He clicked off the stove, ruffled little girls hair, and shoveled some scrambled eggs onto her tray to keep her busy. Then stalked down the hall seeing no need for a rush. He was fully aware of the problem, and had no interest in fixing it. He leaned himself against the open door frame of your bedroom and there you were. 

A pretty little thing in serious need of an attitude adjustment. 

You blinked a few times to keep your composure, for a moment you thought he dressed that way on purpose. A view like that wasn’t unusual but it still made you weak. Grey sweats hanging at his hips did you in every single time, standing there like a man carved from stone, littered in art coated muscle. It was almost impossible to stay strong but your annoyance took precedence.

You raised the back of your hand, and it sparkled. It looked better than he imagined. It wasn’t too big, or too flashy. It was subtle in a way you would appreciate, but still enough that everyone would see it first. 

A sparkly claim.

“What the fuck is this?” 

“Your ring,” he tossed the dish towel at his shoulder and crossed his arms over his bare chest, “like it?” 

“Do I like it? You don’t want to try will you marry me or even a what do you say, are you actually insane?” 

“Yeah.” 

You chuckled despite yourself. Your handsome devil, so unbothered, so damn serious. 

“The answers no until you learn how to ask correctly,” you tossed it towards the end of the rustled sheets. It landed perfectly, gem glinting in the morning light.

It was like the damn thing was staring back at you. 

The cut, the clarity, the encrusted band with her birth stone. It wasn’t what you pictured, but he still managed to hit the nail on the head.

Almost like he knew you better than you knew yourself, and that annoyed you too.

“Put the fucking ring back on,” and then he walked away. Abrupt turn, heavy steps, resuming his perfect execution of blueberry pancakes so you had a plate ready when you finally decided to put your big boy pants on. 

You stared at it for too long. Considering, overthinking, and decided you couldn’t put it back on, not yet.

You treated it with care, but to give in would've been too easy. You had to let it stew inside you first, find a way to give him hell without actually saying no. 

He knew that, so he chose to overlook it when you sat at the table without it, because he also knew inevitably it would be right back where it belongs.

He had everything he never wanted, and he loved it. 

He loved coming home to you, he loved waking up to her climbing in the bed during the night. He loved rocking her to sleep, and holding you until you were snoring even though you swear you don’t. He loved the ring he bought you, and the tattoo of your initial healing perfectly where his ring will go.

He was made for more than he ever thought possible, because as it turns out, you can teach an old dog new tricks. 

He had a foot in both worlds and surprised himself everyday that he seemed to excel equally.

Violence was fun, the chaos of it was as easy as breathing. Loving you, parenting her, it had become second nature, something learned but worth every second of effort it took to get there. 

Only one thing could shit on his good mood, and that was the fucking Irish. The stubborn as fuck pale faces that act like kings. 

One patch went down, a prospect alongside him, and that meant war. 

War meant lockdown.

You and little girl were stuck in his dorm room, willingly this time, but without him. He wasn’t there for the bedtime story, or the early morning cuddles. He was on a hunt, stuck in a van with your adopted brother. 

Day in, day out. 

Staking out in revolving shifts but the damn irish were proving to be resourceful. Happy didn’t say a word about you, about the ring, about anything really. Jax tried to be as quiet, but his phone just kept ringing. Always Tara claiming she needed this and that. 

Happy couldn’t fathom the need for a call every five minutes. He tried not to side eye his president but at a certain point he couldn't help it.

You hadn’t called once, not even a text. Were you annoyed? Sure, of course. Exhausted and mildly pissed off? To be expected, but you were handling it. 

You knew he was busy keeping you and the people you love safe, so you kept your mouth shut. It made him want that ring on your finger even more, really. The way you understood club life like it was woven in your DNA.

It was hotter than he would ever admit. 

After the fifth and final call, Jax arrived. No van and no Happy.

You tried not to let the disappointment show when your brother shot you a charming smile, but you were approaching your very wits end with the level of understanding you’ve maintained over the past week. Your daughter gasped at the sight of leather, searching, searching, searching, and nothing.

You saw the disappointment hit her like a train and it wrecked you. 

This is easily the longest she’s gone without seeing him since they met. You explained daddy didn’t disappear, he would come back for her. She was just too little to comprehend anything aside from his missing presence. She had been nothing short of a terror. Throwing things, kicking and screaming, endless whining that was making your head throb. You tried to be a gentle parent. Calm, collected, respectful of her feelings. It never went far. She was at a loss, and so were you. 

She huffed, puffed, and plopped herself down from the picnic tables.

“Hey!” She yelled, commanding the attention of Chibs, Tig, and Jax too. “Where esm’ daddy?” 

Jax was all smiles, squatting down to reach her level and poke her in the belly. “He’s running some errands for me, he’ll be back for you soon, okay?” 

“No,” she huffed. Then she kicked him. Right in the groin, causing the charming blonde to drop back against the concrete with a deep groan. The leather kuttes from you to the door all groaned in sympathy, gripping their crotches like they felt it too.

“Hey!” You scolded, pulling her back by the shoulders and demanding she apologize, but she refused. She crossed her arms, staring them all down like they were enemy forces.

“Here darling,” Chibs drawled, pulling out a prepay from his pocket, “he’s the last number dialed, why don’t you let her give him a call?” 

You fiddled with the prepay, glancing around the smug faces that made your cheeks burn. “This feels like rewarding bad behavior.” 

“We’re rewarding a solid shot.” 

“Douchebag,” Jax groaned, rubbing his crotch as he found his footing. 

You shooed your miserable little girl back into the clubhouse, forcing her to keep moving until you were locked in the safety of his room. Just stepping a foot in was relaxing, for the both of you. He hadn’t stayed there for over a month now but the air still smelled like him. His cardboard thin pillows smelled like his aftershave, the sheets like his soap, the few shirts he had left in the closet still had that faint hint of motor oil and exhaust fumes that never quite washes out. It settled you more than it did her, you were surviving the week in his clothes and taking hits off his pillow just to keep it together. 

Pathetic? Yes. Necessary at this rate? Absolutely. 

It’s not your fault he’s made you so dependent, blame him entirely.

He was the one who made it a habit to always be home for dinner. He was the one who insisted on being there to put both his girls to bed. You were just the sucker who got twisted up by some sort of accidental Stockholm situation. 

You hit re-dial on what you assume is today’s current prepay number. He answered with a grunt, one that told you exactly how pissed off he was. 

“Guess again,” you chuckled. 

The harshness slipped. A soft whisper carried through the line, “hey.” 

“Hey,” you grinned, “your daughter is being a monster.”

“So now she’s my kid?” He chuckled, leaning back against a cool brick wall. God, he needed to hear you. The sweetest little reminder of what he had waiting was enough to settle him, hearing you laugh? That was like striking gold. 

It was annoying how much he missed you, how much he thought about you and little girl, and how ready he was for this shit to be over so he knew you were both safe again. It never stopped him from doing his job, but it was always there. The two of you had embedded yourself in his brain worse than a sickness, always lingering in the back of his mind. 

“She kicked Jax in the nuts because he came back without you, and I know for a fact she didn’t get that from me.” 

His laughter rumbled like thunder, carrying over the line like a lightning strike to your heart. “That’s my girl.” 

You glanced over at the corner she put herself in, arms crossed and pouting. “You have a minute? I think she could use some daddy daughter time.” 

“Put me on speaker.”

“Come on babe, Happy’s on the phone.” 

You hit the speaker button and placed it down on the bed. He heard everything. Her little whine from across the room, her stomps, the grunts escaping her as she weaseled up the bed because she wouldn’t just take your help to get there. He waited until he heard her close, the ruffle of sheets slushing through his end.

“You being good to your mom?” 

She crossed her arms again, staring you dead in the eye. “No.”

“Why not?” 

She babbled. Half of it was words, half of it was nonsense. You picked up on about a quarter of it, but he got it all. Her and her pitiful attitude come through the other end of the line. Angry he wasn’t back yet, stir crazy from lock down. She missed her bed, her stuffies, and her daddy. He hummed along, entertaining her tiny rant and encouraging her to let it all out. Mommy was being mean, she said. Mommy keeps saying no, she said. On and on with endless reasons why you’re wrong and she’s right, bring him to the conclusion it was time to wrap things up. You both had run out of grace for the situation and he couldn’t blame you. 

She needed a break, you needed a break, and he was desperate to see your faces after the bullshit errands keeping him too damn far away from you both. 

“Look who’s here,” you chuckled, pointing to the door where leather kuttes were trailing in one at a time. 

“That’s my dadddy!” She screeched, a full sprint taking over her chubby little legs. She giggled the whole way over, hands flailing, grin spreading, squealing like a bat out of hell. 

The crowd parted. First for her, then for him, making space where there wasn’t any so he could get by.

“Hey mama,” he said, voice rough, low, just for you. You tilted your head all the way back, lips puckered and waiting for his. He pressed his chapped ones against your soft ones gently, pecking them a few times in a row before pulling back. “You feelin okay?” 

“Better now, you?” 

“Better now,” he smiled, kissing the side of your daughter’s head, tickling her face with the rough scruff of his cheeks.

“Is it okay if I go home? She’s out of a few things, and I need a shower that’s not communal.” 

He gave you a look, one that very obviously told you a few separate things all at once. One, you’re testing his patience already. Two, having two girls to worry about in his life is exhausting. Three, you are absolutely not leaving this clubhouse. 

“You two are killing me,” he muttered, eyes shut tight. 

You weren't actually asking, he knew that, but it was sweet to pretend given where you are. You couldn’t completely ignore the reputation he has made for himself. You could act the part of a good girl rather well. Please, thank you, asking the question but ignoring the no he gives once you’re behind closed doors. It’s a system, he likes the system. 

You stood and slipped right in under his free arm, taking a hit of him. He hadn’t left the van in days, but even the van stench was delicious because it was him. Warm, breathing, intoxicating. 

You pulled in one, two, three, and an extra for the road. “I’ll be back before the vote, okay?” 

“Take a prospect,” he stopped you in your tracks, hand gently holding your arm, “Tacoma.” 

You nodded, kissing a cheek softly, and you were gone with the wind.

Then it was him and her. 

Her attitude came and went like the tide. She was so excited he was there, she forgot she was angry. Then she would remember, and start to pout all over again. 

Rinse and repeat. 

She was talking endlessly, then staring at him like he kidnapped her. She started laughing, then snarled at him if he touched the wrong toy. It was a game of cat and mouse with her attitude, and he loved every second because she was all you, but so much of him now too.

Every perfect inch of her.

You slipped on your ring the second you got in the car, admiring the view without his smug expression making you wish you left the damn thing at home all together. 

You couldn’t. You tried, but you just couldn’t. You never asked for it, you weren’t even sure if you wanted it, but it felt like part of you now. Something decided, certain. A mix of impending doom and the hope of a new beginning all wrapped up in one. 

It was stupidly perfect, and every single day you kept it close, teasing yourself with the idea of it. 

You had less questions this time. You know who he is, what he wants, how far he’s willing to go and what he’s willing to give. It all added up. 

You made your bed, with Happy Lowman, all he really needed to do was ask. 

You sucked up every single second of the rarity that is baby free time and felt guilty while doing it. Groceries were purchased. Snacks for him, her, a few unusual pairings for you. Bags of dirty laundry were switched for fresh clean clothes. Then you took a much longer shower than necessary, but the hot water felt too good, and every inch of you needed special attention. 

You did your hair the way you liked, dressed in something other than his well loved samcro printed tees. Circling back to hell on earth. Your least favorite place that still somehow manages to feel like home. 

You pulled in a few minutes to spare. Stashing your ring for safe keeping, fumbling with your bags, loading up the arms of the Tacoma prospect who was lingering behind you like a well trained dog. 

Then there was chaos. Yelling, screaming, the rush of fleeing bodies, then there was a boom. 

A life altering explosion that blew the clubs home to the sky. The rush of hot air hit you first and nearly knocked you down. Then it was the harsh stench of smoke, fire, and something sour that made you want to keel over. 

