#parenting fic

The smell of dinner hits Lewis before he’s even stepped out of the car.

It’s been two races back-to-back; Imola and Monaco. He flew home straight from debrief, wearing the same Ferrari jacket he left the circuit in. There’s still engine grease under his nails and a faint scuff mark on his cheek from a chaotic media pen scrum.

He’s not even through the front door when Sofia barrels into his legs, arms wrapped around him, curls wild and still a little sticky with honey.

“Hi, Daddy!”

Lewis lifts her easily, pressing a kiss to her cheek as Y/N calls from the kitchen, “Wash your hands first! Dinner’s just about done!”

Leo and Mateo are already at the table, perched in their chairs with plates of rice, roasted chicken, and steamed veggies in front of them. Y/N is cutting up Sofia’s portion, still dressed in her tank and joggers, looking like home.

Everything feels right.

Until Leo opens his mouth.

“I don’t want any more fucking broccoli.”

Silence.

Y/N freezes mid-slice.

Lewis pauses, mid-hand-wash, eyes flicking to his son with disbelief. He almost laughs. Almost.

“Leo,” Y/N says, voice sharp, calm, but barely.

Leo shrugs, poking a carrot with his fork. “Uncle Toto said it when he dropped the sandwich.”

Lewis chokes on air.

Y/N’s eyes laser in on him like she’s about to start qualifying laps around his ass. “Uncle Toto said it?”

Lewis wipes his hands on a dish towel, walking toward the table slowly. “Babe, c’mon, Toto probably did say it. I’ve heard him swear in six languages.”

“I don’t care if he said it in Morse code. Our son just said it at the dinner table,” she snaps.

Lewis crouches down beside Leo, trying to keep his tone light. “Where’d you hear that, really, bud?”

Leo looks up at him, completely unbothered. “The garage. You said it when the rear jack didn’t lock.”

Y/N doesn’t say a word. She doesn’t need to.

Lewis sighs. “Okay. That one’s on me.”

“It’s always on you,” she mutters under her breath, gathering up the juice cups.

Leo starts chewing on a breadstick like it’s no big deal, but Mateo whispers, “You’re in trouble.”

Sofia nods solemnly beside him, eyes wide.

“We don’t say that word, baby,” Y/N says gently to Leo, crouching to his level. “Not at school, not at home, not anywhere. It’s not kind.”

“But Daddy says it all the time,” Leo says, frowning. “You do too when your computer crashes.”

Y/N blinks.

Lewis snorts and instantly masks it with a cough.

“Oh my God, don’t laugh,” she says, shooting him a glare. “You’re the reason he told his whole class the brake pedal was ‘fucking toast.’ Do you know how many calls I got?”

“It was toast,” Lewis defends. “I almost put the car into the wall at 305 KPH an hour because someone didn’t torque the—”

“Lewis.” Her voice is warning enough.

He stands, frustrated but biting his tongue. “It’s a word. He didn’t hit anyone. He didn’t steal anything. He just... he just repeated something I said. I’ll talk to him.”

“You’re not getting it.”

“No, babe, you’re not getting it.” His voice sharpens. “They already live in a world where everyone watches them because of me. I just want them to feel normal, not like they’re walking on eggshells every time they say something wrong.”

Y/N’s jaw tightens. “And you think letting them swear is normal?”

“I think letting them be kids is normal.”

“You want them to be kids, or you just want to feel better about the fact you barely see them two weekends a month during the season?”

It slips. She doesn’t mean for it to. But it cuts through him like a wing mirror shattering.

Lewis stiffens. Silence falls again.

Sofia stabs a carrot with her little fork. “Mummy’s mad.”

Leo nods. “Like when the blender exploded.”

Lewis just walks away, back into the hallway, jaw clenched. He doesn't slam the door. Doesn’t yell.

He just sits on the stairs for a second. Breathing.

Two minutes later, Y/N follows, guilt already rising in her throat like a lump of gravel.

“I didn’t mean that,” she says quietly, sitting beside him.

Lewis doesn’t look at her. “Maybe you did.”

She places her hand on his knee. “I get frustrated. But you’re a good dad, Lew. The best. I just want to raise them right. Not like we were.”

Lewis finally looks at her. His voice is quieter now. “I want that too.”

They sit like that for a moment. Side by side.

From the kitchen, a sudden giggle erupts.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

“Mateo!” Y/N yells.

Lewis sighs. “Oh, come on.”

“I will end you,” she says, already getting up.

He catches her hand before she storms off, and grins, sheepish. “Still want to kiss me later?”

She glares. “Wash your mouth out with soap first.”

-------

flashback

It was years ago.

Pre-kids. Pre-marriage. Pre-Ferrari red. Just a messy hotel room in Monaco, the scent of champagne in the air, and Lewis Hamilton flat on his back, one arm draped over his eyes.

Y/N stood by the open window, robe half-tied, eyes on the Riviera lights below.

“You ever think about kids?” she asked, barely above the hum of traffic and late-night waves.

Lewis didn’t answer right away. She turned and saw it in his face, tension. Not the kind he got before a race, but the kind that lived in the cracks of a past he never talked about much.

He lowered his arm. “Not really.”

She climbed into bed beside him, soft and slow, tracing a finger down the lion tattoo on his chest. “Why not?”

He looked at her then, eyes dark and serious. “Because I wouldn’t know how to be a dad. Not a real one.”

“You had one.”

“Exactly.”

Silence.

Then he added, quieter, “I don’t want to be the kind of father I had. Detached. Controlling. The guy who showed up to take credit but never stayed long enough to do the work.”

Y/N rested her head on his chest. “Then don’t be.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“It is. Love them more than you hate the way you were raised. That’s how you break it.”

He closed his eyes, breathing her in like she was the only real thing in the world. “I don’t want to mess up a kid.”

She kissed his chest. “Then maybe don’t have one with just anyone.”

Lewis huffed a laugh, eyes opening. “What, and have one with you?”

She smiled. “You’d be lucky.”

He wrapped his arms around her tightly, burying his face in her hair. “Don’t tempt me.”

---------

The house was quiet.

The kids were finally asleep. Mateo tucked in with his dinosaur nightlight, Sofia curled up with a plush lion, and Leo sprawled across his bed like he fought demons in his sleep.

Y/N padded into the ensuite bathroom, her hair pulled into a loose bun, a soft cotton robe tied around her waist. She was brushing her teeth when she felt Lewis’s presence before she saw him.

His reflection met hers in the mirror, shirtless, boxers riding low on his hips, tattoos stark in the dim bathroom lighting.

“You still mad?” he asked, voice low and rough.

She spit into the sink, rinsed her mouth, and turned. “A little.”

Lewis stepped closer, caging her in with one hand on the counter behind her. “Want me to make it up to you?”

She didn’t answer, just raised an eyebrow.

“I mean,” he murmured, lips brushing her cheek, “I could wash my mouth out with soap… or I could use it on you.”

That did it.

Y/N shoved his chest, half-laughing, half-annoyed, but he caught her wrist mid-push, twisting it gently until her back hit the bathroom counter.

Lewis leaned in, lips grazing her jaw. “You love when I’m like this.”

“You’re a menace,” she whispered, but her thighs were already squeezing together.

“I’m your menace.”

He kissed her slow at first, maddeningly so. Then his hands were on her hips, sliding her robe open, parting the fabric until it slipped from her shoulders and pooled on the tile.

Lewis sank to his knees without a word, palms dragging down her sides until they gripped behind her thighs.

“Still want to punish me?” he asked, looking up at her from under those lashes.

She smirked. “Only if you beg.”

He grinned. “Bet.”

--------

The bathroom lights are still on, casting a soft glow into the bedroom where they’ve ended up, a trail of clothes and discarded thoughts leading from one room to the next.

Y/N is sprawled across Lewis’s chest, her cheek pressed to the lion ink she’s always loved, the one she used to trace when she was just his girlfriend sneaking into hotel rooms under fake names.

His fingers draw slow circles on her back, steady and grounding.

“Still mad at me?” he asks, voice low and rough with the edges of sleep.

Y/N hums. “Not really. You were right… kind of.”

“Kind of?” he repeats, smiling.

“You’re a good dad, Lew.”

He doesn’t respond right away. He just holds her tighter, like if he doesn’t, she might vanish. Then he speaks, quiet and real.

