant again. Andrew had grovelled for days, looking utterly pathetic for such a deadly guy. 

Everyone had been glad to learn that Charlie was only pregnant with one kid, a boy they named Alexander. After giving birth, she resolutely got her tubes tied, something she had very loudly proclaimed to the entire family's relief; they loved the kids, but five under eight was a lot, especially since nearly the whole family lived in the same house. 

J bounced Cameron on his hip, grinning when the toddler giggled madly. “You wanna help uncle J, bud?” 

“Yesh,” the boy lisped adorably. 

“Betrayal!” Craig cried dramatically as Jules ineffectually wrestled with him in the shallow end of the pool. “My own nephew!” 

Willa cackled hysterically from Andrew's arms, the man sitting on the pool step with an amused smile on his face. 

“Daddy!” Marcella called, standing on Adrian's shoulders, her hands gripping his tightly. 

“Careful, bug,” Andrew told her, an easy grin on his face. 

J couldn't believe how fucking soft his uncle could be. He'd heard horror stories about the man in the weeks before he was released from prison. How he was Smurf's rabid guard dog. How he would do anything, kill anyone, on her command. 

Maybe that's who he was once, when Smurf had been free to control him. But now he was married to a woman who let him be soft and gentle, in control of a family slowly unlearning every bad thing they'd done or had done to them.

J felt at home here in a way he never had before. He'd loved his mom, but she'd been high for his entire life, barely a parent. He'd had to learn how to look after himself quickly when he was a kid, but here he was able to be a kid. 

Yeah, he was twenty, now, but Charlie had been adamant that he finish school, and when he'd mentioned college, she'd sat him down in front of a laptop and insisted he apply everywhere he wanted to. He only later learned that she sold her grandfather's cabin to pay for his tuition, and it felt like something a mom would do.

Uncle Pope never told anyone he'd said Charlie was more of a mom to him in three years than Julia had been his whole life; he loved Julia, he truly did, but she'd struggled hard with drugs and alcohol to the point he felt like a parent in that relationship. 

Uncle Pope had bought him a car for his eighteenth birthday, insisting he needed a car to get to college for classes. Uncle Craig taught him to surf, and he worked tables at Uncle Deran's bar a few nights a week, as well as weekends. 

The kids all called him their big brother, and he had to admit he loved it. He loved his family, and he knew they reciprocated. They'd all had fucked up beginnings, but he knew their endings would be soft; hard fucking earned, soft endings after the lives they'd had.

“You sure you're good, kid?” Aunt Charlie asked softly, her hazel eyes warm and full of concern.

“Yeah,” J murmured, putting the tongs down to give her a sideways hug. She kissed his temple and ruffled his hair, making him smile. 

The smile widened when he realised Aunt Charlie and Uncle Pope were staring at one another, their expressions all gooey and soft. 

He watched as she made her way over to the pool, stepping into the water and wrapping her free arm around Uncle Pope's shoulders, her wedding and engagement rings gleaming in the sunlight.

Charlie smiled at him, lips twitching. “You good, baby?” 

Once, Andrew would have flinched hearing that word come from his wife's mouth. Now, all it did was make him melt against her, lips curving into a smile. 

“Never been better,” he murmured, kissing her. She smiled against his mouth, running her fingers through his curls. “Love you.” 

“Love you.” She kissed him once, leaning back to glare at Craig, who was pretending to throw up behind them. 

Andrew snorted, shoulders trembling from stifled laughter. He'd laughed more in the past three years than he had in his entire life. He loved it. He craved more. 

He knew he'd get it. 

Vader barked and launched himself into the pool, splashing them both with a wave of water. 

Charlie tipped her head back and laughed. Andrew stared at her in awe, hand tightening on her hip. 

“What?” She asked softly. 

“I never thought I deserved this,” he said quietly. She gazed at him understandingly, licking her lips. 

“You deserve it, Andy,” she said, toying with the damp curls at the nape of his neck. “Softness. Kindness. Me. Our children.” 

He kissed her, ignoring the fake gagging and wolf whistles that erupted around them, feeling laughter bubble up in his throat when Charlie laughed against him, their kids tugging at their hair and faces. 