The reality of what you just witnessed set in and you gasped, collapsing at the sight. Your knees cracked against the asphalt so loud it could be heard over your sobs. 

Your baby girl was in there.

You screeched at the very top of your lungs but no sound left your lips. All the air left your lungs, every fiber in your being felt like it was pulled apart. Ash and smoke heavy in the air, warm firelight blinding your mind.

Then you saw them, emerging from the smoke and ash in slow motion like some low budget action movie. You cried, hard. You were so out of it you were crawling, pushing yourself up as fast as you could. Grabbing her, searching him, crying desperately despite both of them appearing whole. 

“We’re okay,” he wrapped his arms around you both, so tight his arms were shaking, “we’re okay.” 

She was sobbing, vicious cries that were ripping him apart with each wave. You were a snotty mess, absolutely wrecked with the possibility of what if. He was the pillar of strength letting it happen, holding himself together perfectly like he came pre-put together with superglue. “Come on, I’m getting you out of here.” 

He took you to the hospital. You didn’t think he would, at first. Hospital meant cops, Happy hates cops, but he checked her in himself. The police were circling the emergency room like sharks as more of the samcro family arrived by both car and ambulance. He let you give your statement, trusting you entirely to give them the illusion of help without giving them anything at all. 

He held her the whole time. Through the questions, the exams, too shell-shocked to put her down for even a moment. Rocking, humming, rubbing her back softly. Once she was clear, he took you home, but not the home you were expecting. His home. The three bedroom house that was made to hold a family, his family.

You two had discussed it offhandly one evening. His is bigger in every way. Bigger rooms, more square feet, and it has the bigger yard. You pay rent, he owns his outright. Logistically moving to his house made the most sense, but it was supposed to be a when we’re ready move. 

He helped you up and out of the passenger side, checking your head like you might spontaneously combust from the fever that didn’t exist. “You good?” 

“I’m not the one who got blown up.” 

“I got her out,” he mumbled, forcing you by the chin to look him in the eye, “she’s never in danger with me.” 

Your lip quivered, you couldn’t stop the waterworks if you tried. The fear, mom hormones on overdrive. He kept a steady gaze, brushing each tear away before they ever made it down your cheeks.

“I know,” you whispered, nodding against his hands. 

He nodded, satisfied, then immediately moved on to the next little girl that needed attention. 

“Come on little girl,” he cooed, guiding her tired arms out from her buckles, “we got a surprise for you.” 

“S’prise?” She slurred, blinking slowly. He hummed, jingling his keys as he approached the front door. 

It smelled just like him. Dull whiskey and the softest touch weed smoke. Gun oil and that rich earthy cologne he wears too well, it was enough to ease the tension inside you. You followed him step for step like the space was a booby trap waiting to happen.

It was clean, orderly. Everything had a place but there wasn't much to keep sorted. One couch. A table with one chair. No tv, no art on the walls. It looked more like a safe house than a home, but that's what he had you two for.

A reason to make it something.

“You ready?” He asked her softly, hand on the vintage crystal doorknob he installed himself. She nodded enthusiastically and he kicked the door open. 

Her jaw dropped, and so did yours.

The walls were her favorite color, and had a different design hand painted on each one. He painted her a castle, a rainbow, the weird green monster from her favorite book. There was a big girl bed covered in all the stuffed animals she could ever want. A doll house, a ridiculously fluffy rug, and a reading nook by the window. It was every little girl's dream come true.

“Happy,” you gasped, stepping into a room that looked like something out of a catalog. He plopped her down on the floor and off she went. Squealing and giggling at every little thing. It became a mess in seconds. You couldn’t see much of anything through the chaos of it, just a blur of your tiny tornado making herself at home. She tossed her entire toy chest, introduced herself to each and every stuffed toy, showed you all the Barbie’s he stocked the doll house (that was bigger than her) with. With every new thing she found, she ran to him first. Showing it off, laughing loud, making every dime he spent worth it.

The two of you joined her on the floor. Watching her lose her mind and every little thing. You wouldn't call him cheap, exactly. He prefers the term mindful of excessive spending, but this she didn't seem to apply.

“You spoil her.” 

“That’s my job,” he said lowly, voice carrying the clipped edge of roughness, “I was saving it for her birthday, but she needed a distraction.” 

His wheels were turning. Watching her, avoiding you. You've never seen that look on him before. You've learned the micro expressions that tell you what kind of day he's had. Anger was familiar. Relief was easiest to spot. This was new. Skin paled, his features usually flexed in one way or another were completely unbecoming. A dangerous cocktail of feelings he didn't know what to do with. Which to feel first, where to focus his energy.

You slipped your hand over his, knuckles raw from where he caught them both from smacking down against asphalt. “And what about me?” 

He took a breath in, like all he needed was the permission to be exactly where he was.

“You got that ring you’re supposed to be wearing.” His hand pulled back and dug into his pocket, pulling out something slim and flat, cuts in the metal fitted to the front door. “Got you a key made too, move in when you’re ready.” 

He looked at you, you looked at him, and the silence was enough. You were already a family, and it was about time you started acting like it. You rolled your eyes ridiculously hard and slipped your hand into your bra, pulling out that little loop of gems you were keeping very close. 

“I’m ready.” 

The roughness of his features gave an inch, momentarily putting away the hate he was clinging to for when they finally got their hands on the Irish. He took it, fiddling with it a moment before tugging you closer by the hand.

“You take this off again I’ll kill you,” he grumbled, slipping it back between your knuckles where it belongs. 

You took his hand, brushing a thumb across his tattooed knuckles, lingering across that picture perfect initial. The man you knew before, you might've believed him, but not this guy. You smiled up at him, this boundary crossing, agenda pushing, borderline psycho, who you just can't help but love.

"Whatever you say."

i feel like this isn't my best work, im so lost in mw4 land i can't stay focused on anything besides john mf price - sorrrryyyyyyy

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my main master - p.s if you copy my work or feed my work to ai i'll track you down and kill you myself

You were definitely too young. You still had that little flicker of hope in your eyes, you were probably on dating apps searching for something fresh, fun. Jack wasn’t that. 

He was an over ripe piece of fruit. 

He had more wrinkles appearing every day, and if that wasn’t enough his hair was dead giveaway for his age. He’s a widow, an amputee, a vet. A man with a whole lot of baggage that your shoulders should never have to help him carry. 

It was silly of him to think. He had just opened up to the idea of moving on, not just a date, no he's managed that, but to truly look for something worth something again.

For some reason, one far beyond his scope of comprehension, his mind had created dangerous thoughts about what life might look like with you.

Intoxicated by the way you smelled, the way you smiled, the way your gaze always found his lips first that night in pedes.

He got it wrong, at least that’s what he told himself every day you didn’t call, and every time Lena cooed at her phone because you sent her yet another photo of baby jane doe. 

The night was set to be something special. He spent the afternoon at his coffee table, listening to the chatter coming from the police scanner with a warm cup of tea. It was quiet, too quiet, and he knew that meant it was a night crawler kind of day.

The chaos seems to shift between days and nights, like the universe knew exactly how to share the rush between shifts.

He was ready early, always. Watching the hand on the clock tick away the seconds until the time read something reasonable enough to leave. He usually made it in with an extra half hour for bullshitting with Robby and Dana during handoffs, but for the first time ever, he was going to be late. 

His uneven pace reached the garage at his usual time, started the truck and buckled up, then he saw it. The damn pressure gauge light was on. He hopped out with a huff and after a thorough investigation he found a nail in his back left tire. 

He called Shen and shot Dana a text to cover his bases. He spent a while assessing his options. He could change the tire but then he’d need a shower. He could call a tow and have the shop handle it but that would be a waste of time and money. He ran through the most likely scenarios and concluded it was a tomorrow morning problem. One good thing about living in an urban city is that uber rides are a dime a dozen. 

He made it in time for a shoulder clap with Robby who failed miserably to leave for his sabbatical, bee lining for the lockers when the corner of his eye caught something wild. 

An absolute vision, but this time in highlighter pink. He blinked a few times, adjusting to the color of you. If he pulled out a blacklight right now you would most certainly glow. You had glitter on your cheeks, in your hair, strands braided and pinned back from your face with clips shaped like stars. You looked like you got called in and had to leave a rave early. 

If he was to look up your qualifications he’s all but positive the only reason you clock in is to do nothing more than spread joy like you were patient zero of it.

Joy like that doesn’t belong down here.

Anything bright and shiny gets dulled down before a single hour is up, so it brought the question, what the hell are you doing here? Spinning in Lena’s chair like a bored child, sparkling like a damn disco ball under the hum of harsh fluorescent lights. 

“Y/n?”

“Dr Abbot,” you swooned, unintentionally so as you stopped the chair, taking a small sip from your sticker bombed tumbler cup, “no swat uniform today? Such a shame.” 

He chuckled, a pesky blush burning his ears bright red. “Finally decide to join the dark side?”

“Baby Jane Doe got adopted,” you sighed, lip out and pouting. 

That little grin came out to play, his crows feet on display as you got lost counting the freckles by his eyes. “So you’re baby shopping?” 

You giggled, uncontrollably so, “No mr funny guy! My house is too quiet so I decided bothering Lena would be an excellent use of my free time.” 

“Mateo needed the weekend off,” Lena corrected, not bothering to look up from the chart in her hands, “she got her emergency qualification last month, so we’ll be stealing her from time to time.”

“Pediatric Emergency…technically.” 

He crossed his arms, nodding slow, impressed, a little more interested and a single minute hadn't even passed him by. “Well…you’re going to have to change scrubs to hang with the cool kids, seriously before you blind us.” 

You gasped like you’d been shot, hand across your chest, taking to your feet like you were ready to storm out and leave them hanging. 

“This is a custom comfort blend,” you huffed, grinning, teasing, spinning on your toes, “so get used to it.”

You took the night shift by the balls and worked the pitt like it was your bitch. He was impressed, and that didn’t happen easily. This isn’t your territory, or so he thought. He thought you were all rainbows, sunshine, and too damn bright scrubs.

He couldn’t have been more wrong.

You were handing things off before he had to ask for it, sometimes before he had even thought to ask for it. You trailed behind him the entire night.

It was like the sun was peeking out from behind a very buff rain cloud.

You added flair to explanations, making sense of the medical jargon being spewed out in the rush of stabilization for his patients. Taking that responsibility off his belt was a bigger weight than he realized. He was able to dial back the charm and focus.

You took a direct approach, using sugar coated tactics that weren't exactly his style, but worked. You spoke in a way that calmed them, you even managed to earn a smile from a particularly rough around the edges old man. 

You held a mother’s hand while he explained the details of their children’s injuries. You didn’t blink when the man who’d been flirting you up succumbed to his injuries.

Everything he did you were right there, making it brighter, easier to choke down. 

You kept a smile on your face, handled chaos with class, and attached yourself to every single pedes case that came through the door. 

He watched you heal scrapped knees with magic bandaids, treat ear infections with witch’s brew, and soothe teething babies with the sterile rags you had ready and waiting in the break room freezer.

Everyone, even the adults, got a sticker from the book of color in your pocket, and all that joy spewing out of you didn’t slow you down one bit. 

He wanted to talk to you, soak up some of your quick wit and flirty comments while he had the chance, but the beds just kept filling up. Sunset to sunrise no one stopped moving, and you were the only one still wearing a smile. 

“Gosh that was fun!” You chirped, drumming your hands against the desk. Lena gave you the look when you locked eyes, followed by mumbles and groans mostly at your expense. “What? We never get this much action upstairs. I got so many hugs!” 

“It is too early in the morning for her,” Dr Ellis sighed, feet dragging away from you as fast as humanly possible. 

You gasped playfully, Abbot and Shen chuckled, and Lena was wearing a grin of pure amusement. 

Shen took his leave, congratulating you on surviving your first dance with the nightcrawler crew. Lena turned just slightly, giving the appearance of paying attention to anything but the hot doc closing in on you. 

Grey curls, wild from the night. Hands in his pockets, leaning against the desk a few inches closer than decent. “How long do we have you?”