“I always thought I’d mess this up,” he says. “I used to tell myself I didn’t want a family because I couldn’t handle it. Because the paddock was my whole life, and anything outside of it felt… far.”

Y/N lifts her head to look at him, eyes soft. “And now?”

He gazes at her. “Now it feels like the rest of my life is the time between coming home to you.”

Something about the way he says it makes her chest ache.

Lewis continues, almost like he needs to get it out. “I don’t know what I’m doing half the time. I still panic when they cry too hard. I still think I’ll say the wrong thing. But I love them. God, I love them.”

“They know,” she says. “Every time you hug them, every time you show up, even when you’re exhausted. They know.”

Lewis swallows hard. “Sometimes I think about that night in Monaco. You remember?”

“The one with the robe and the champagne?”

“Yeah,” he says, smiling. “I said I’d never be a dad. Said I’d ruin a kid.”

Y/N brushes her fingers along his cheek. “And now you’ve got three who think the sun rises because you told it to.”

His laugh is quiet. A little broken. Full of disbelief.

She kisses him gently, murmuring against his lips, “You didn’t ruin anything, Lew. You built this. You built us.”

They lie in silence for a while, nothing but the hum of the house and the softness between them.

Then he whispers, “You’re still a bitch, though.”

Y/N laughs, swats at his chest, and lets herself fall back into him with a sigh. “Yeah, well. You married one.”

“And I’d do it again tomorrow.”

--------

Luke is there for everything.

He learns how to swaddle like a pro. He perfects the bounce-walk-shush rhythm that Eliza responds to best at 3 a.m. He takes the early shift when he doesn’t work, padding down the hall in a t-shirt and sweatpants, scooping her up while you get extra sleep.

He’s there at her first pediatric appointment, hand on your back while the doctor talks about milestones and percentiles. He holds her while she gets her first shots, jaw tight with protective worry, but soft when he kisses her forehead and whispers, “You did so good, baby girl.”

He’s there for every “first.”

The first time she tries baby food–and makes a face like it’s betrayal in puree form.

The first time she sits up by herself, wobbling but proud.

The first time she crawls–toward his FBI badge on the coffee table, of all things.

The first time she pulls herself up to stand using the edge of the couch. He claps like it’s the Olympics. She beams.

One afternoon, you’re both on the floor with her, playing with blocks, when she lets out a squeal and reaches for him.

“Dada!”

Luke freezes.

His eyes flick to yours, wide and blinking, like maybe he imagined it.

“You didn’t… did you…?” he starts, voice catching. “Did you teach her to call me that?”

You shake your head, gentle.

“No. I think she just… decided.”

He’s quiet for a long second. Looks down at Eliza, now chewing on a block and patting his knee like he’s furniture.

“Is that okay?” you ask, uncertain.

Luke looks back up at you–and smiles.

Not his usual guarded half-smile. A real one. Full and bright and a little wobbly at the edges.

“Of course it is,” he says softly.

And then he clears his throat and looks back down at her, blinking fast.

You stay friends through all of it.

Movie nights on the couch when Eliza’s asleep. Takeout containers balanced on knees. Casual shoulder bumps. Inside jokes. Little things. The safe kind of love–unspoken, ever-growing.

Her first steps happen on a Thursday.

You’re in the living room, folding laundry. Eliza’s holding onto the ottoman when Roxy pads in and lies down nearby. Eliza’s eyes light up–she lets go.

And walks.

Three wobbly steps. A giggle. Arms outstretched.

You gasp.

Then you cry. Quietly. Just for a second.

But you don’t say a word to Luke.

Two days later, he gets home from a case. Drops his go-bag, crouches in the doorway to greet her.

And she does it again, this time toward him.

“Look at you–” he gasps, catching her in his arms. “She took steps! She walked to me!”

You grin. “She really did.”

You don’t correct him.

You never will.

Eliza turns one, and Luke offers to help with the party.

You say sure, thinking he’ll maybe order cupcakes or hang a few decorations.

Instead, he builds a theme board. Sends you options. Starts referring to it as “Operation: One Year of Eliza.” He orders custom cookies shaped like tiny elephants. Picks a color palette. Paints a wooden “1” to match the party decor.

You pretend to be annoyed when he takes over. But the truth is–it makes you smile. A lot.

The party’s in the backyard.

Garlands stretch from the fence posts. Folding tables covered in soft pastels and biodegradable confetti. Luke runs extension cords for music. You catch him checking the angle of the sun like he’s planning an op instead of a birthday.

JJ and Will are the first to arrive–Henry and Michael in tow, both boys already racing toward the bubble machine with wide grins. JJ hugs you tight and hands over a wrapped box with a card addressed to Eliza Bean.

Emily comes next, then Garcia in glitter and fringe with a gift bag the size of Eliza herself. Rossi and Tara bring a bucket of chalk and exactly one bottle of kid-safe sparkling cider. Matt shows up with his kids, who instantly take over the bouncy house.

Eliza beams all day. Covered in frosting, toddling from lap to lap, thrilled by every balloon and crumb and crinkle of wrapping paper.

Luke never strays far from her. He lifts her up to pop bubbles. Wears a pink paper party hat with zero shame. Helps her blow out the single candle while her hand is in the cake.

And you… you watch him.

You always have watched him, but today it feels different. Sharper. Closer.

He’s not just good with her, he’s hers. He always has been.

And somehow, impossibly, you realize that he’s yours too.

Not officially. Not out loud. Not in any way that either of you has dared to name. But still–yours.

The sun goes down. The guests filter out with hugs and soft goodbyes. Henry and Michael wave dramatically from the car. JJ presses a hand to your shoulder and smiles, says, “You’ve got a good one there.”

You know she doesn’t mean Eliza.

Inside, the house is a quiet mess of ribbons and empty cups.

You’re in the kitchen, putting leftovers away, when the stillness draws you to the living room.

You find them on the couch.

Luke, slumped sideways, one arm curled protectively around Eliza’s tiny body–her cheek pressed to his chest, thumb in her mouth, both of them fast asleep.

The last of the evening light filters in through the curtains.

And you just… stand there.

In the doorway. Barefoot, half-tired, still wearing the little elephant party crown Luke insisted you put on.

You stand there with your hands wrapped around a dishtowel and your heart cracking open quietly.

He looks so at home there. So natural. Like he was meant to be right there with her, with you.

And maybe he always was.

You smile without meaning to.

Then stay there a little longer.

You realize it that night–watching Luke asleep on the couch with Eliza curled up against him.

But you don’t fully admit it until a few months later.

It’s been a long day.

Eliza has her first cold–nothing serious, just the sniffles. But she’s also teething, and the combination has made for one clingy, cranky, overtired baby. You’ve spent the whole day rocking her, soothing her, walking circles around the living room floor.

Now it’s past midnight, and she’s finally asleep.

Her little body bundled in footie pajamas, snuggled under a light blanket. The soft hum of the vaporizer fills the nursery. The air smells faintly of eucalyptus and baby shampoo. Her cheeks are flushed, damp curls sticking to her forehead, but she’s peaceful for the first time in hours.

You stand next to her crib for a beat, just watching her breathe.

Luke stands in the doorway.

He hasn’t left her side all night. He brought home pediatric electrolyte packs and three different kinds of infant-safe cold remedies. Googled baby fever symptoms like he was prepping for a hostage negotiation. Sat by you on the bathroom floor while you gave her a warm bath to soothe her. Helped rock her until his arm went numb.

Now he’s leaning on the doorframe, arms crossed, eyes locked on her tiny sleeping form. You look him over. 

The worry in his face.

The way he’s watching Eliza like he’s afraid she might slip through his fingers.

And your chest aches.

You look back at your daughter, sleeping softly in her crib. Her tiny hand resting on the stuffed elephant he gave her.

And it hits you.

Not gently. Not like a slow realization. Like a truth you’ve been holding at arm’s length finally folding itself into your bones.

You’re in love with him.

Fully. Quietly. Undeniably.

You don’t look away from either of them for a long moment.

And even when you do–stepping softly out of the nursery, pulling the door closed behind you–that feeling stays with you. Warm. Steady. Real.

Luke follows.

You both move down the hall, silent in the hush of the house. The lights are low, and everything feels dipped in amber–like the world has gone soft around the edges.