***

Jack rolls his shoulders, shutting his locker and heading into the ED. Fuck, what he’d give for a quiet night and the ability to get through this shift without feeling like he’s white-knuckling life. It’s bad enough he had a fucking panic attack on the way in here. He’s been having those more and more often, despite being on his daily dose of an SSRI. His therapist tells him he needs to take a break, to finally cash in on all his accrued time off but he just grinds his jaw and says no. 

Work is good. When he works, he can focus on anything but the absolute trainwreck that is his life. 

When he works, he can stop thinking about you. 

It’s a lie, of course, but Jack’s always been good at lying to himself. 

He sees you in everything he does. Misses you with an ache that feels like a stone on his chest. On the really rough nights, where he feels like he’s barely treading water, he gets closer to the edge of the roof than he ever has. 

Jack shakes his head, wrapping his stethoscope around his neck, holding on to the ends of it like it’s a tether that can keep him sane.

One moment at a time, his therapist told him. One shift at a time. One second, every single day, at a time. 

Jack takes a deep, steadying breath. Losing himself in his work is enough, if only for tonight. 

Jack knows something is wrong the minute he steps into the ED.

Robby is rushing in through the trauma bay, rolling a gurney and barking orders at Shen and Ellis. He looks up and locks eyes with Jack. 

“Get him out of here,” Robby yells to Dana, who has just thrown on her jean jacket to head home. Dana’s eyes go wide and as the gurney rolls past her, she looks at whoever is on it and pales. She beelines for Jack. 

Jack’s heart thuds painfully against his sternum. He picks up his pace, gently brushing past Dana and making his way to Robby.

“It’s my shift, dunno why I’d need to get out of here,” he says calmly to Robby, trying to remain in control but he already knows who’s on that gurney. He already knows because the universe fucking hates him. 

It isn’t enough that you left him three months ago and the last three months have been a living hell every single day. It isn’t enough that it was his fault you left, that he’d pushed you to the end of your rope by pulling away, by shutting down, by letting those voices in the dark consume him. It isn’t enough that he continually put his work before you because work is the only thing to make him feel worthy of anything, and he regrets it, will regret letting you slip through his fingers every single day for the rest of his fucking life. 

It isn’t enough that you’re the love of his life and he’s such a stupid fucking old man, forever convinced he never deserved you in the first place. Self-sabotage has been his best friend a long time, lurking over his shoulder and shadowing every move he’s ever made.

It isn’t enough he’s been through this once before. He’s not even officially fucking fifty-years-old and he’s already lost a wife and he’s about to lose another. Jack Abbot doesn’t get second chances.

Jack Abbot reaps the fucking karma that he sows. 

“Dana, get him out of here!” Robby yells again, rolling you into T-1. 

“C’mon, honey,” Dana tries. “You don’t wanna see this.”

But it’s too late. Jack’s quick on his feet, even with the prosthetic, and he sees you lying there, unconscious, blood-matted hair and it’s dripping from your mouth and he can’t believe that this is happening, that this is real, that it is happening to him again.

Robby steps to him at the door of the room. “You can’t be in here.”

There’s a sharp ringing in Jacks’ ears, high-pitched and drowning everything out. His voice is gravely and broken. A desperate plea rather with no real bite. “Like fuck I can’t, man. Get out of the way—”

“Jack, I mean it, brother.” Robby blocks him again, his nostrils flaring. “Get out.”

“That’s my fucking wife!” The words silence the ED, cutting through the chaos sharply. Ellis and Shen look up, shock over their faces. They’ve never heard their attending lose his cool like this. Jack is the calm one. While Robby is the attending who is more inclined to raise his voice, Jack never falters. Residents and students and the nursing staff follow him blindly because they know he never loses his cool.

Well, he’s losing it now.

Dana puts a hand on her chest like it hurts. 

Robby’s cold facade slips for a second and for a moment he’s just Jack’s friend, his brother, and the pain is written in his face, a pain mirroring Jack’s own. 

Jack’s breathing heavily, his voice cracking on the last word because it’s true, you’re still his wife.