You glanced his way, and it was right then he realized, you might just like overly ripe fruit. He saw it clear as day, your eyes found his and the glossy color of your irises were swallowed whole by the pitch black center. 

“Tonight, tomorrow and Sunday too.”

“Lucky us.” But he really meant lucky me. 

“I told you the pink scrubs would grow on you,” you winked, bumping shoulders sweetly before spinning around, “I desperately need to find an on-call room before my shift starts, do you need me?” 

“Go on,” Lena extended her chin towards the elevators, releasing you from the pitt shackles. 

“Thank you, love you, I’ll see you tonight!” 

They watched you make for the elevator, the exhaustion of the shift finally showing in the slow shuffle of your steps.

“Doubles?” 

“All weekend,” Lena nodded, eyeing him up and down like she already knew his best kept secret.

Jack Abbot has a crush on everyone's favorite basket case pedes nurse.

The silver fox attending, terrified of commitment because he’s been there done that, had eyes for the pretty young thing. The pretty young thing Lena just so happened to adore.

“She’s a good girl, Jack.” 

“I noticed.” 

Her glasses slid down the bridge of her nose, the part of her that made her a damn good charge nurse coming out to play. “Don’t fuck it up.”

Saturday night, right on time. An exhausted vision in pink shuffling off the elevator, but a vision nonetheless. You retwisted your braids, fixed your sparkle, changed into a darker color of the pink spectrum this time in favor of that horrendous highlighter glow. Your wheels were visibly turning, mentally preparing yourself for yet another battle in the pitt, and he was there, waiting for you.

He met you halfway at an uneven pace, looking just as well rested as you did.

He did doubles in his own way. Leaving late, coming in early, finding ways to keep busy during the in-between hours when he should be sleeping. He knew that expression you were wearing well, and he came prepared.

“Here,” he pulled an energy bar from his pocket, fumbling with it for a few seconds before sliding it in your hand, “there’s a sugar-free redbull in the fridge with your name on it too.” 

Your lip went into an instant pout, wide eyed and glazed, “you’re my hero.” 

He turned bright pink, from his neck to the very tips of his ears he felt like he’d been stuck in the sun for hours. Red hot and sweating, heart beating a little fast with each centimeter your pupil dilated. 

He cleared his throat, arms awkwardly crossing and uncrossing, settling to hide his hands in his pockets. “If you feel like you’re going down, tell me, alright?”

All you could do was smile, making the heat in his cheeks that much brighter.

You were more than capable of powering through a double, it’s no doubt one of those undiagnosed disorders that make it impossible for you to sleep, sit still, etc… but you didn’t have that need to prove yourself with him standing in front of you. Soft gaze, puppy dog eyes, just wanting to make things a little easier for you of all people.

It was endearing.

Luckily for you both, all of you really, it was quiet. 

There was time to spare. Time for conversation, but all Jack could manage was a few longing looks. Too nervous to say the wrong thing, he said nothing instead. 

At Lena’s request, you manned the hub. You kept order, flow, letting her have a break from being the boss long enough to get her hands dirty with the MVC that came to disrupt the touch of peace the pitt rarely sees. 

You picked at the energy bar, bored, hoping for a tiny human to walk through the doors. Nothing major, of course, but a teething baby sounded so good to you. The pedes room had only seen one little boy earlier in the shift but it was a simple tumble down the stairs. Clean scans and a lollipop later you were back to patiently waiting for someone little who needed a smile.

“What’s her name?” 

You lifted your sleepy gaze to find the hot doctor hovering. “Hm?” 

“Jane Doe.” 

Your smile came back like his question was the five hour energy shot you needed, “Callie.”

“That’s a pretty name.” 

“Yeah, her parents are so-”

“Abbot we need you in here,” Lena barked, gloved hands up, peering over her glasses to shoot him a glare. That look could turn a man to stone and he knew it too, he was gone before he could second guess but at least he tried. 

You bit your lip to hide that stupid smile his presence alone seems to materialize on your face. Gaze back down on the little bar of energy that paired deliciously with your can of jet fuel.

You didn’t get to say it but he knew which word was on the tip of your tongue. Nice. You wouldn’t be so happy if her parents weren't incredibly nice.

Sunday night came and it was essentially living in hell. The solace of yesterday was nothing but a distant memory but you almost preferred it. Hecticness kept you moving, moving meant you were awake, awake meant you were doing something that meant something. 

You entered that flow state where you temporarily forget about everything besides facts and vitals. The ache in your feet? Forgettable. The rumble of your stomach? On temporary leave. The brain numbing exhaustion from working back to back shifts the past three days? Nonexistent. 

Shen made a comment that it should be illegal. Ellis was just annoyed you still had so much pep in your step. Lena was nothing short of proud considering you’re her new star pupil, and Jack… Jack was always watching. 

He couldn’t decide if he was impressed or concerned, really. You were on his heels the same as before. Handing him things he hadn’t asked for but definitely needed. Repeating vitals when you saw his head tick like he hadn’t heard you clearly over the jumbled up noise of monitors and medical chatter. 

The thing he couldn’t quite get over is how you never once let the past seventy-two hours show in front of a patient, you barely let it slip in front of him. Bright eyes, brighter smile, giggling your way through the evening. 

You pushed, he noticed. Despite the fact your efforts weren’t for him, it was working on him anyway. You pushed your agenda as far as it could go and it was hard not to give into. You searched for smiles, laughs, anything bright and shiny within the four walls of doom and gloom. 

When Ellis finally caved and asked what stork dropped you off at PMTS’s door step you offered the facts. Rambling on about case studies and insisting that maintaining a positive attitude boosts immune function, reduces stress levels, and prevents death in a number of health conditions. 

It wasn’t about you at all, it was about them. The little lives you devote everything you have to, and Jack felt his ears get warm just watching you. You spoke about it with such passion, and it seemed to spew out of you so easily.

He admired it, you.

It didn’t work on everyone, but you kept the pace. Some people looked at you like you had three heads, others appreciated the dramatic shift in the atmosphere when you arrived, and one…one felt like you were a problem. 

“Postivity has been proven to help the healing process, luckily for you guys I have enough for all of us.” 

The man stiffened at his child's bedside when you rounded on her. Your cheery tone spread through him like sickness. “Can you shut up?” 

Your eyes got a little wider and Abbot watched them glaze over from the hub. Ellis tried, but her efforts didn’t get very far “Sir-”

“No! She’s smiling! Our child is suffering and she’s in here laughing!” 

“I’m not trying to-”

“GET OUT!” 

You stumbled back, tripping back on your own two feet right into a steady balance of warmth. Hands at your hips, an overwhelming scent of rich aftershave and that sharp stench of antiseptic that clings to those who linger in the hospital halls.

“Sorry,” you whispered, eyes wide like prey that’s been backed into a wolfs den, “sir I’m sorry, I’m just trying to help h-”

“You’re not helping! Get the fuck out!” 

You flinched again and the heavy weight of warm palms squeezed. A firm grip moved you slowly, guiding you out without a word.

You didn’t know where you were going, all you knew was the warmth hadn’t left your hips. His steps wobbled, yours shuffled, dead silent in the elevator until the ding made you jump. The cool air kissed your cheeks before you even moved, blinking slowly at the sight of the heli-pad. 

“Take a breath, then we get back to work.” 

You gave the most pitiful little nod with a step into the night and his heart cracked. He gripped his hands into fists, hanging on to the sensation of you still lingering against them. You shuffled out, taking in the cityscape like it was your first time. 

Which it was, from this perspective anyway.

You took breaths like it was something that required practice. Unsteady pulls in, quiet exhales out, no real count in between. Mind visibly at work, fighting battle after battle until you finally caved to it. 

“He’s right. I mean, I make a living off of sick kids,” you picked at your nails, chipped from the hellish weekend you stupidly volunteered for, “I thrive on the chaos of other people's misery and I hate myself for it everyday..” 

He moved towards you like it was a matter of life and death until he was front and center.

“We don’t thrive on chaos, we thrive in it. You have a way of making the unthinkable less suffocating…” he tipped your head back, thumb petting the center of your chin, “It’s your super power.”

A single tear slipped down your cheek and embarrassment ate you alive. Your head dropped and you cleaned it up trying desperately to keep it together. “Yeah I think that’s running out.” 

“Come here,” he sighed. Before you could even comprehend it, he pulled you in and one breath of him had your composure crumbling. He didn’t pry, no, he just held tight. Swaying gently while you weeped softly against the blended material of his black scrubs, keeping his hands decent, smoothing against your back until your breathing evened out, “you alright?” 

You nodded, a little more believable this time, cleaning up your cheeks on your pull back. 

“Sorry,” you sniffled. 

“Don’t be.” His hands found your cheeks, carefully cradling your face with rough skin and pure warmth, using the pads of his thumbs to correct your make up like it was usual. Common practice rather than a new found closeness. “Now let’s finish this shift, sound good?”

“Good.”

All you had to do was finish the shift. Four more hours stood between you, your bed, and the two well earned days off. 

You stayed closer to him, he noticed. You watched the way he handled patients and rather than putting a sugar coat over his words, you left things where he put them. Your smile didn’t come as easy, you second guessed your usual approach in favor of following his lead with more of a blunt tipped charm. Quick, efficient, never lacking in the care department of course, but it was muted. Dulled down from the sharp colors that wrap themselves around you so effortlessly. 

What usually takes an hour, took three days. Three days in the emergency department before your bright light got snubbed out, that had to be a record.

Jack hated it, but he didn’t push, didn’t pry. Instead he kept you busy, nodding you over for each and every case that came through the door.

Every patient, trauma, code, you were watching. There to assist, but quietly. You observed the chaos, the atmosphere of emotions running high and the numerous unknowns hanging in the air. You were good at your job, excellent even, but this world and your world did have differences. 

All you had to do was learn, so rather than being the sun, for the remainder of your shift you were a shadow. Quiet, mostly unseen, but always watching him. 

“Here,” you whispered, attempting to pass him two five hundred milligram ibuprofen and a juice box from the food cart. His eyebrows danced, one up, one down, glancing between you and the pills. You didn’t say anything else, you politely gestured down towards his leg, waiting for him to come to terms with the fact he was aching. You took the liberty of popping the straw through the juice box, sliding it in front of him and forcing the pills in his hand. He took care of you, now it was your turn to take care of him. Fair is fair. 

He mulled it over, rolling his thumb over the pills in his palm while he watched you walk away. The way your scrubs shifted against your frame with that little bit of pep back in your step. 

The morning was quickly approaching, and so was the time to round on the pedes trauma still waiting for a room upstairs. Olive offered to take it, but it was a pedes case. 

What the hell did you get your CPEN certification for if you let one angry dad get you down? 

You switched tactics as easily as flipping a switch. You gave him what he needed. Facts, statistics, answers to his questions that weren’t coated in sunshine and sugar. You had Jack in the back of your mind the entire time, until she woke up. You heard her monitor from the hall, the slightest change in rhythm that prompted you to peek your head in. 

“I think she’s waking up,” the dad said, voice softer than had been all night with you.  

You turned and Abbot was already there. Hovering, over aware of your every move. The two of you pushed in and handled her with extra care. He checked off his mental boxes, you checked yours, and you moved right back into your natural state of sweetness. 

“Good morning little lady, how we feeling, hmm?” 

She groaned, pressing deeper into the pillows retreating from the noise. “My head hurts…” 

“Oh I know,” you hushed, petting her hair softly with one hand, pressing the release button on her pain drip with the other, “we just gave you something that will help with that, let’s give it a minute okay?” 

“I’m thirsty.” 

“Well that’s a good sign,” you grinned, rolling her bed table past her dad, “do you want to start with some water?”

She snarled, lip curled up at the mere mention, “I want juice.” 

“Let’s try just a few small sips of this and if you can keep it down we’ll get you some juice, how does that sound?” 

She looked to her father, who encouraged her to just try it. “Okay…” 

“Okay,” you nodded, guiding the straw to her chapped lips, “dad, why don’t you take over here, I’m going to go get her a few things to keep her comfortable.” 