In the kitchen, you lean back against the counter, rubbing tired hands over your face. Luke grabs two glasses of water, sets one beside you without a word.

“Thanks,” you murmur.

He just nods.

He’s still quiet. Still keyed up from worry. Arms crossed, jaw tight, eyes flicking toward the nursery every few seconds like he’s waiting to hear her cry again.

“She’s okay,” you whisper. “Really.”

His gaze drops to the floor, then lifts to meet yours. “I know.”

But he doesn’t sound like he believes it.

You offer a tired smile. “She’s sleeping. No fever. Breathing fine. That’s a win.”

He nods, slow, but he doesn’t uncross his arms. Doesn’t relax.

“I just–I hate seeing her like that,” he mutters. “She’s so little. And there’s nothing I can do.”

You tilt your head. “You’re doing everything.”

His brows furrow, lips parting like he wants to argue, but you speak before he can. 

“Luke,” you say softly. “Can I ask you something?”

He looks at you then. Really looks.

You can see the circles under his eyes. The worry still clinging to his shoulders. And beneath it all, the way he’s always looked at her–and at you–with something deeper than devotion. Something like quiet, fierce love.

You take a breath. “Would you ever want to… adopt her?”

He goes still.

His mouth parts, but no words come out. You rush to fill the silence, your words tumbling out all at once–quiet and honest and trembling at the edges. 

“I mean–” your voice trembles slightly, but you don’t back down “–you’ve been there, every step of the way. Every appointment. Every sleepless night. Every holiday. You took the early feedings, you built her crib, you threw her a birthday party like it was your full-time job. She calls you ‘dad,’ Luke. And you are. You’re her dad. In every way that matters. Just not on paper.”

You meet his eyes.

“And if you want to change that… if you want to adopt her, I’d love that.”

He stares at you.

Not because he’s unsure. But because something shifts behind his eyes–something open and vulnerable and heavy with feeling. He steps closer, slow, like the moment itself is fragile.

Then he lifts his hand.

His fingers brush your cheek–soft and reverent, like he’s touching something sacred. His palm settles there, warm and grounding.

And he kisses you.

Not rushed. Not desperate. Just real.

It’s soft at first. Careful. Like he’s afraid of hurting something delicate. But it deepens quickly–warm and sure and overwhelming in the best way.

When he pulls back, breath unsteady, his hand lingers against your skin.

“Sorry,” he whispers. “I–”

“Don’t be,” you say quickly, voice low and certain.

And then you reach for him.

You fist your hands in the front of his t-shirt and pull him back in–and this time, he meets you like gravity. His arms circle your waist, drawing you close, until there’s barely space between your bodies. The kiss is deeper now. A little messier. A little hungrier. It doesn’t feel like a first–it feels like a beginning.

You don’t know how long you stay there, wrapped up in him like that. In the quiet kitchen, the baby monitor softly hissing behind you, the hum of the fridge and the weight of everything you’ve been holding finally loosening in your chest.

And when you finally part, foreheads pressed together, breaths mingling in the hush–

Luke speaks first.

“I’ve been hers since the day I heard her heartbeat,” he murmurs. “And I’ve been yours for just as long.”

when all of the hellfire boy’s entered through the theater room’s doors, they felt a huge rush of excitement. eddie had been hyping up his new campaign for about a month and told everyone that he was going to do something real special for their first meeting. 

what they did not expect was a small little girl, maybe around 1 or 2 years old, sitting in their dungeon master’s place. she had a pink dragon onesie on and her big brown eyes stared back at the group. 

“why good evening lovely gentlemen.” eddie popped out from behind his throne, holding a small sandwich bag filled with ‘star wars’ cookies. he handed it to the child with barely any acknowledgement and she gladly grabbed it with eager hands. “are you lads ready to start this wonderful campaign?”

each boy had their own looks of confusion on their faces. they looked at eddie and then the child, then back again.

“eddie why the hell is there a baby here?” dustin was the one who spoke up. 

eddie’s face sported a wide grin. “well guys i would like to introduce you to the surprise i mentioned.” he scooped up the little girl and presented her to the d&d club memebers. “everyone this is my daughter mei. say hi mei mei.”

“hi mei mei.” the little voice spoke a she waved a tiny hand to the boys. she tugged her onesie hood down, reveling long, brown hair, just like her dad’s.

“daughter? eddie we didn’t even know you could speak to girls?” mike chimed in.

“well wheeler, if it matters to you, i don’t speak to girls because i already have my fiance.” he raised his eyebrows at the last part. 

you see, eddie munson didn’t become a super-super senior because he was dumb. he became a super-super senior because he accidentally got his high school girlfriend pregnant. they had been together since they were 16. eddie and y/n were going great until the summer before their senior year. y/n’s pregnancy took a large toll to both of their academics, so eddie decided he would try and lighten his girlfriend’s stress load. on april 29th, 1984, their daughter was born. 

he thought y/n’s future was too bright for her to be held back, so after she gave birth he let her continue as an almost normal high school student. eddie didn’t get to graduate that year. but he did get to hold his baby as he watched the love of his life walk the stage. 

he didn’t graduate his second senior year either. he was too caught up in healthy parenting and making sure he was there to watch his daughter’s firsts. he watched her first steps, her first time eating solid foods, and even heard her first word. ‘dragon’.

so here he was, his third senior year, finally ready to walk that stage.

as eddie finished up the story he heard a sniff. all heads turned toward the direction of lucas. 

“dude that story was so beautiful. i didn’t even know that.”

“yeah most people don’t except a few people who were in school during that time like harrington. but y/n kind of chose to drop off the map so it isn’t talked about much.” eddie sat down in his chair and placed his daughter on his lap. “now that introductions are out of the way, shall we get started?”

- 

eddie’s new campaign was centered around exploring an abandoned gem mine to figure out what was terrorizing the near by townsfolk. 

“so little dwarf, you enter the cave with your mates behind you. as you guide them with your light, the air becomes increasingly warm. as you approach the growing heat, you see a shimmer of pink scales.”

“munson you did not...” dustin starts as his hands grip the table.

“you raise your torch higher and you see her in all her glory...” eddie lifts mei off of his lap and places her in the middle of the table. “mei the fire breathing dragon.”

all the boys start to exclaim in frustration. what kind of sick father makes his own kid the first boss of his d&d campaign? eddie munson that’s who. after explaining they all need a time out to discuss, they all huddled in the corner. 

“dude what are we going to do? we can’t slay the dragon. i mean look at her, she’s adorable!” dustin whispered.

“i mean honestly if you think about it, it’s just a game.” mike said. typical.

“yes but the moral principal of it is, eddie knows that we would have to be sick son’s of bitches to kill a kid. especially his daughter.” dustin explained frustrated. 

him and mike felt a little wedge between their legs. they all looked down to see mei still holding her bag of cookies. 

“tooktie?” she raised it up to the air, offering the boys a share of her snack. 

each boy took only one, while politely thanking her for sharing. she unwedged herself from the huddle and waddled towards her dad. 

“juice peas?” she said to him, pointing to a sippy cup sitting on the table. he handed her the cup and looked at the clock on the wall.

“unfortunately boys, time is up for today’s meeting.” eddie tsked. 

just as he said that, y/n opened the door to the club room and walked in scanning around. each person all had their eyes on her.

“mommy!” mei squealed, running towards the young woman. she jumped into her arms, y/n picking her up and spinning her around. 

eddie grabbed a small child lunch box and walked towards the two girls. “as you see i can't stay any later than i’m supposed to tonight guys. but this will give you some more time to think about your next move.”

he trailed behind the two girls, waving everyone goodbye. 

as the door closed, each hellfire member could hear a faint, “eddie why is our daughter talking about slaying a dragon?”