You shuffled by so easily, hand against the hot doctor’s back with a sweet swirl. He cocked his head over his shoulder, shooting you a wink that pooled all the warmth your body had lowly in your tummy. 

You made quick work of your to do list, one thing after the next until you were juggling a care kit for the littlest lady in the pitt. 

“Mr Clark,” you nodded towards the door, silently asking for just a moment of the father’s time. “I scored big at the food cart and found this too,” you passed over the juice as requested, the rarest of all strawberry jello, and a bright green teddy bear that matched perfectly to the shoes his daughter had worn on the way in. Last but not least a fresh tube of chap stick for her cracked lips, “the chapstick is brand new, I keep them handy.”

He released a breath that was powerful enough to blow a house down. His shoulders dropped, he looked like a wreck, and the apology was written all over him. 

“It’s hard watching children in pain, especially when it’s your child. I promise…anything that makes it easier for their tiny minds to heal is all we want to do here.” 

He looked down at his hands, then back up to you, “I see that now.” 

“Friends?” you smiled, hand out for a proper shake. 

“Sure,” he huffed, juggling the items to return with a polite squeeze. 

You nodded, overly satisfied with yourself because you’re still batting a thousand. “Just hit the button if she needs anything at all okay?” 

A deep breath and a polite nod later, the door shut behind him with a click. You pulled in a deep breath of your own, taking in the iron rich antiseptic air for all the comfort it tends to provide, even after a day like this one. 

You turned with your exhale and of course, you came face to broad chested scrubs. 

“See,” the hot doc mused, tilting your chin up the same as before, “super power.” 

You texted him that morning.

It was you, your bed, and your favorite photoshop app reworking the most adorable printable award you could find into something worthy of your official favorite attending.  

His phone dinged on the nightstand. He should be sleeping already, he should leave that text until morning, he should suck it up and close his eyes, but his head was alive and well, so he rolled. He tapped open the unknown number, and an image of color practically burned his retinas. 

Speaking of people who should be sleeping, he knew it was you long before the next text came through. He quickly realized that subtly wasn’t a character trait you had, seeing as you sent the following text with the confetti effect: 

“Number one ER doc award goes to you.” Immediately followed by a double text listing all of the attendings who owe you favors. “Just don’t tell Shen…or Robby….and definitely don’t tell Crus.” 

He grinned, ear to ear until his cheeks burned reviewing your handy work. Rainbows, butterflies, the works. His name printed in the center deeming him the best of the best.

You couldn’t see him, but you saw the chat bubble pop up and could imagine those bright pink ears clear as day.

“Cute,” he replied, simple. Effective, seeing as your stomach did a somersault. 

“Sleep tight doc,” you sent it with a wink of your own. A teasing, as unprofessional as the hour of your text, tiny yellow wink. 

It was official. He wasn’t just done for, he was doomed. 

it took me too long to be happy with this....sorry....part 3 won't take nearly as long SWEAR

p.s. if you copy my work or feed my work to ai i'll track you down and kill you myself

baby does taglist: (if you want to be added/deleted just lmk) @melissa66orion @honeysblogx @amacphet @sweetybuzz25 @southernshorty

The moment he stepped into the rush that never ends, he relaxed. He had purpose here. It gave his mind a break and he was able to temporarily forget all the shit life has thrown at him.

It was supposed to be his day off, but Jack Abbot didn’t take days off.

He arrived at PMTS in combat medic mode, drenched in blood, sweat, and an obnoxious need to keep going. He should've left, taken a shower, got some rest before his shift. But with each hesistant step he took to leave, he was just waiting for a reason to stay.

Then like some sort of divine intervention, the system went down, and his services were needed. All hands on deck was the cherry on top of his already insane day.

Diverted patients, analog paper charting, an abandoned baby. 

That one always made his blood run hot, and it happens more than you think, especially in a city as big as Pittsburgh. He could handle chaos with class. Life and death were just a matter of a level head working things out as easy as a math equation. An abandoned baby wasn’t chaos, it was tragic, and no matter how many times it happened it was still hard for him to stomach. 

Seeing her on the roster was the only thing that could’ve brought his mood down.

What he wouldn’t give for a family of his own, to have the life he and his wife once daydreamed about. Diapers and the unmistakable scent of baby power, soccer practice and ballet recitals, every first day of school, graduation and college too. He was never not busy, but if he could’ve had that, he would’ve made all the time in the world. 

He rounded on her more than he had to. There wasn’t anything more he could do for her, but it seemed pedes was the ED’s universal quiet zone. Scrubs were in and out checking on baby jane doe. Cuddling her, rocking her, checking her vitals. He saw black scrubs, grey, blue. A revolving door of muted colors until he circled back and saw you through the glass. 

A vision in powder pink. 

“Hi.” 

“Hey,” you smiled, continuing to hum softly like he wasn’t even there. 

“You are?”

“Y-n, pedes.” 

“Abbot.”

Face stone cold, shoulders square, all that charm out the window at the sight of you. A mess from a shift that ran you ragged. Strands of hair loose and coming undone from your once perfect braid, rocking slow and steady in the chair you bribed maintenance to bring down in anticipation for the wait you’d have to endure.  

“I know,” you chuckled, a blink up and a blink back down, “you’re famous now, a picture of you in your swat get-up hit the group chat.” 

“I’m suddenly really glad I’m not in the group chat."

He chuckled, you giggled, and warmth pooled in his stomach. He leaned back on the door to steady himself, watching closely. You were unbothered by his presence. You didn’t ask any questions, didn’t offer her for an eval. You were content. Rocking, humming, settled in like mothering is exactly what you were put on this planet for. 

He cleared his throat of the roughness, chin tilted up with curiosity. “I didn’t realize they were loaning out nurses?”

“Yeah right,” you snickered, knowing how stretched thin this building is for people dressed like you, “my shift ended a few hours ago.”

“Oh so they overwork you guys too huh?” He chuckled softly, breaking the barrier of personal space with each uneven step towards you. 

“I’m just waiting for her case worker,” you shrugged, trailing a finger down her bright red cheeks, “Dana called me before she left, I’m already a certified foster so she’s coming home with me.”

Abbot assessed you like you had an infectious disease. Cautious but curious. No ring. Singular statements. Too young to be so casual about such a big thing. 

“Can I take a look?”

You hummed, leaning forward in the rocking chair to pass her off. He adjusted her seamlessly, fixed her swaddle despite needing to undo it the moment she was placed on the exam cradle. He bounced her gently with each step, cooing soft words to get re-acquainted with the tiny human. 

You observed everything. His freckles, his charm, his undeniably buff arms that made drool pool at the tip of your tongue. You’ve seen him before around the hospital. In the cafeteria during your rare visit to the night shift. You’ve heard about him through the grape vine, smoking hot silver foxes don’t go unnoticed by the nurses, you guys have eyes after all. Meeting him was different than you expected. He was softer, not as rough around the edges as rumors make him out to be, though arriving as a combat medic in full gear certainly doesn’t help the speculation. He rubbed the flat end of his stethoscope against his hand to warm it up. Closed his eyes in focus as he listened to her chest. 

“How long have you been doing it?”

You trailed behind him, what one might consider too close for comfort but he didn’t mind. Your breath was warm and your scent was delicious. The familiar smell of antiseptic twisted in the air with faint hints of your perfume creating something borderline intoxicating. 

“Since my first abandoned baby.” 

He gave you a glance, observing how close you were, but you didn’t move. You caught his eye, smiled, and immediately redirected your attention back to the tiny human. 

“Little John Doe… his name is Sammy now. He was perfectly healthy they just had nowhere for him to go. I offered to take him home a dozen times but there was all this red tape so I stayed with him till they found placement. His case worker was the one who helped me get certified.”

“How many kids have you fostered?”

“She’ll be my lucky number seven,” you cooed, words aimed at her with a hand petting down her chest still warm and pink from the fever. “I’ve had a ten year old for the past two months but he got reunited last week and now my house is way too quiet.”

“So you decided to pick up a little girl with rhinovirus to keep you up at night?”

“Nothing sounds better,” you lowered your tone into something syrup sweet, accepting the little lady back happily. 

“Pedes really does make people crazy.” 

“Oh whatever,” you teased, angling baby jane doe towards him, “you can’t tell me you don’t love this view.” 

Your view looked different than his. All you saw was her pink cheeks and soft features. He saw bright pink sneakers that matched your powder pink scrubs. Your hospital badge hooked to your waist by a rainbow pulley clip. The curve of your smile as you looked her over like she was your own. The shape of your hips and the slow swivel pattern to your swaying movement. 

Quite the view in your own right.

He swallowed, clearing his throat again so his voice didn’t squeak like a teenager. “Well her lungs sound good, fever seems to be going down.”

“Yeah, she ate a few ounces too.”

“Go baby Jane Doe.”

He crossed his arms, and that right there did you in. Arms tense, muscles flexed, broad chest puffed out with his shoulders back. It was your turn to clear your throat. 

“I can manage in here, I know how busy you guys are. I’ll be sure to check in with you before we leave.” 

He’s given out his number before. He’s been on dates, had a few night caps, he’s grieved and he’s been around the block before you, but it felt different. He kept finding reasons to circle back throughout the night but nothing besides stats and updates on her discharge came out of him. You even so much as glanced in his direction his brain malfunctioned and he blamed you entirely. 

You smelled too good, smiled too bright, and you sparkled like a damn star. At first he thought he was hallucinating but after taking you in like a tall drink of water three times over he realized you did actually sparkle. Flecks of glitter were in your hair, sprinkled from shoulder to shoulder on your scrub top like it rained down from your head.

He watched you closer than he watched the baby. Assessing, learning, searching. What kind of woman makes a habit of taking kids home? He asked around, subtle, as subtle as he could be anyway, but everyone seemed to have the same opinion. 

You’re a certified basket case. 

It intrigued him, to say the very least. You’re young, beautiful, lively. You could be doing anything anywhere and you’re here. Working late, rocking and soothing, taking on the responsibility of gentle care because that’s just who you are. He got the basics with ease through the gossip train, but he wanted to know more. 

So much more. 

“In case you need anything,” he mumbled, passing you a slip with his phone number clear as day alongside her discharge paperwork. 

You wanted to call, of course, but you didn’t need anything.

If the hot doctor really wanted to know you, there is one thing very important thing he should know...you are more than capable of taking care of tiny humans. 

just a little baby chapter to dip my toes in the water....this is my first pitt fic so im curious how it'll turn out. thanks for reading my self-indulgent bullshit, part two will be posted soon :)

p.s. if you copy my work or feed my work to ai i'll track you down and kill you myself

baby does taglist: (if you want to be added/deleted just lmk) @melissa66orion @honeysblogx

WARNINGS:

medical inaccuracies to be expected

themes of child abuse and neglect

probably adoption/fostering inaccuracies

age gap implied (50s jack 20s reader)

99.999% will be nothing more than domestic fluff, you're welcome.

parts:

part 1 - baby jane doe part 2 - doubles part 3 - jack part 4 - accident

... as many as i write tbh

mood board:

p.s i have one incoming for park the shark too ... im self indulging the hell out of myself...

p.s.s if you copy my work or feed my work to ai i'll track you down and kill you myself

It was one of those days where nothing went right. You were called into work, your car wouldn’t start the first three tries. You burned the pancakes, your daughter spilled juice all over your shirt. But you fought the frustration just enough to keep moving.

You pulled her out of the car with a forced smile and deep sigh. Praying Gemma had an extra shirt. Of course she did, she’s always ready for something, especially tiny human chaos. It just wasn’t exactly your style.

Your daughter busted through the door with a force, toddled her way across the concrete floor, straight for the one and only man without even so much as a half baked grin. She beamed, wrapping her arms around his shin without a word.

Happy looked down at her, pigtails with flower clips. Big bright eyes and long lashes that he was already willing to do anything for. Kill for, die for, it didn’t matter all she had to do was ask.

There it went, the corner of his mouth twitched. 

“No! No no! Sorry, so sorry!” You scrambled, utterly appalled by just about everything. The smoke, the safety hazards, the man who looked like the exact definition of danger.

You don’t come by often, especially not with her. You know most of them well, but not him. You knew of him. The legend that is the Tacoma Killer. A friend of your father, the man who gets things done.

Cold, distant, capable. 

His presence at Redwood had been vague, almost unreal until he got the sergeant's patch. That’s when you started seeing him more. Always dead silent, off in a corner with a hefty pour of something strong. A guardian breed looking after his flock, which now included you. It always did really, but your presence was nearly as vague as his.

You don’t come inside, he noticed. You visit the shop, the playground when dropping off your little angel to grandma, but you never come inside. You look different in person. Prettier is the first word that comes to his mind now that he gets to see your face off the surveillance cameras. You and your juice stained shirt, your make up only half done. Still, you looked real. He didn’t see the mess. He saw a home, one that was warmth and kindness. Chaos that was managed with smiles and deep breaths. Everything he wasn’t.

“You need something doll?” A different leather kutte, all smiles and sunshine asked. Bleach blonde hair, eyes bluer than the sky, trying way too hard to be smooth. Jax Teller came around from behind the bar. 

“Jax, hey,” you breathed, attempting to redirect your little lady to the more familiar face. “Sorry to barge in! I’m getting my car looked at and your mom said you guys had some apple juice in the fridge I could steal for her.” You gestured to your mini, who was clinging to a killer, paying you absolutely no mind until you got her attention with that word. 

“Juice!” She cheered, gripping his pants tighter with a tug that nearly pulled them off his hips.

“Hey!” Juice whined playfully, balanced on the balls of his feet, “that’s my name!”

She burst into giggles, trying to hide from his tickling hands by forcing herself right between Happy’s legs. Her nose rubbed against blue jean fabric, and Happy felt something. A catch in his breath, maybe. Something that stopped the moment like a freeze frame. Captured the sound of her joy and looped it, stored in his memory to replay later. 

“Sorry,” you muttered, reaching for her hand, “she’s not usually so-”

You cut yourself off when she pulled back from you and clung onto him that much tighter. Clingy. She’s never clingy, not unless it’s you, or Jax on a very rare occasion.

Jax has the luxury of being your long time friend, and essentially her uncle. Your daughter is at that perfect age, born right in between Able and Thomas, she fits in by design. Because of that, she’s no stranger to the club, her overprotective family in leather.

“You mind?” Happy asked, voice rough like he wasn’t ready to speak. It tickled every inch of your brain and you hated it. The way his rasp that should be hard as stone, softened you up and made your stomach flip so fast you thought you might be sick. His glances gestured down to the little girl staring up at him like he hung the moon. You searched the room for help. You didn’t want to be rude, you couldn’t be. Not to the club's most notorious enforcer. Your gaze landed on blue, waiting for Jax to come to her rescue but he gave you the look. The stop assuming the worst look. Very hesitantly you nodded. Forced smile, a weak step back to give him the room to reach for her himself. One quick swoop and she was bouncing in his arms, squealing in delight. 

“Hurt?” Your daughter asked, no concept of the word when her tiny finger jammed itself into the knot on his forehead. You moved instinctively to correct her, remind her about gentle hands, but he laughed. A rumble that came straight from his core and stoked the flame inside you. A instant red hot warmth in your chest that immediately caught your attention. He carefully peeled her slapping hand off his faced, and held it loosely.

“You want juice?” He asked, hoarseness swallowed down in place of something softer, borderline gentle. She squealed, flung her arms around his neck like she’d known him all her life. His eyes changed at that moment. He couldn’t have fought it even if he tried. A momentary flash of emotion shot across dark eyes of mystery like lightning and your head tilted just a tick. “It alright if I take her to the kitchen?” 

You swallowed, hard. A lump you couldn’t clear choked you up so you nodded, chin out and gesturing towards the path he was already on. You didn’t realize it, but your breath was stuck. Trapped in your lungs as your living breathing heart disappeared from view. It wasn’t until the familiar weight of Jax’s hand rested on your shoulder that you took a breath. 

“You worry too much,” he chuckled, “what’s up with your car this time?” 

“Oh I don’t know, mom is gonna let me take the loaner to work and I-”

“We should just get you a new one.”

“Just get a new one,” you mocked, as if you hadn’t already thought of that. You mindlessly stripped yourself out of your shirt and into the tight fitting black one Gemma gave you, because with you, no one stared. No comments made, just disinterest that was the definition of respect in this room. You fixed your hair and finally had a second to apply the other half of your face, forcing Jax to hold up your pocket mirror. “It’s rent or a new car, and personally I like having a place to live.” 

“Club could-”

“You guys have done enough to help me,” you popped your lips and tossed everything in your oversized bag with a soft smile, “we’re fine…promise.”

Jax went straight for a hug, normal, routine, but your heart stopped when you pulled back. It shouldn’t be so appealing to you, given what you know, but he didn’t look scary. He just looked like a guy. Tattooed and toned, but with your daughter in his arms the blood on his hands seemed like a myth. 

“Look at you!” You squealed when the unlikely pair came back into view. Juice box in one hand, lollipop in the other. Supported by decent hand placement and a crooked grin. “He gave you a lolli! Did you say thank you?” 

“‘ank hu,” your daughter forced out, barely forming the words as she went to town on the impending sugar rush. Luckily, that was grandma's problem today. 

“Thank you,” you said again, avoiding his eyes at all cost when you reached out. Even so he took notice. The fear in your eye was fleeting, the heat in your cheeks obvious, biting down on your lip hard enough to break skin just to fight the little hint of a grin. Your daughter flinched back from you, uninterested in leaving his arms for anything. Her hand, covered in blue tinted drool, twisted up in his crisp white tee. You feigned offense, an over dramatic gasp that sent a wave of chuckles around the room.

“Fine, I guess I’ll leave you here with the wolves.” You turned, made it a whole half step before she screeched like a banshee. “Mhm, thought so.” You turned back, hands out, and she went to you willingly this time. Happy passed her off with practiced ease, fingers grazing across yours in passing. “Say bye bye,” you circled her around the room one good time. Letting her get high fives and give sugar coated kisses to all the boys in leather. You spared the killer a glance, a few in fact as you moved around the room.

Onyx eyes, bright blue stain, followed by another longer glance up that showed your appreciation for his momentary blip of kindness.

Then you fled, a blur of hair making for the door in record time. Little girl waving enthusiastically over your shoulder with her bright blue tongue poked out.

“Juice,” Jax barked, chin jolting towards your fleeing form, “check out her starter and make sure the ac is still working.”

“I wish she’d let us help,” Bobby muttered, sipping on his morning brew. 

“She’s been doing alright, she’s just stubborn.” 

“She gets that from her dad too,” Tig sighed, tipping his shot glass to the sky in honor of him before tossing it back. 

Your father was a member. Long time friend of Gemma, Bobby, and Tig too. Though, he and Clay never seemed to get along. Why? You never knew, never asked. It wasn’t your business, and you were too young to question things like that back then, but the truth always comes to light. 

Even so, when he passed, the Teller-Morrow family took you in. No questions asked. Gemma fought for you, tooth and nail. Your grandparents live across the country, and you barely knew them. After a decent battle, you were placed into their custody.

A daughter of a member, a daughter of the club. Simple as that. 

It wasn’t long but Gemma wouldn’t have had it any other way. You graduated and were off to college within the year. You made your dad as proud as you could, but that didn’t stop you from getting knocked up of course.

Equally the best and worst thing that ever happened to you. It derailed your life, your career plans, long term goals out the window. You always believed you were better for it.

Secretly, you were always looking for an out, a reason to come home to the small town of simple pleasures. You were more yourself in Charming, and came step right into motherhood like it was made for you. You may not love how it happened, but you do love her.

You switched to online classes and with the help of your adoptive family you made it work. Finishing your degree took too long, but classes and a newborn don’t really mix. One hiccup after another, you managed well enough. It’s not your dream job, but it’s the best that Charming has to offer. You’ve still considered leaving a dozen times.

When things with the club get messy, when the bills start racking up and your head feels like it might explode.

Bettering your career betters her future, but at the end of the day… Charming is home. They say it takes a village and there’s no one more dedicated than samcrow. Never once have you been turned away when you needed help, even if you do avoid them like the plague most days. 

The club wasn’t responsible for your father’s death exactly, but to say they weren’t involved would be a lie, and that truth was a pill too big to swallow. It’s the life. The life you didn’t want your daughter near so you kept distance. Visited on holidays, family dinner when Gemma called, but you never went out of your way to be there.

Always using your daughter as an excuse. With it being just the two of you, and you being a busy single mom, you got away with it most of the time. But things were changing. Your responsibility at work had doubled and baby sitters were a hot commodity in this town, expensive and rare. 

“She’s single,” Jax said, too loud, too proud, the devilish grin that said it all. Happy turned slow, measured. Eyes void of anything that would suggest he was even remotely interested. “Her birthday is on Saturday, you could come.” 

“What for?” 

“Free beer, burgers, mom’s gonna bake her a cake.”

Happy blinked, that didn’t answer the question in the slightest.

“You watch her,” Jax added, no room for negotiation, “every time she pulls in.” He pointed to the screen of camera angles over the bar. “Her daughter likes you so now you’re halfway through the door, and we both know this shit,” he lowered his tone not to offend jealous ears tuning in, gesturing to the side of the room that held half-dressed messes, “it gets old.” Jax gave his sgt. a friendly elbow to the side, “she understands the life, not a bad fit.” 

Happy’s shoulders rolled back, watching you kiss your daughter’s cheeks goodbye on the screen. Leaving her in the more trusted arms of Juice, who bounced her all the way into grandma Gemma. “Don’t want an old lady,” he mumbled, in awe of your little lady waving you off with both hands.

“Then don’t come,” Jax shrugged, a knowing grin on his face because Happy’s gaze hadn’t left you since you made your swift exit. A shift in his watchful eyes that moved from the door to the surveillance feed without a heartbeat in between. “Party starts at noon.” 

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“Happy birthday mama,” he cheered, swinging open your back door like it was routine. “How’s our baby girl,” he cooed, unbuckling his favorite little lady. 

“This wasn’t supposed to be a party.” 

“Take it up with Gem doll,” he chuckled, taking his hostage to the group of men lighting up like Christmas trees. She babbled happily with her hello to them all. Smacking cheeks, pulling beards, wiggling like a worm until her shoes were on the ground. 

You lingered in your car for a few minutes, waiting for the other shoe. You considered driving off. Letting her be the center of attention for the day and taking the baby free time for yourself, but instead you cut the engine. Thumped your head against your steering wheel just as Bobby took the liberty of opening your door for you. 

“You really thought you’d get away without a party? In this family?” he chuckled, hand open and waiting. 

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” you sighed, accepting his help begrudgingly. 

It started with clapping. Then came the hooting and hollering. It wasn’t just redwood either, that would be too easy. You saw Tacoma and Reno patches too. It was like the club's mother did a mass invite to her entire leather coated contact list. Rushing through hugs and well wishes, you fought to catch up to your baby breaching the door of her uncle's house.

She stumbled over the threshold with a hug, ran right by grandma, and straight to him. 

He, who arrived early. He, who got wrapped into helping set up the party you obviously wanted no part in. He, who regretted his choices the moment he arrived until she came barreling towards him, connecting to his shin with a thud. 

“Dada,” your baby squealed, bouncing on her toes in front of him like she won a damn prize. 

It’s official, you should’ve left. You should’ve left and taken her with you. Hell you shouldn’t even have parked. You choke on air. A sharp inhale of your own spit sent you into a heave. Steps stuttering forward, backward, tapping your chest trying to get air in to speak. “I, she, we, I”

“Isn’t that sweet,” Gemma grinned, ear to ear while patting your back gently to coax you through it. 