This looks familiar

Vaguely familiar

Almost unreal yet

It's too soon to feel yet

Close to my soul

And yet so far away

I'm going to go back there

Someday

Sunrises, night falls

Sometimes the sky calls

Is that a song there

And do I belong there

I've never been there

But I know the way

I'm going to go back there

Someday

Come and go with me

It's more fun to share

We'll both be, completely

At home in midair

We're flying not walking

On featherless wings

We can hold on to love

Like invisible strings

There's not a word yet

For old friends who've just met

Part heaven, part space

Or have I found my place

You can just visit

But I plan to stay

I'm going to go back there

Someday

I'm going to go back there

Someday

It’s July 20th in Pittsburgh and there’s dew on the lake house grass. A little girl is trying to do a cartwheel off the coast of Lake Erie. She fumbles the execution; goes tail over teakettle and looks behind her to ensure the failure has at least provided apt entertainment for the pretty man and woman who feed her and tuck her in and sing to her and her stuffed animals. From the wooden steps that they watch her from, the man and woman laugh very musically and scold her very playfully and they’re already holding hands but the man leans his his on her shoulder and they look at each other instead of at her. She pays it no mind, much more interested in uprooting worms from the soil at the beach’s edge.

Samira spoke into his silver curls: “Did you think it would ever be like this?”

“Never. Not after… But I’m glad.”

“Still feel good about it?”

“Yeah,” Jack looked back out at their daughter before saying this, as if the great lake’s crashing waves, or his daughter proudly dangling a worm over her head for all to see, held the answer. “I guess I thought you only had to let go once. Then every few years, it’s just-”

“It starts all over again.”

“Right.”

“You’re always letting go.”

“Irony is, it never gets easier, but you always end up feeling better.”

“They’re there the most when you let them go,” She said. The girl pops up from behind a bushel of tall beach grass and waves for her parents to come join them. She has Jack’s shit-eating, trouble-making grin, and the eyes of a beautiful woman before Samira.

“Mia! No more worms. Come out here,” Jack clapped his hands together. When they arrived, Mia was waiting with a snake in hand. “I- Jesus, put the snake back, you freak!” 

Samira doesn’t bother hiding her own amused expression when Mia finishes releasing the snake and meets their eyes again.

“Mia, part of the reason we’re on this trip is… well, we wanted to talk as a family,” Samira said.

“Are you getting married again?!”

“I- no, Mia, hopefully that’s a one time thing.”

“Awe,” She frowns, taking Samira’s hand as they start to saunter down the beach. There’s a boardwalk off the shore which partially alleviates the issue of sand versus prosthesis, and Mia is intent that she will walk on every third board. “I want henna again.”

“We can do henna whenever you want! We wanted to talk about- well,”

“Uh-huh,” She allowed Samira to help her up onto the conveniently placed bench they stumbled upon.

“Mommy and daddy are thinking of having a baby,” Jack ripped the bandage off, just as they’d discussed.

Mia couldn’t look more thrilled at the words her father had just spoken, beaming up at them in an instant. She opens her mouth, and Jack cuts her off.

“No, we can’t guarantee it would be a sister,” Her face soured, but she let Jack go on. “But we wanted to see what you thought. Having a half-sibling can be complicated, we don’t want to have another kid without talking to you first.”

“Babies are really time consuming. We never want you to feel like you’re not included, or that we’re ignoring you. So, what do you think?” Samira asked softly. 

“What’s a half sibling?” Mia replied. Then, she took some time to think over their question, ultimately quirking a brow towards Jack and plainly questioning: “Is this about mom?”

“I- well,” Jack’s instinct was to say ‘no’ but he bites it back. Later, Samira will tell him how proud she is of this. “Maybe. It’s mostly about you, but it makes daddy think about your mom, yeah.”

“A half-sibling means you share one parent, instead of two. If we had a baby, you’d have the same dad.”

Mia blinked. Swiveled her head from Samira, to Jack, to Samira, and back to her father. “What does that have to do with mom?”

“Well, Mia, I loved your mom a lot. And I guess sometimes,” He glanced at Samira, voice wavering, “Sometimes dad is scared you’ll think I don’t, because now I love Samira, too. And… I get scared mom would be upset with me.”

“Why?”

“Well, I don’t know. Do you,” Jack’s breath hitched, “Even if you were okay with it, do you think mom would be upset if I have a baby with Samira?”

Mia pursed her lips. Like her father, she shifted and stared into the lake for the answers. Samira looked out, too, wondering what the Abbots saw that she couldn’t. 

“I think mom would be upset you’re upset,” She said, finally ending the suspenseful moment. “You make him happy,” This was directed towards Samira, who was currently using all the strength in her body and mind to attempt not to tear up, “Just like mommy made him happy, and that’s why the pelican brought them a baby.”

Jack made a note to correct that later, when he was sure his voice wouldn’t break and tears would spill over while doing so.

“Mia, it’s still important to us that you want this, too. It’s a lot of work. We’d have to spend a lot of time focused on the baby, and the baby is gonna cry all night for a long time, and, again, it might be a boy-”

“No boys!” Mia whined.

“It might be a boy,” Jack picked up where Samira had been cut short, “And we don’t want to do it without you. So?”

A line of ducks waddled out from nearby woods. The Mohan-Flores-Abbot bench all watched their webbed-foot procession, until sand gave way to shallow waters and the family began paddling off along the shoreline, bobbing for insects and quacking to each other all the while.

Without turning her head from the ducks, Mia broke the silence once again. 

“Do they get to call you mom?”

Normally her heart ached at the idea of being called mom by anyone but this time, Samira frowned, glancing downwards and finding Mia’s hand to give it a squeeze. “Yeah, why?”

“Well,” Now Mia’s lip quivered. Was the disdain for crying genetic, too? “What do I call you?”

“You don’t have to call me anything. You can call me Samira,” Mia sobbed and whipped her head towards Jack.

“So they get a mom and I don’t anymore?”

“Hey! Hey, kiddo, you always have a mom! Mom’s always gonna be your mom, even if you don’t see her again for a really long time, okay?” Jack cooed, pulling her onto her lap and wiping her tears away. Something about Mia’s outburst nagged and gnawed at Samira. Sure, Mia sounded angry, but there was obviously much more to it. While her dad died at a much later age she recognized ‘it’- recognized Mia’s bone deep fear, and even deeper longing. 

“Mia,” She scooted closer to Jack and met the same brown eyes he was staring into, “If you ever want to call me mom, you know you can, right? It doesn’t mean your mom isn’t your mom. It just means you get another one. Just like,” She sucked in an unsure breath, “Like you’re still my daughter, even if we have a baby. Even if you wanna call me mom sometimes, but not all the time, it’s okay. Promise.”

It had been a shot in the dark- an educated one, but a shot in the dark all the same- and it seemed to be a bullseye. Mia was still crying (most of them were, or on the verge of it at least) but she quieted, sniffled, looked at Samira and Jack and seemed to wait for someone to pull the rug out from under her and say it was a joke. One sideways glance at Jack told Samira he was waiting for the exact same thing. Neither seemed like they were going to speak anytime soon, so, one minute later, Samira filled the silence. 

“I get scared when I think about my dad sometimes. I used to feel like if I was happy, or I laughed or something, that I didn’t love him. Because if he died, and I was happy, maybe I didn’t love him. But I think you’re right, Mia: if they liked us being happy, why wouldn’t they want us to be happy now that they’re gone?”

Mia stared into her father’s eyes while Samira spoke. Some time after, she raised a hand to dab at his cheeks. “I want you to have a baby,” She said. Then, a moment later; “And, if it has to be a boy, you should name him after your dad.”

“I think that’s a great idea,” Jack choked out, kissing Mia’s cheek. Samira reached up, brushing a curl behind Mia’s ear and wondering what secrets of the universe she knew to deal with her grief so beautifully at age 5, that Samira still didn’t always know at age 30.

Callon Vedrexa, the nephew of the infamous drug lord, was last spotted at the University of Libreverde. It is believed he, like the other surviving members of the Vedrexa family, have fled to Eldor; where no extradition treaty exists. His partner, a protege of the infamous hemomancer and researcher Dr. Velathil Nerixi, was not found to have any connections with the organization, and was not charged.

While the Arzell family's involvement in the drug trade was minimal, their feud with the Vedrexa was what led to both organizations being exposed. Actress and singer Leona Arzell testified against her family's crimes, and exposed a history of organ and blood trafficking. Her deal with the LPD granted her complete immunity for her testimony, and her career has been on a consistent upward trajectory ever since.

Dimitri Arzell's whereabouts are also unknown, however he's believed to also be deceased. His son, Rennyn Arzell, is also suspected to have fled to Eldor with his associate; a student at the University of Libreverde whose identity hasn't been revealed to the public.

All individuals mentioned should be considered armed and dangerous.

Some days, you didn't feel like yourself anymore; and neither did Rennyn.

For one, 'Rennyn' wasn't the name he heard most often anymore. It wasn't on his drivers license. Or his insurance card. Or his bank account. The only time he heard the name he was born with was from you, at home, alone.

It wasn't easy to flee the country, leaving behind everything you had ever known to be with him. It felt like the plot line of a cheesy romance movie, only the consequence for staying behind wouldn't have been losing him; it would've meant spending the rest of your life in jail, or worse.

Over the course of your relationship, you had gladly assisted him in a myriad of crimes, ranging from fraud all the way up to murder. His family and their line of work caused you to question everything about yourself. Had Rennyn turned you into a monster, or had you been one all along? You weren't sure.

The two of you had painstakingly crafted new identities together, helping each other with keeping your stories straight.

"I'm not letting you pick out my new name," Rennyn said, slumped back in his chair. You sat across from him at the tiny hotel room table; far from the luxury he was used to, but there wasn't time to be picky.

"Come on, why not?" You joked; admittedly, the severity of the situation unrealized. The ordeal so far just felt like a roadtrip, driving across the country and hoping from hotel to hotel while Rennyn tried to determine what to do next.

"Because that's not important right now! It's not about the name, or the documents, it's about making sure if we get questioned, we don't fucking implicate each other. It's about what the hell we're gonna do IF we manage to make it out of here."

You paused, reality hitting you like a truck. "…you really think it's an if?"

"I mean…" he stammered over his words. "Nothing is for certain. I'm trying, but…" he shrugged. "Just …forget it." He sighed, "let's get back to the other thing. Backstory, whatever. I need a way to make money."

"…get a job?"

Despite your harsh quip, he smiled; if you were feeling comfortable enough to bully him, then he knew you'd be okay. "Maybe, but every background check is a chance to be found out. Even if we couldn't be extradited, we need to be careful. There's more to worry about than just the cops. So, wherever we go, I'll do what I'm best at."

"And that is?"

"Being a middleman. I know a guy who knows a guy, and he can get us all the documents we need without breaking the bank.

You already knew there'd be a catch. "But…"

"But, he needs more places to launder money through. So, wherever we go, we start some business that he can use."

The idea seemed asinine. "What happened to being careful? Why the hell would you involve yourself with MORE crime?"

"Because it's a good fucking deal! Besides, even if they get busted, I plead ignorance. It's a bank scam thousands of miles away. No one dies, no one gets shot, just rich dudes scamming each other. You love that sort of thing."

It was clear you were hesitant. "What kind of business?"

"Strip club."

"No."

"Come on, it needs to be something that uses a lot of cash!

You thought it over; it wasn't ideal, but neither was starting fresh in a new place broke; good forgeries didn't come cheap. You let out a sigh, "make it like, a restaurant or something. Then fine."

Fifteen years later, you wouldn't even think about who Rennyn reported to; you didn't need to know, and you didn't want to know. To everyone you knew, you were a young couple that had moved to the area to open a restaurant; and you had done a pretty good job.

That didn't mean things were any less chaotic, though.

Your daughter's kindergarten teacher had called you and Rennyn in for a meeting after school, and you couldn't help but expect the worst.

"She's very smart, she knows all her letters, she can count to a hundred-"

"Well yeah, she's five, she's not stupid," Rennyn cut in.

You jabbed Rennyn in the ribs, giving him an annoyed look, but the damage was done.

The teacher paused in disbelief. "Of course, but…well, she has some unique struggles."

Immediately, you knew what the teacher was referring to. Despite Rennyn's…personality, poor little Marcy was afraid of her own shadow.

"She hasn't had any more panic attacks, has she?" You asked.

"No, but…" the teacher gestured behind you, Marcy playing by herself in the nearly empty classroom out of earshot. "She…she doesn't talk to the other kids."

"What do you mean?" You pressed.

"She only nods her head, or shrugs her shoulders if anyone tries to talk to her. Sometimes she'll talk to me, but even at recess, she gets very nervous if anyone approaches her."

Rennyn seemed skeptical. "Maybe she just doesn't want to talk to them. I'm not gonna tell her she has to talk to everyone who approaches her."

"And that's fine, but…"

Rennyn was still on the defensive. "But what? She does her own thing, who gives a shit?"

You tried to get him to calm down, putting your hand over his. "Rennyn-"

"You want me to tell my kid she should talk to anyone who comes up to her? Yeah, that's a great idea." He said sarcastically. Even if he was being a bit of an ass, your view was similar; Marcy was happy to sit quietly with a book, and you were certain she'd eventually make friends who did the same. Apparently that wasn't the case.

The teacher spoke back up. "I'm worried about her development, socially."

Both you and Rennyn were quiet. Certainly not the worst thing you could've heard, but far from ideal.

"She still seems incredibly on edge, and we're two months into the school year." The teacher sighed, "does…she have any friends outside of school?"

You and Rennyn looked at each other. You both knew the answer was no.

You looked away from the teacher. "No…not really."

The teacher shrugged her shoulders. "Maybe start there."

The conference didn't last much longer after that, the teacher giving you information on behavioral specialists and therapists in the area. You had done your best to help prepare Marcy for kindergarten, but maybe you hadn't done enough.

The car ride back home was quiet. Despite your attempts to shield Marcy from your concerns, she knew something was wrong.

"I'm sorry," she mumbled softly, looking down at the ground.

"Don't be," said Rennyn as he drove. "You didn't do anything wrong."

"I'm bad at making friends," she sounded like she was about to cry. "I just…I don't know what to do, I get scared when people talk to me, and then I get scared I'll have a moment, so I just…"

"You don't have to talk to anyone if you don't want to," Rennyn said sternly. "If you wanna play by yourself, then play by yourself."

"Do…do you want to, Marcy? Do you want to play by yourself?" You asked.

Marcy shrugged, "not really. But that feels mean to say. I like talking to the people at the restaurant, everyone is nice to me, and I get to just listen."

"If they weren't nice to you, I'd beat them up," said Rennyn. That got a giggle out of Marcy, but you knew deep down he wasn't kidding. Still, she was sweet. A little shy, but kind; the antithesis of him.

"No, no, we do not hit people if they're mean," you attempted to redirect, not wanting to plant that idea in her head; even jokingly.

"Eh…" Rennyn shrugged. "But if they hit you first, hit them harder." She let out another laugh, making a few noises as she punched the air. "Yeah, like that. Solid right hook, you got it."

"Stop," you groaned, rolling your eyes but cracking a smile regardless.

"See? She feels better." He looked back at her in the rearview mirror. "Tell you what. I need to stop by work to grab a few things, but…there is a jar of maraschino cherries with your name on it."

She gasped, her eyes growing wide as she smiled. Maybe today could still end on a high note.

"I don't think she looks twenty-one," you joked, looking over at Marcy as she sat behind the bar, her face bright red and stained with cherry juice.

"Must be something in the water," said Rennyn, tussling her hair as his eyes skimmed over a few papers.

It was only eight, yet the dinner rush was already winding down. It wasn't unusual, given how many families and elderly folks lived nearby. Still, you always enjoyed the energy of the restaurant at night. The sounds of people laughing, talking, the hum of the music overhead. Seeing Marcy smile would've been the cherry on top; if she hadn't ate them all.

You scanned the room, recognizing nearly everyone there except one person. Sitting at a table in the back was a man, staring at you. The table was empty. The man tapped his fingers on the table, looking impatient.

You turned back to face Rennyn, a pit in your stomach. "Hey, who…who is that?"

He looked over, letting out a sigh. "I'll handle it. Just stay right here."

Before you could inquire further, he stepped out from behind the bar. You took his place, watching from a distance as he sat across from the man.

"Mommy? Is everything okay?"

You looked back at Marcy, a worried look in her eyes. "Everything's okay. Daddy just has to talk to someone, that's all."

Callon and Alex's daughter didn't cry often.

Yet when Ellie burst into tears as soon as they got home from school, both knew something had to be wrong.

She had buried her face into Callon's shoulder, her arms wrapped around him tightly. Callon pet her hair softly, trying his best to calm her down as he kept repeating the same words over and over.

"It'll be okay, I promise," he cooed. Yet despite his gentle tone, his thoughts were much different.