Happy kept his face stone cold but his whole body felt like he was on the edge of collapse. Molten lava rushing through his veins with each throb in his chest. He looked down, head hung from his shoulders he was met with the brighter, wider, love filled version of your eyes. 

“Dada!” She squealed again, hands up grabbing at air. His hands twitched, a micromovement no one saw because you swooped in and rained on his parade. 

“No, nope,” you gasped, snatching her up like her life depended on it, “sorry, sorry about that! She likes you, clearly...” Your voice trailed off with your rush, in search of Jax, who you yanked by the ear into a private scolding. “Are you actually joking me dude!” You hissed slamming he and Tara’s bedroom door harsh enough to shake the paintings on the walls. “Just a little get together, this? This is a little get together? The whole fucking club is out there!” 

“Take it up with mom,” he chuckled, taking your baby from your hip with a faux look of surprise. 

“You take it up with mom! She’s your mother! I have the luxury of not knowing mine!” 

“You really shouldn’t say things like that in front of her.” He kissed her little hands that were smushing into his face, pinching at his nose and cheeks. 

“Oh fuck off!” Your little girl's eyes tripled. She had no idea what you said, really, but your tone surprised the hell out of her. “I didn’t want a party.” 

“Knock knock,” Gemma chimed, opening the door to the scene of you ready to double over, "we can all hear you, just so you know.”

“I don’t want a party!” You hollered for the whole house to hear. Yelling returned in the form of “too damn bad” from the crowd waiting for their turn with your little princess. You sucked in a breath, followed by a huff and a puff before you were collecting yourself in the bedroom mirror. “You both suck.” 

“Come on sweetheart, we all need a boost, a reason to unwind,” Gemma said, far too chirper while she fixed your hair, “with this turn out and some luck we’ll finally get you an old man.” 

Mama Gemma, always on the let’s get you hitched train. She lives in a world that requires men, your dad raised you in a way that ensured you didn’t. It was the absolute last thing on your mind but even so, Gemma is always circling with wedding bells in mind. She can’t be Queen forever she always says, and who better than to take her place than you? 

“I don’t want an old man,” you groaned, falling back on the bed next to Jax, “all I wanted was a piece of cake!” Your baby dove to the left, crawling over top of you, sticking her finger right up your nose. 

“That much we can manage.” Jax chuckled, hand patting your thigh supportively. A plan of his own weaving into place just out the door. 

You caved to the needs of the club like always, a part of them woven into your DNA. You made the rounds, let them sing at an obnoxiously loud volume, but you spent most of the day outside. Using the fresh air to keep your head level with the overwhelming amount of attention being sent your way. 

Gemma was circling like a shark. Gesturing to the single men, far from subtly. She introduced a few, never failing to mention the legend that was your father while doing so. As a gift to your sanity, Jax was never far behind. Always rescuing you from hungry eyes and dull conversation. 

Happy did what he always does. Beer in one hand, smoke in the other, sat in a corner out back like a guardian statue. Only he wasn’t alone this time, not for more than five minutes. Wobbly steps kept veering outside to the left. Giggling her way towards him as fast as her legs could carry her. He put out his joint each time, and after the third, he stopped lighting it all together. But you were never far, no. You circled to the backyard before she ever had a chance to get close. Calling her name when she started babbling out the word “dada” and redirected her with sugary bites of cake to keep her close. 

You tried to understand it. All afternoon you were taking a page from his playbook and glancing his way as often as you could. Partially to keep your little girl clear of his personal space, and partially to try and see what she sees. It would be weird for your daughter to call Jax daddy but it would make more sense at least. If she’s not with you, she’s with them. Able and Thomas using the word freely might encourage her to do that same, but she had fixated on him. She all but decided this man meant something to her, that she knew him better than you did. 

He didn’t move all evening, you noticed. He sat in the furthest corner where two old lawn chairs were permanent fixtures. One beer, all evening. He nursed just one. You saw him grin, always at her approach, but he corrected himself the second he felt your gaze.

A heavy hand found your back, warm breath leaning in for a whisper. “You’re staring,” Jax said, passing you a fresh bottle of water from the cooler. 

“I’m not, I’m not staring!” You whisper yelled, snapping your head around to see if anyone else saw you. “I’m…watching out for my little monster.”

“She likes him.” 

“I’ve noticed,” you sighed, “it’s weird.” 

“It’s sweet,” he corrected, arms crossed, the grin that screamed trouble. 

“No. No, Jax I’m serious,” you slugged his arm, hard, “mom keeps trying to set me up with Juice and I’d love it if you didn’t join the get me hitched train.” You turned for a view of the yard and there she was. Tripping out of the threshold to Jax and Tara’s home, a smile on her face, gaze locked on him. She was rushing, the look in her eye that was the absolute definition of trouble. She knew she should be inside with her cousins and coloring book, but there she went. Mischief fueling her body barreling his way. He grinned again, a real one this time. Not something to hide or fight. 

He saw her long before you did. She tip-toed to the backdoor first. Peeked out and looked both ways, searching for you. When she found you, busy talking across the lawn, she grinned. The little devil on her shoulder spoke and she bolted. Ran to his private corner with her arms flailing, but your superpower kicked in and your head snapped towards her.

“Come on babe, leave him alone.” 

“She ain’t bothering me.” His knees spread, arms open to accept the little lady that looked like she was on the verge of a sugar crash. She let out a little giggle that trailed into a big yawn, all that running back and forth sneaking up on her as she made a home of his lap. 

You left Jax in the dust, talking with your hands, searching for an out of the disaster of your own making. “Oh, sorry, I don’t mean to offend you, I just-” 

“I know,” he cut in, sharp as a knife, “but you should know you don’t gotta be scared of me.” 

“I’m not scared.” You stated it as an absolute matter of fact. You could take him. Maybe not, but you like to think so. If your life depended on it, your dad made sure you could put up a hell of a fight, but leather wasn’t a threat. There had never been an ounce of fear in your body when it came to these men but for some reason, you see him and you tense. You go out of your way to stay out of his way. “I just don’t want her to make you uncomfortable.” 

His nose twitched up, an effort to keep his face in check. As odd as it may seem, he likes kids. They make sense to him. They’re simple creatures with simple needs. Eat, poop, cry, repeat. Sugar fixes everything, and when their eyes get droopy the way hers are now, all they need is someone to hold them. You observed his wheels turning but he didn’t say a word while she weasled her way up him like a jungle gym. You took a careful step forward, knees giving to the open seat beside them, eyes softening to the sight of her nuzzled in like he was her favorite stuffy.

“She don’t got a dad?”

That's Happy. Blunt, exact, little room for imagination. It seemed like a dumb question, she was always with you, Jax, or Grandma, but she had to have learned that word from somewhere. Able and Thomas was the simple answer. Always yelling for their daddy and confusing the little lady who didn’t have one. 

“No,” you mused, almost blissful with your answer, “it’s just us.” You leaned in closer, bracing yourself on the arm of your lawn chair to tuck her hair out of her face. She snuggled into him further when your hand drifted to her back, applying soothing circles. “I’m sorry about earlier, she’s just playing with that word a lot right now.” You were trying to squash it, the awkward tension you swore existed, but he didn’t feel it. He knew that was a lie, you knew it too, and worst of all it even sounded like a shitty excuse rolling off your tongue. He didn’t acknowledge you, didn’t move, didn’t blink. His eyes were busy watching hers. Slow blinking orbs with her hands gripped tight on the fabric of his dark grey hoodie. “I’m surprised she’s so taken by you,” you said softly, continuing the gentle touch that was pushing her right over the edge of nap time. That one was true, words worth his time. 

“I like it,” his voice was low for her sake, raspy in a way that made you tingle from head to toe. 

“Yeah,” you whispered, more focused on her than his reaction. Truth slipping off your tongue before you could stop it, “it’s kinda sweet.” The statement was more for yourself than him but he took it. Absorbed it with a big breath in, stored it away for safe keeping by the time his exhale fanned across her cheeks. He could’ve acknowledged that one. He wanted to, really. To agree with you, to ask more questions too, but eyes were on the three of you. Glances being stolen from every direction kept him silent, still.

“Was that your idea?” Gemma asked, sneaking up behind Jax watching the two of you from a distance. He didn’t answer, just took a long drag off his smoke in response. “It’s a good one,” she added with a loving swirl to his back on her way by.

Between you and Happy, sleep came easy. He held her tight, you patted her back gently, and before either of you realized it she was snoring. A little string of drool creating a wet spot on his chest.

“I can take her now,” you moved forward but he moved further into his chair. 

“I said you ain’t bothering me.” 

“There’s a crib inside, and she’s drool-” 

“She’s fine,” he insisted, no room to negotiate like he was the one in charge. Your head flinched back but you didn’t correct him. Moving her could wake her, and your velcro baby does sleep better draped over a warm body. Nap time is essential to your mental health, so you just fixed her sweater, brushed your hand across her cheek before settling back in your chair. He glanced around the backyard, double checking that everyone had finally started to mind their own business. “Happy birthday,” he offered, beady eyes straight forward. 

Your head flung back in his direction, “oh,” your voice was small, coated in shock like you forgot the event all together, “thank you.” 

“You like coffee?” 

“I, coffee? Yeah, I’m a mom so I kinda have to like coffee.” 

“We can go.” 

“We can go?” You echoed, question evident in your tone. His eyes flick to you, stone cold expression but somehow, it answered the question. “Oh, oh,” you squeaked, fighting for your life to stay calm, quiet, avoid turning any heads this way so neither of you died from the embarrassment of it all. “Um, thank you, that’s nice… nice of you, but I don’t actually, I don’t date. I don’t date members specifically but in general I don’t, I don’t really date.” His nose twitched again, wrinkled all the way up as his gaze searched the backyard for blue. Like clockwork, Jackson fucking Teller. His president, grinning like a fool and watching him fumble. You saw the murderous expression take over and you squirmed, a little bubble in your gut that suggested you try to smooth it over. “Just ask Juice, poor guy has asked me out easily a dozen-” 

“Forget it.” 

“I’m flattered, Happy, really, I-” His harsh grunt cut you off, causing you to swallow the babble that would only make him feel like more of an idiot. You saw him shift and immediately assumed the worst. He was entertaining her, with the hope of entertaining you. Go figure. “I can take her now if that’s why-”

“It’s not.” 

“Right,” you sighed, that weight he dropped slowly lifting off your chest when all he did was readjust her to keep her from getting a kink in her neck. 

He held her for two hours, readjusting her here and there to keep her comfortable. You came and went. You didn’t want to leave her there, but you didn’t want to crowd him after he shut down. The awkward silence was real enough to touch and you wanted as little time spent in the thick of it as possible. 

He immediately turned off any thoughts he may have had about you. You, too damn young to have even considered it, you. Soft laugh, sweet smile, loving gaze circling his way. He quickly realized he was in too deep already. His attempts to put it out of his mind entirely failed the more his hardened gaze bounced between the two of you. Picking apart every gorgeous feature she got from you. He trailed a thick finger around the curve of her ear, down her nose, blinking around the space to make sure no one was watching. 

You stayed close, aware, but you didn’t let your stare linger. In the oddest turn of events, you gave space. You found yourself distracted with awkward conversations. Tacoma, Reno, and a few stranglers without a patch too. Dirty old men making the rounds. Birthday wishes, unoriginal pick-up lines. You found yourself missing the awkward silence, because as tense as it was, it felt safe. Happy didn't look at you like a piece of meat, he looked at you the same way he looked at her. Soft around the edges, warm at the center.

When her eyes opened, the first thing she did was giggle. You heard it across the lawn and turned. She smushed her nose into his and Happy just let it happen. Her tiny hands gripped his ears, and she hadn’t blinked once before she was spewing words that meant nothing. You didn’t have the same rush as before, no panic or rush. Just slow leisurely steps towards their private world. You coaxed her out of the corner with her juice cup, and thanked him, a real one this time for being so good to her. Smile brighter, eyes wider, heat visibly spreading across your cheeks.

As the sunset, the club was slowly trickling out. Gemma was cleaning up, and you were finally having a moment. No one was looking at your ass, or trying to talk to your daughter just because it got them a closer look at your rack.