'She is so fucking sweet and kind and pure. Why didn't anyone do anything? Her teacher? Other kids?'

Callon, we don't know what happened. It could be unrelated to anyone else,' Alex's voice rang out in his mind; giving his partner consent to read his thoughts might’ve made for interesting romantic encounters, but it sure could be annoying—the curse of marrying a mage.

Alex sat beside Callon, a gentle hand on their daughter’s back. “Moonbeam, we can’t help you if we don’t know what’s wrong,” Alex whispered. While Callon comforted her, he was determined to figure out what exactly triggered this.

“I don’t wanna go back to school,” she cried. “Everyone's mean to me.”

‘Again? Do I really need to start slashing tires again this soon?’ Callon thought.

‘No. No, you do not. ‘

'I'll fucking do it again, I don't give a shit.'

'Well, you should. If you were to get caught-'

'I don't get caught.'

'Well, we can’t just take her on vacation or commit a felony every time this happens.’

‘Yes we can. It’s worked so far.’

‘I’m not sure it has, to be honest.’

‘Well, what’s your plan, genius?’

Ellie lifted her head up, staring at Callon. “Vivi? Why are you looking at daddy like that?”

Callon had been so focused on telepathically arguing with Alex, he hadn’t realized how aggressively he'd been staring at him. He let out a sigh, "because he's very handsome."

Thankfully, that got her to laugh, a soft giggle to break up the tears. "But your face is all scrunchy and red."

"Yeah, that's just what I look like when I see him. And when I see you, I look like this," he said before making another exaggerared expression, giving her a tight hug. "You're just too cute, it makes me so mad," he joked through gritted teeth, Ellie squealing and laughing as he kissed the top of her head.

Alex couldn't help but smile, but they still hadn't solved the problem. “Ellie…what do you want us to do? Do you want us to talk to your teacher again?”

She shook her head, “no, they keep calling me a teacher’s pet, that’ll just make it worse. I don't wanna go to school."

“Honey, you can’t just not go to school,” said Callon.

“Why not? You said you’d never make me do anything I don’t wanna do, and I don’t wanna do school."

‘Shit. Well, her logic is sound,' Callon thought.

‘Told you that was a bad idea,' Alex quickly retorted.

‘Yeah, but I meant like, forcing her into shitty situations, or talking to people she doesn't wanna talk to. Not like, not going to school or going to bed on time.'

‘Callon, she’s five, she doesn’t know any of that, nor does she have that level of nuance.’

‘Why the fuck are you saying ‘nor’? What are you, a god damn textbook?’

‘Technically, I’m not saying anything.’

'Oh, fuck off.'

“Daddy? Why are you both all quiet again?"

Alex turned to her. “Ellie, what Vivi meant was that they’re never going to force you to do something that would hurt you, or be bad for you.'

She looked away from him, the tears starting to fall once more. “But going to school hurts. It hurts my feelings.”

Her words felt like a stab through the heart. ‘Maybe I can homeschool her,” Callon thought, the sight of her so heartbroken distressing.

'That's a horrible idea,' Alex quickly retorted in his mind before continuing to speak. “I know, and I’m sorry. But…sometimes we have to do things we don’t want to do. Sometimes things will be hard, but there’s ways to make it easier. You said you wanted to be a baker when you grow up, right?”

She nodded her head, “yeah.”

“Then you have to go to school. It can be hard, but-”

She buried her face in Callon's chest. “Then I don’t wanna do baking anymore.”

"There's not much you can do if you don't go to school, I'm sorry, but-"

"Then I don't wanna do anything anymore!" She exclaimed, overwhelmed at the conversation. The idea that there was no other option but to go to school everything seem hopeless. She couldn't help but start to cry once again.

Alex paused, unsure how to respond to her. She had always been so passionate about learning more about the world around her. Surely, this wouldn’t be enough to shake her of her passions; would it?

‘Good job,’ Callon thought as he rubbed her back.

‘Shut up.’

Alex continued, “we can’t take you out of school. It’s not allowed, we'd get in trouble."

"That's stupid," she mumbled.

"But we can talk to your teacher, without anyone else knowing, and we can make sure those girls stop being mean to you. Maybe you can move to another class or something?”

“That’s not a bad idea,” Callon said as he pet her hair. “What are they saying to you?”

“That I’m too shy, and that I'm weird."

“Well, there’s nothing wrong with either of those things. People think I’m weird. People probably think daddy’s weird.”

‘Do they?’ Alex thought.

‘You’re married to me, so probably.’

“Really?” Ellie asked between sniffles.

“Yes, really,” Alex smiled. “But that’s okay. Not everyone will like you-”

“I just want someone to like me,” she cried.

‘This is so fucked up. She’s so sweet, why are kids assholes?’ Callon thought. “Honey, we like you. We love you, we think you’re wonderful.”

“But that doesn’t count, you’re my parents, I know you love me.”

In a strange way, it comforted Callon that she didn’t doubt their love for her. She hadn’t ever felt neglected, or cast aside, or unimportant. Being loved by her parents was just an indisputable fact that she hadn’t once questioned.

“Lyrian likes you,” Alex said. “He’s always excited to come over and play with you.”

“But he’s a boy and he’s loud!”

‘I’m gonna tell Tali she said that,’ Callon struggled to stay serious despite her painfully truthful statement.

‘Please don’t.’

‘But it’s funny. Nothing she said was wrong.'

‘Callon, no.’

Callon jumped back into the conversation. “That doesn’t mean he doesn’t like you, though. Every time I see him and you’re not here, he always asks about you.”

She paused, her tears starting to subside. “I want people in my class to like me too. Lyrian’s older.”

Alex shrugged, “fair enough. Listen, we’ll see about getting you into a new class, and take it from there, okay?”

She seemed hesitant, but ultimately satisfied with his answer, slowly nodding her head back and forth. “Okay.”

Callon was bored. Not an unusual occurrence, these days.

He was technically still on the run. He had changed his name since getting married, there was no extradition in Eldor, and the last photo the police had of him was from years ago, long before he had even met his husband. Nonetheless, Alex begged him not to get a job; Callon's offshore funds were plentiful enough to support both of them. It seemed like an unnecessary risk.

Initially, he had no problem with Alex’s proposal. “I wasn’t gonna do that anyway,” he had stated so smugly. Yet it didn’t take long for the charm of playing video games and watching TV all day to wear off.

Then, there was Ellie.

Their lives dramatically changed in the best way possible, and Callon did everything in his power to make sure she was happy. Now, his entire focus was on giving her the carefree childhood he never had. The house that had been so quiet while Alex was away at work was now filled with laughter.

Then, she started school, and Callon was left with an empty house, and the same boredom he experienced before. All he had now were miscellaneous errands to fill the time before he'd need to pick her up from school.

He stood in the garden center of a hardware store. The facility was quiet, the only sound consisting of birds chirping overhead, drawn to the mass amount of flowers and greenery. It was strange at first, shopping in the middle of the day when so many stores were empty; now, the quiet was comforting.

He stared back at the rows and rows of flowers, thinking back to the first time he brought Ellie here; a recommendation from Taleisin years ago, when Ellie was still hardly two years old.

"I don't wanna just, not do stuff with her. But I don't want her to get upset, either."

"What upsets her?" Taleisin asked. Never before did Callon think he'd be coming to him of all people for advice, but him and Ellie shared a diagnosis, and Taleisin had been a parent two years longer than Callon had.

"Loud noises. Or if she's surrounded by people, I think she gets kinda claustrophobic. Or if she's stuck somewhere. She can't sit in the little thingy at the front of the shopping cart, she has to sit in the shopping cart, or walk beside me."

“Hmm…when I was learning how to be a person again, one of the first places my mom made me go was the garden center of a big home improvement store."

Callon raised an eyebrow, “why? You guys always lived in the city, the nearest one of those was miles away.”

“Yeah, but…I don’t know. Something about it made everything a bit less scary, maybe even relaxing. Seeing everything so neatly organized, the smell of all the flowers. It was sensory overload, but like…in a good way. I don’t know, she might like it.”

He could still recall how in awe she looked at the flowers; something so mundane, yet mystifying to a young child. He remembered the way she excitedly skipped along the rows, wanting to smell every flower and learn all their names.

She’d be fascinated by the tall shelves filled with bags of mulch, the towers of stacked pots, the pallets of stone and brick. She’d walk over to one of the pallets, running her tiny hand along the top of a cold, gray, square shaped stepping stone.

“I want this,” she patted the stone slab. “Please?”

“Just…just the one?” Callon said with a confused laugh.

“Yeah.”

“Usually, you buy a few of them, and you make a little path with them,” he said, illustrating the idea with his hands. "That's why they're called stepping stones, you step on 'em."

“Oh…” she nodded her head.

“We could maybe put a few of them in the backyard,” he offered.

She thought it over before shaking her head. “No, I just want one.”

“…Like, for fun?”

She nodded once more.

“Well…alright,” he picked it up, happy noises from Ellie following shortly after. “Your dad is going to be so confused, but…that’s fine.”

They had taken the stone home before painting it together with Alex, their art project now residing in their front yard.

“Feels like it was just yesterday. Wait, why the fuck am I here again?” Callon thought, looking around. He knew he had come to the hardware store for something, but couldn’t remember what. So, he did what he always did in situations like these; he called Alex.He figured if he was busy, he just wouldn’t pick up the phone.

Alex couldn’t help but be paranoid if he left Callon’s calls unanswered; if he could, he’d answer, even if it meant distracting him from his work for a bit.

“Hello?”

“Hi, I’m at the hardware store and I don’t know why. Why am I here again?"

"You didn't write it down?"

"No, I forgot.L

He sighed, “weed killer and light bulbs. Everything okay?"

“Thanks. But uh…” he paused, biting his lip. “Do you have a minute?”

“I can’t talk for long, but sure. What’s up?”

“I’m just worried. About Ellie. I know there’s nothing I can do about it right now, but…I don’t know.”

“You’re right. There isn’t anything either of us can do now, other than hope she likes her new class. We're not gonna know how things went unt she gets home."

“Yeah, you’re right.” He took a deep breath, “I won’t keep you, I know you’re busy,” he trailed off.

“It’ll be alright. And if it isn’t, then we’ll figure something out. Try your best to stay sane, okay?”

“No promises,” he smiled. “I love you.”

“I love you too, I’ll talk to you later.”

While the rest of the students at school were picked up in the car loop, kindergarten required parents to come directly to the doors outside their classrooms to pick up their children. Callon wasn’t quite sure why this was the case, but he didn’t question it, making his way to her new classroom.

🔴: I’m on my way home now, I should be there a little after you get back with her. 🔵: okay 🫡

He stood in the back of the group of parents, many of them seeming like they already knew each other. He had friends within their quaint town, but none who had children in Ellie's year, and definitely not any that stayed at home like he did.

‘Maybe I should try to talk to someone. Befriending someone else whose kid is in this class may not be a bad idea.'

The door opened, and several young children with oversized backpacks walked out. He looked over the crowd, trying his best to find Ellie. When he didn’t immediately see her, he started to get nervous.

‘What if they didn’t let her come outside for some reason? What if someone tried to like, fight her? Would she hit them back? Probably not. Would Alex let me teach her? Also probably not.’

She eventually walked out, happily holding hands with another little girl, giggling and smiling.

‘This is the cutest shit I’ve ever seen in my life.’

He couldn’t help but let out a sigh of relief, walking up to come get her.

“Vivi!” Ellie’s face lit up when she saw Callon, eager to tell them all about her new friend. “I made a friend. This is Marcella, but she told me to call her Marcy. She's my friend now."

Hiding behind Ellie was a girl who was a bit taller, crouched down to make herself less visible. It was clear she was horribly shy, giving Callon only a little wave.

“Oh, hi there," he smiled, not wanting to seem too excited about Ellie making a friend.

"Hi," she whispered, a newly-made friendship bracelet shaking around her wrist. She held Ellie's arm tightly, as if the girl was a security blanket.

"She's shy, like me. But I'm less shy, so when people try to talk to her I tell them to go away."

Callon tried to hide the concern on his face. "Oh. Does uh…does Marcy want you to do that?"

Marcy quickly nodded her head up and down.

"…well, that's….nice of you…" Callon trailed off.

Marcy looked around, slowly at first, then with a frantic pace. She held her hand to her face, biting the skin around her nails. "I don't see my daddy."

Callon crouched down to her and Ellie's level. "I'm sure he's around here somewhere. What's he look like?"

She started to sniffle, "what if he got hit by a bus?"

'That's a jump, holy shit. That'd be really impressive, considering I've never seen a bus here before.'

"Maybe he's running late," said Ellie. "Is he tall? What's he look like?"

She nodded, "he's really tall…sometimes he picks me up and carries me on his shoulders…" she trailed off.

"Okay," Callon nodded, "what about uh…his hair?"

"It's brown…and a little fluffy. And…" she looked away, trying to think of more to say. "And he's got a picture on the back of his neck."

"Like a tattoo?" Asked Callon.

She nodded, "it's of a rose with prickles on it, but I'm not supposed to-"

“Oh, they were just inseparable the whole day!" Their teacher walked up, putting a calming hand on Marcy's shoulder. "You're Ellie's father, I assume?"

"Something like that, yeah," he said as he stood up.

"I know Ellie had some struggles in her old class, but…she seemed to have a lot of fun today! Marcy's always been a little shy, but these two just clicked! I think Ellie will be very successful here."

A wave of relief washing over him; if he smiled any wider, his face would hurt. "I'm…I'm really glad to hear that."

'This is perfect. This is literally perfect. She has a friend.’

"Of course. Thankfully, it's still early in the school year-"

“That’s my dad!” Marcy exclaimed.

Callon turned, and walking up behind him was the last man he wanted to see.

'You've gotta be fucking kidding me.'

Rennyn Arzell; a man from a family that had rivaled his own for decades. His best friends brother. A murderer, a conman, a manipulator. But most importantly, an asshole.

And now he was here, the two meeting eyes outside his daughter's kindergarten classroom. They were both silent, but from the look in Rennyn's eyes, it was clear; he knew exactly who he was looking at.

Marcy ran up to him excitedly, interrupting his focus. ‘Daddy!’

‘I'm actually gonna lose my fucking mind.

He picked her up, a big smile on his face as he gave her a kiss on the cheek. "Hey, kiddo. Sorry I'm late, I lost track of time. You okay?

"I got nervous…" she mumbled into his neck, clinging to him tightly.

"But did you cry?"

"Almost."

"Did your heart go all fast?"

"No."

"Did you get all out of breath?"

"No."

"Well that's good! See, you're brave, I told you so."

This wasn’t the man he knew. Rennyn's image had stayed in Callon's head, an occasional fixture of the nightmares he had worked so hard to make disappear. His heart began to race out of his chest as he walked back towards him and the teacher, and suddenly he felt like he was back in the city, the two pointing their weapons at each other.

Callon couldn't help but stare as the teacher addressed Rennyn, his last name different, just like Callon's. ‘No, that can’t be it. That can’t be him. He’s too…normal looking.'

"Marcy had a very good day today," said the teacher as Rennyn approached. "She made a new friend."

His eyes lit up. "Oh!" He looked around, and it was only then Rennyn got a good look at Callon. He looked at him, then down at Ellie. "Oh…" he set her down, before pointing at Ellie directly. "This…this your friend?"

Marcy nodded. "She's nice. I like listening to her talk while I read."

He paused, still stunned by Callon's presence. "Huh. Interesting..." he mumbled.

"They seemed to be two peas in a pod! Here, I'll let you two get acquainted, I'm sure there will be many get-togethers in the future," the teacher laughed before moving to talk to another set of parents, leaving the two alone as their children sat in the grass.

A million thoughts raced in Callon's head. ‘This isn't real. This can't be happening. How the fuck could someone have found me? He's going to fucking kill me, isn't he? It's over. Everything I've built, it's over.

Rennyn turned to the two girls, before pointing over at the playground close by. "Why don't…why don't you two go play for a bit? The adults need to talk for a bit."

The two ran off to a swingset, and both parents watched as they smiled and laughed; something neither had done much since they started kindergarten. The children were happy, while Callon and Rennyn felt nothing but dread.

Callon sighed. "Well…Long time no see, I guess."

"That's…one way to put it."