Happy, having the habit of being the last one out, went looking for a better view. To do so he had to leave the safety of his private corner. Stalking up behind his president with half a mind to take him out by the knees. 

“You set me up.” 

“I had to see if you were serious.” Jax shrugged, passing him the joint he was puffing on. 

He took a long drag and passed it back. “I’m not interested.” 

“Oh yeah you are,” Jax laughed, patting his back, “I don’t blame you bro, it’s impossible not to fall in love with that face.” His eyes were on the little lady, but Happy?

His eyes were on you. The same face she wore, but tried. Trying so hard to keep your smile big and bright for her. Dancing playfully, spinning until you were both dizzy and giggling. Stealing kisses, and biting at her hands when they came to squeeze your cheeks. It was a hell of a picture, and the happiest you looked all day.

“She don’t date members.” 

“No, but most members don’t have her two foot menace on their side.” 

“I ain’t using her kid to get laid.”

“It won’t be easy brother,” Jax chuckled, watching Happy watch you, “but if it was just about gettin’ laid we wouldn’t be talking.” Happy’s gaze broke off for a heartbeat and a half. Shooting Jax a vicious glare that was with a blink for the preferred view of your makeshift dance party. “Just keep doing what you’re doing,” Jax grinned, being the only person left in this world who knows you better than you do, “it’ll happen.” He handed Happy the last of his joint, pep in his step to usher out the last of your dying party. 

Baby bag repacked, to go box piled high with leftover cake, thank you exchanged to the hosts, kisses and hugs goodbye for the family that was left. Happy slipping out the front door before you had a chance to notice him at all. 

Weight visibly fell off your shoulders the second the front door closed behind you. You took a breath, a real one finally. Lung filling, brain calming, placing her down on the ground with your eyes pinched shut. She squealed and your eyes shot open, then up. 

As handsome as the devil could be, fingers hooked in his jeans, posted up on your hood like he owned your frankenstein style sedan. 

“Bye bye,” she said, stumbling over her own feet to hug his leg. His hand rested against her head, he didn’t even have to bend over to reach her. He pet her hair softly, and her full lashes fluttered up.

She looked at him like he was worth something, worth the love that swirled her irises clear as day, and it melted him. He dropped down with a click to his knees, grinning like a fool. 

“You be good for your mom,” he rasped, brushing his thumb over the lipstick stain Gemma left behind on her cheek. 

“Otay dada,” she nodded, sureness in every half baked word. 

“Okayyyyy,” you dragged, coaxing her back from him and back towards the car. “Let’s get you buckled,” you helped her up and in, doing your best to wrangle her into the straps but she just kept looking over you. Doing everything in her power to keep him in her sights. 

You finally looped one of her arms into the strap and off went her wild mind. “Dada do it?” 

Your head hung from your shoulders. You had not a clue how to get her past this mess, and in a mix of exhaustion and annoyance, you cracked. “His name is Happy sweetheart, he’s not-”

“I can do it.” 

He couldn’t let you tell her that. Absolutely not. She needed a dad, and she wanted him. Pure heart, pure mind, a sharp contrast to everything he prides himself on. She saw something in him, claimed him with a death to his jeans and there was no turning back now. You might not be interested, and that’s all well and good. He’s not exactly a gentleman, but he can take a no in stride. He would respect your choice, but he had all intentions of respecting hers too. 

You huffed, looking at her, who was looking over your shoulder happily. Bright eyed and grabbing at air. “Yeah okay, Happy can do it.” You inched yourself out of his way but stayed close. Watched thick fingers fumble with her buckles, but he did everything right. He was careful with the bottom, taking extra care not to clip her thigh. He made sure the chest piece was centered just as it should be, and pinched her nose goodbye. “Thank you again, for humoring her,” you muttered while he closed the door. Firm to make sure the door clicked, but soft enough it wasn’t a slam that could spook her.

He smiled at her through the window, such a rare sight that made your stomach sink. He tapped the glass playfully, just before blinking back to reality. It was like night and day. He didn’t offer you anything more than a nod and a soft grunt to pair. Stepped out of your way, but he did open your door. Quick, efficient, followed by his silent retreat.

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What happens if it doesn’t work? If you don’t have enough in common given the age difference of it all? If he follows the club rules rather than the ones you want in place, stepping out with a croweater just because he’s on a run? 

Knowing him your whole life gives you a different perspective. Him, the club, the way they think and treat women like collectibles. They want it all, but no one's had you. Are you a challenge? A toy? Some sort of prize? 

How would it affect her? If you tried it and failed miserably, what happens then? Does he walk away? Do you? And would she ever forgive you if you did?

You had way too many questions and no way to answer them without actually asking for the answers, but getting words out of Happy was like pulling teeth. Grunts and nods only provide so much clarity, so the moment you sat down with that long awaited coffee you came out swinging. 

“Is this just about getting laid?” 

“The fuck you just say?” 

“Be serious,” you scolded him for his tone with a sharper one of your own, demanding he actually listen to you. “You’re the conqueror. Women from here to Tacoma talk about your monster sized dick, but they also talk about you tossing them out like trash when you’re done.” He choked on his coffee, hot black liquid snorted up his nasal cavity, but that didn’t stop you. “So again, is this just about getting laid? Because whatever the hell we’re doing is working, and if that’s all you want from me, I’d rather not ruin it for her.”

He listened to everything you said. He tried to anyway, but his brain was stuck. “Monster dick?” 

“Okay,” you sighed, pushing back on the table to make a swift exit with your overpriced iced coffee. 

“I treat trash like trash,” he took hold of your wrist before you could even take a step, straightening up in his seat, “you ain’t trash.” 

He dropped your arm, letting you have an out if you really wanted it, but it prompted you to sit. A little less tense than before, rejoining the conversation now that he was actually ready to have it. 

“I’m not playing with you.” 

You scoffed, fiddling with anything and everything to disguise the trembling taking over your limbs. “No you’re just a man after my daughter’s heart.”

“Already have that, it’s yours I’m worried about.” 

Everything around you came to a dead stop. The ringing in your ears faded to a dull hum and your hands finally stopped shaking with nerves of this epically failing before it could even start.

The two of you settled, relaxing into your seats, fiddling with your cups because neither of you knew what to do next. You’re out of practice, he’s never tried. The buzz of the cafe kept the two of you company while you figured out where you go from here.

You came out swinging, so it’s only fair you keep it going. 

“You’re halfway there, seeing you with her is like a cheat code… Be honest, you don’t find it even a little odd? How much she clings to you?” 

He looked up from his cup and blinked once. An expression that told you exactly how stupid of a question that was. “We’ll bring her with us next time.” 

“A family outing, how domestic.” 

“Family’s important.” He took a sip, you took a sip. Watching each other closely like the other might disappear if either of you blinked. It was his turn to speak first, but he didn’t do conversation well. He handled in facts, orders. “There’s a park by my house, we’ll go there.” 

“Domestic and presumptuous.” 

“Can’t hide from me, she won’t let you.” 

“Yeah that’s true,” you took another slow sip of coffee, eyes up, straw resting on your bottom lip, “so what I’m hearing is, technically you are using my daughter to get laid.” 

“Using our daughter to hitched.” 

You gasped, absolutely sure you uncovered the secret of the year. “Gemma did put you up to this didn’t she?”

“Nah, Jax.”

“Motherfucker,” you laughed, lightly kicking his leg under the table. The joyful noise broke the wall. It was a harsh shot to the support beam that sent his hardened biker attitude crumbling down. 

“Been watching you for a while, he noticed.” 

“Watching me?” You snorted, falling a little harder for that obnoxious bluntness that bordered the line of charming. 

“I liked your belly when you were pregnant, you looked like the sun.” 

You gasped again, softer, shock evident in the blood leaving your face. This wasn’t a whim. You had convinced yourself he just woke up and decided this was happening, that this was something he decided on just because it’s what she wanted.

He said it was about her, but this started before her. He might be too hardcore to admit it in those exact words, but he wanted you, he’s always wanted you.

He grinned at the thought. The sundresses that barely fit you, the waddle to your walk, the way your skin glowed like you were made up entirely of sunshine and morning dew.

"It makes sense now.” 

You swallowed the air stuck in your throat, and searched him. “How so?” 

“You had all the joy inside you, gave birth to sunshine.” 

The blood came rushing back, heat consuming you entirely, eyes like saucers. Who the hell is this guy and where did he come from? The Tacoma Killer you know wasn’t this. He was cold, distant, calculated and quiet. But Happy Lowman, you were quickly learning was much more than that. Warm when necessary, protective above all else, bordering the line of loving. As weird as the notion may be, very similar to your dad even. Someone halfway decent tied to a world that’s anything but. 

“That’s…that’s really sweet, Happy.” 

He nodded. One sharp tip of his chin to acknowledge the situation. “How’d she happen?” 

“Oh, that’s… that’s um.” 

He watched your mind work, spinning on a memory that turned your eyes a haunting shade in place of your bright irises. “You don’t gotta tell me,” he muttered, nudging your foot with the tip of his boot, “just curious.” 

“Well, there was this guy, obviously.” You swallowed. It was a lot, and nothing you’ve ever shared. Jax never asked, never cared, but he did mention it to Happy. All that hurt you came home with, and how far you’ve come since. A friendly heads up to help him understand you and your hesitation to trust anyone.

“It was supposed to be casual fun, but he started taking things too far and the psycho didn’t understand the word no I guess.” You fiddled with your coffee, eyes down, crossing and uncrossing your legs. “I came home the next day, didn’t stop driving until I was on Jax’s front porch. I took the morning after pill and everything but a month later was the positive test.” 

Everything fell into place like a math equation, x+y=z, he just didn’t have all the pieces back then. When he watched you fight like hell to put life back in your eyes. When you switched to burner phones permanently because your cell never stopped ringing. When you disappeared the same week Jax sent out a hunting party out for a pompous douche bag roaming around town. 

Happy didn’t care for details. The less he knows the simpler things go. It’s transactional, routine. With all the variables it's rageful, and rage creates a dangerous game. 

“I’m sorry, ‘bout what he did to you.” 

He slid his hand halfway across the table, mirroring the subtle movement of support he picked up from you. You didn’t take it at first, even though you wanted to. You shifted in your seat, absently tracking the mix of ink up his arm. He rolled his wrist, flexing, showing off the ink your gaze was fixated on, and your hand slipped. Right across the table and into his, brushing your fingers gently across his warm skin.

“I’m okay,” you managed, “I don’t think about it much anymore.”

“She get anything from him?” 

“No, thankfully. I was terrified I’d like resent her or something crazy.” You couldn’t help but smile at the thought of your little carbon copy. It was hard at first. All the hurt, pain, bottled up and redirected into being the best version of yourself for her. The little blip on the ultrasound that was now growing like a weed. A perfect balance of all you and your fathers best genes. “She uh, she does do this thing with her nose-” 

Your sentence ended with a laugh, watching his stoic expression transform into the most hilarious view. He knew what you were talking about before you had the chance, Happy made the face. The nose wrinkle, lips pursed, squinted eyes face. 

“Exactly, my dad used to do that. When he smelled something bad, or didn’t like how something tasted. She got that from him.” 

“I knew him.” 

You rolled your eyes and his jaw clenched. He so badly wanted to pop the side of your head, but of course he didn’t. He politely ignored the urge with a stabilizing deep breath in.

“Everyone knew him,” you smiled, eyes on the sky because despite all his faults you knew he was watching closely. Always with you in the stories told and the gentle breeze when things get tough.

“Not like that, we were friends.” 

Your head tilted, he walked right into that one, “and now you’re trying to get with his daughter, funny how things work out, huh?”

His jaw flexed, muscles working while he tried to shove down the thoughts he’s been doing his best to keep buried. You nudged his shoe, and that devilish onyx gaze found your softened one once more.

“I’m just messing with you,” you chuckled, leg stretched under the table to tap his knee with your toes. He caught your foot with a tug, putting your shoe in his lap and kept his hand wrapped around your ankle. 