OH MY GOD I HAD BEEN WORKING ON THIS FOR FUCKING EVER AND IT JUST KEPT GOING AND GOING so this is a series now yay . im already like halfway done the 2nd part but oh my god idk why but writing the little families is just. crack for my brain. like its better than smut. theres still gonna be smut tho i promise, but the fluff just. rAAAAH

i hope you liked it!! i love girldad rennyn hes still a dick and a menace to teachers everywhere but he rly loves his kid and there is absolutely nothing wrong with her whatsoever.

but yes, neurodivergent girl best friends who happen to both have mafia connections via their parents. yippee!!

ALSO TO CALM YOUR NERVES ronan is very much alive. he's chillin.

You smile as you sit beside James on the sofa, leaning into his side as he speaks goofily to your little bundle of joy, her back and head resting against the blonde’s long legs that had been propped against the coffee table.

“Did you miss Daddy while he was working today?” he asks with a wide smile, his fingers in the tiny grasp of Chloe’s hands.

The little girl smirks a little with a coo, her tongue sticking out slightly. You and James had long grown impatient to hear her tiny giggles as she reached three months of age, and every day both of you would try so hard to push that slight smirk to a tiny belly laugh.

“Yeah? You did?” he asks, acting as though she could understand him. “Daddy missed you and Mommy, too.” James leans forward slightly and plants a kiss on Chloe’s forehead before turning to you and pressing his lips to your own, leaving a chaste kiss on them. “The guys were asking about her today,” he chuckles a bit, his statement making you smile widely.

You bring a hand up to push a golden strand of his hair from his face, “Really?” you ask, tucking the locs behind his ear as he nods, “What’d they ask?”

James looks down at the still-grinning baby and smiles back, “They asked a whole lot. How she’s doing, if we’ll bring her back to the studio again to visit, if they could come to visit us.”

You giggle a bit as you snuggle into the blonde’s side, “Well, Lars is supposed to come by when you get the album covers, isn’t he?” you ask, gaining a nod from him.

A peaceful silence falls between you as you both watch Chloe look around the room with an infantile curiosity. You smile as you think about how James had stepped up to father her, his priorities set almost completely on the two of you. Quite honestly, you had worried your entire pregnancy that he wouldn’t have been able to do it. You worried that the dedication was too much for him and that he’d try to bury himself in work to try to stay away from it. You also worried his drinking would get in the way of his parenting, the same way it’d gotten in the way multiple times in your entire relationship. However, he had really attempted to cut down after you’d given birth.

You reach a hand out and rub Chloe’s tummy gently, “You wanna see your uncle Lars again?” you ask, pulling the little one’s eyes to you, bouts of curiosity beaming from them. You smile at her as you continue, “Well, maybe Daddy can bring you with him to work one day while Mommy cleans the house, hm? Then you can see Uncle Lars, and Uncle Jason, and even Uncle Kirk!” the names are drawn out as you list them, Chloe’s face once again turning to a wide smile at just the sound of your voice.

“Don’t forget about your Uncle Bob, too.” James coos at the little girl, earning a tiny coo back from her. James beams at her, “You wanna see your Uncle Bob?” he asks goofily, gaining yet another coo, this time louder.

Almost like a giggle.

You gasp slightly, trying to excite the little girl as you attempt to urge more coos from her, “Do you think that’s silly?” you ask her in a coo, causing a tiny bubbly laugh to erupt from her chest. The adorable sound sends joy and excitement bursting into the air, making James and yourself gasp ecstatically. “You think your Uncle Bob is funny, don’t you, honey?” you ask with your own laugh, watching as she giggles even more at the mention of the name.

James lets out a chuckle at the sight of the little girl being overtaken by her newfound laugh, “He’s definitely funny looking,” he says through his laugh, making you giggle, too. It isn’t long until there’s a circle of laughs going around between the three of you.

Between the family.

After a few moments, Chloe’s tiny giggles die down alongside yours and James’ and you’re back to smiling at the little girl in awe. Your heart blooms with love as you glance up at James, his smile wide with delight and love. It never ceased to amaze you just how tame a man as crazy as James Hetfield could be when it came to you. You and his family.

You sigh contentedly and press a kiss to the man’s cheek, his facial hair scratching you slightly. “I love you, James Hetfield.” you murmur as you pull away, pulling his attention toward you.

Hob had been sitting on his desk for what felt like an eternity, but had in fact been about 8 hours. He was hunched over his computer, eyes already stinging from the strain of looking at the screen for so long. He’d written quite a lot that day, and read even more from the pile of printed out articles, papers and books, research material for his new thesis that he much preferred reading the physical copies of. His main source of comfort while he worked was a single mug of warm tea that filled itself back up every time he reached for it, courtesy of his above god-kind of a husband. Hob reached for the mug, taking a sip of tea that could only be described as “childhood memory” flavored, let out a soft sigh and leaned back on his chair, allowing his mind to wander for a moment.

A soft knock on the door brought him right back to reality.

“Dearest, may I come in?” Dream’s voice was soft, almost like he was afraid he might interrupt Hob while he worked. Hob found it endearing, how much Dream respected and honoured his work hours.

Hob got up, stretching his arms and back quickly, before walking over to the door to open it, smiling as he was greeted by the face of the person he loved most in the entire universe. “You know you don’t have to knock, love. It’s never a bad time for you.”

Dream allowed a private and gentle smile, eyes filled with a fondness that Hob was perpetually greedy for. “I prefer to not interrupt your writing process. I have learned that an interrupted flow of ideas is preferred by scholars and artists alike.”

“And I am thankful for it dove, I really am.” Hob leaned in to press a chaste kiss to Dream’s lips, letting his hands rest on his husband’s hips. “But as you well know, I can always use a visit or 10 from you while I work.”

“You would not get any work done if I indulged you.” Dream’s tone was humorous, as if his smile was evident even in his voice.

“But I’d get to do you, and that would be even more rewarding.” said Hob, winking at the end to get his point across. It earned him a soft flush on Dream’s cheeks, so even if he wasn’t particularly satisfied with what he’d done so far, his day had already been won.

“You are impossible, Hob Gadling.”

“So are you, Morpheus Gadling.” 10 years into their marriage and Hob still felt the need to say Dream’s name out loud to believe it had even happened. “But I have a feeling you didn’t come here just to praise me.”

“You would be correct.” Dream reached into the back pocket of his jeans, producing a bubblegum pink envelope filled with glittery butterfly stickers. “Lucy requested I deliver this to you. She said it was of the utmost importance that you read it before dinner.”

Hob took the small envelope from Dream’s hand, his smile growing larger by the second as he read his name written in the handwriting of his 7 year old daughter. “From Princess Lucy to Doctor Gadling” he read out loud, looking at Dream as if his heart would not be able to make it through reading the contents of the letter.

“Ah, yes. Princess Lucy of the Dream Kingdom. I find it very appropriate, don’t you?” Hob had never seen anything like the look of pride that currently resided in Dream’s eyes.

“Of course, I should have known.” Hob let out a soft chuckle, carefully opening the envelope as not to damage any of the many stickers Lucy had used to glue it shut. He then unfolded the letter, written in flower themed stationary with an array of different coloured pencils.

“Dear Doctor Gadling (Dad),

Dad Morpheus read me an article you wrote. I was amazed by it! ^u^ It surprised me that took you 4 months to write it! :O I’m sure it took a lot of work. I found out a lot of things about medieval times! I also liked learning about the things you teach. A lot of things made me say “awesome”! :D I want to read what you write next!

A+!

Princess Lucy of The Dream Kingdom (your daughter)”

Hob tried to read it aloud, but his voice got shaky midway through, and he was glad when Dream pulled him into his embrace and finished reading it for him. “Dream, I—“

“I know.” Dream pressed a soft kiss to Hob’s temple, wiping his tears away gently with his thumbs. “She is very proud of you, Hob. As am I. It was her idea to write the letter; she wanted to give you encouragement in writing your thesis.”

“I don’t think I’ll be doing any more writing today after this.” Hob’s eyes were filled with tears, but he couldn’t be happier. How he’d landed this life was beyond him.

“Thus my hesitance in interrupting you.” Dream pressed a kiss to Hob’s lips, then brushing a strand of hair that had escaped Hob’s bun away from his eyes. “I shall get dinner ready. Perhaps you could play with Lucy while I cook. I have heard she’s in need of a knight.”