“You’re like him, strong.” 

You readjusted yourself so the position you were forced in was at least halfway comfortable, soaking up the sensation of his thumb rolling over your joint. “Thank you.” 

“I need you to know you don’t gotta be strong with me.” 

That made you squirm, too much too soon, inching back up to sit straight in your seat. His words were hitting way to close to home and you didn’t know what to do with them yet, because you didn’t know what he wanted yet. 

“What do you want out of this? Really?” 

He tapped his ring on the table, deciding how to answer the question that felt like a trap. He could only really answer it one way because it should be simple. Obvious. She’s the only reason you’re here, and the only reason he grew the balls to do anything about his habit of craving you. “Told you, it’s been about her, you’re a good lookin’ bonus.” 

“Funny.”

“True.” 

You tapped your cup, fingers drumming nervously along the condensation. “I never wanted to be with a member, I know how messy it can get.” 

“Never wanted an old lady either,” he grumbled, surveying the exits like it was second nature, “things change.”

“You do know I’m not going to marry you just like that, right?” 

“I ain’t worried about that,” he cleared his throat and leaned back, “just let me know when you’re ready to change her name.” 

“Yeah right,” you chuckled and that devilish onyx gaze found your softened one. 

Oh. Oh, he’s serious. 

“She’s my kid,” he stated, voice rough and void of the hint of playfulness he kept letting slip. He was crazy, but not about this. You didn’t have to be a Lowman, but she would be, and something about that did it for you. 

The claim, the boldness, the seriousness too. This wasn’t a game to him. He just wanted to be a dad, her dad. That hungry look in your eye made him shift his denim, and that was all it took.

Mama Gemma was right, you really could use it.

“I have another hour before I’m supposed to pick her up,” you swirled your cup, ice shaking up the mixture, “do you want to get out of here?”

His expression searched yours. He knew that tone. That not so subtle lilt, the way you bit your lip and held it hostage. You wanted a test drive, and he was more than happy to oblige. He downed the rest of his plain black coffee in one gulp and stood, one hand out and the other pulling out his keys.

“Should be more careful about what you’re asking for.” 

He stalked towards the end of your mattress, cock too hard and heavy to stand upright. You gulped. Monster cock. Red hot and leaking, coming right at you like a war missile set to destroy. 

You expected heaven. You expected a minimum of one mind blowing orgasm that would make you see God. Your expectations hit an all time low. He was rough, selfish, and quick. He knew what he liked and took exactly that. There was no more, no less.

He manhandled into a position that did nothing for you. Split you in half by his size with little prep and used you like a flesh-light until the condom was tossed to the side like toxic waste and ropes of cum were spraying across your back. 

Then the beast of a man grunted, giving a harsh smack to your ass as a thank you. You collapsed, a quiet sigh leaving your lips as you rearranged yourself on the bed. That sound was impossible to miss. He didn’t have a clue what it meant but he knew how it felt.

Your deflated lungs double knotted his guts. He glanced your way, tossing a towel your direction once he was done with it so you could clean up the mess he made of your back end. 

You managed, but rather than a dick drunk smile, your mind was visibly at work. That’s not what he’s used to, but usually he just sends bitches packing. He couldn’t do that with you, he didn’t want to do that with you, but he wasn’t sure what to do next. More importantly what to do about that pitiful look on your face. 

“Something up?” 

You giggled before you could stop yourself. You wanted this to work but you love yourself enough to know you wouldn’t be doing that for the rest of your life. You were mentally weaving through your thoughts on how exactly to go about this.

The male ego is a fragile thing, but nothing about Happy was fragile. 

“I think you’re used to this being all about you,” you chuckled, crawling back to the bed’s edge, “if you have it in you, maybe we can try again?” 

He stared at you, hard. Not once in all his years has he received criticism. But you, perfect little ol’ you managed to do it with a smile on your face.  

“You tellin’ me you didn’t get off?” 

You grabbed at the air, rushing because you didn’t have much time left. Pick up time was quickly approaching and you need some form of hope you could at least train him properly. 

“It’s okay, really! I’ll just walk you through it this time.” 

Oh, that stung. Based on the look in his eyes, you were convinced his ego would never recover. You’re half his age, he should be teaching you things. His experience should be all knowing, but you’re not just doubting his skills, you’re critiquing it. Calling him old without actually doing it, willing to help him learn skills he never gave a damn about before. He didn't really give a damn about much. If it wasn't tied to the kutte across the room, it wasn't worth it, but you are.

He took a long time with it. Thinking, calculating, trying to understand the situation for what it was. What went wrong and why. If he fucked it up and how to fix it, but he didn’t know any different. He gave you what he gives everyone, what he thought he does best. Quick and careless fun. His mind was racing but his whole body went stiff, visibly absent of the panic he was mentally working through. Steady breathing, frozen in place, and a lifeless stare fixed on your tits.

He stood defeated by your dresser like someone powered down your play toy before you even had a chance to have any real fun. 

“Just come here,” you whispered, tone softer, more serious. 

He didn’t move. Fuck he wanted to fix it, but he used the only condom in his wallet, and he knew better than to ask the girl who’s never brought another guy home if she had one. “I’m not about to baby trap you.” 

“We are way past that,” you scoffed, crossing the room and pulling him back to the bed with slow sultry steps. You moved him like a doll, placed him at the edge, encouraged him to get comfortable, and then mounted that thing like a horse. 

“Now kiss me,” you whispered, and his mouth gapped open, “don’t swallow me, kiss me.” 

He pressed his to yours, softer, letting them linger. Yours moved first, parting gently as you resumed your movements. Rough hands traveled up and down your spine. Holding you, rocking you, following your lead.  Up, down, up, down. Consistently bouncing on his cock until deep groans thick with the pleasure he wasn’t even convinced was real poured into you.

Every part of you felt like a dream, the sticky wet heat morphing around him. The way your hips rolled, and your delicate touch held his face in your hands. His body felt alive. Every nerve was on fire, his heart beating out of his chest, balls so tight and he found himself holding his breath so he didn’t bust like a two-pump chump.

Your tongue swirled his mouth playfully, swallowing everything he was giving you while you gave him everything you had. Your moans became breathless, pleasure twisting in your gut until you were letting out high pitch sounds that were music to his ears. The way your walls clamped down around him was addictive. Each and every second you used him to chase that high, he was convinced your death grip sent him to heaven. His one and only taste of a place people like him don’t belong.

He saw the light and before he could stop it, or warn you at the least, he released. Thick, creamy, loads of warm cum sprayed your cervix and your body shuddered.

Your rhythm faltered and his hands smoothed down, a vicious grip to your hips that forced your body to keep going. Fucking his seed deeper with a smile on his face. One that was wide, toothy. A look so warm, and usually reserved for your little girl, but right now he was drunk on you. Star struck by the sensations you created with such simplicity. 

“That was so much better,” you giggled, kissing his face cheek to cheek. 

Your little girl has never squealed so loud, and admittedly, you were a little jealous. She rushed out the daycare doors to him. Right past you, no need to say goodbye to her teachers or friends, daddy was there and no one else existed. 

“Hello to you too,” you huffed, taking her bag, today's art project, and the juice cup with her name on it from the teacher. 

Little girl strapped in, daddy behind the wheel, domestic life felt good as a passenger princess.

The music played softly, and she was going off. She talked, the two of you listened. Talk talk talk talk, until she was all talked out. During that time he held your hand. Drove your car like he owned it and kept your fingers hostage with a grip so tight the tips of them were turning blue. Thumb dragging across the skin of your knuckles, circling at your ring finger like you wouldn’t notice something so obvious.

Once he got the both of you home, he locked the car doors as he got out, giving himself just enough time to make it to your side before you were able to unlock it and fling it open yourself. He helped you up and out, a gentle tap to your ass sending you towards the front door, insisting he could manage little girl just fine.

Which of course he did, you don’t get to see it often, but it is a well practiced routine. She helps to unbuckle herself, crawling out and up the tattooed body of quickly formed devotion.

Bag, baby, he stepped inside and quickly began making himself at home.

“You’re not staying?” 

His nose curled up, kutte already half stripped off, “huh?” 

“We’ve been on one date, you're not staying over with my daughter in the house.” 

He opened and closed his mouth three times. You were right, you were making sense, but he still didn’t like it. The way you continue to call her my as if he’s not standing right there. The fact you just gestured to the door like he wasn’t just making himself at home in your sheets less than an hour ago.

Getting put out like the damn dog. 

“We’re together.” 

“Yes, but I told you I’m not just diving in. Today was great but we still have a lot of things to work out.” 

“Fine,” he shrugged his kutte back on and you saw him change, hardening back up into the killer you know best. Tone dark, indisputable. “I want fifty-fifty till then.” 

You choked on air, tapping your chest absolutely stunned. “You’re not serious?”

He shrugged like it was nothing. No big deal asking for you to restructure her whole life to include him, it is already halfway done. “You said we’d work it out.”

“Yeah I meant like, getting to know each other, letting you pick her up from school by yourself. Not split custody! She’s not even y-”

“Stop saying that shit.” 

“Happy-”

“This shit ain’t a game.”

“No, it’s not!” You barked, stabbing his attitude with a vicious glare until he sat down and shut the hell up. “She is my child, Happy. Raising her is the single most important thing I will ever do and if we’re really doing this, we have to do it right.”

“I’m trying to.” 

“I know,” you tension you were holding dropped, head landing in your hands. You sat there quietly for a moment, rubbing your face, thinking it over. Each breath putting you back to somewhere levelheaded and calm. “You’re amazing with her, and I see you trying to take this seriously, but club life is so unpredictable and the risk-”

“We’re done hauling, working on getting out of guns next, that's what all this shit going on has been about.”

Your heart stopped, your breathing caught, and your mouth gaped open. Legitimizing the club would solve a plethora of issues. Limits risk, danger, the possibility of baggage reaching your doorstep. All your arguments die right there, because for you it’s not the club. It’s never been the club because for all their faults you love every single one of them. It’s the risks, the unknown, the possibility that one day he won’t come home.

“You shouldn’t have told me that,” you whispered, sizing him up this time. Old ladies do know things. They certainly know more than most, but you’re not an old lady. Not yet. No ring, no crow. Technically, you were just someone's kid. Some guy who died protecting the club you were actively watching fall apart. A club that this man in front of you would kill for, die for too if he had to, and he trusted that with you. 

“Did it help?” 

You sighed, fighting everything inside you to not immediately say yes. 

“We’re not doing fifty-fifty. She lives with me, but you can start coming over for dinner, bedtime, pick her up from daycare when you’re off early. Things like that.” 

“Can we bring her on our dates?”

“Dates? Plural?”

“How the hell else am I supposed to get you to marry me?”

“Careful, Happy…it sounds like you’re proposing.” 

He looked down at his rings. Mixes of gold and silver, and one more couldn’t hurt. If it makes whatever this is permanent. He wasn’t worried about it, not really, not until you tried to send him home after getting a taste of what it’s like to have it all. 

“I know what I want. Life’s slowing down, I’ve got the time for her, for you.”

“And you want this?” You gestured to the mess that was your life. Chaos at every corner. Dirty laundry piled high, clean laundry that you’ll never get around to folding without someone there to force your hand. Dishes in the sink, empty pizza boxes on the stove. Her toys like trip hazards covering every square inch of the living room floor, and the obnoxious sound of Mrs Rachel keeping her mesmerized at the center of it all. 

“Get your fucking ears checked.” 

You huffed, lighthearted, too amused to hide your body relaxing despite how rough his tone just came out. “Fine.” 

He cocked a brow, and you moved, putting yourself right in his lap, “you can stay.” 

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Lockdown was a dime a dozen, and the term 'just in case' made your head hurt. Even though you knew you were fine, and most likely which ever current war they were fighting wouldn’t touch you, you still went. Every single time. If something happened to you because you failed to take it seriously was one thing, but you have her. The littlest girl you wouldn’t risk for anything.

Happy was the one who informed you about it this time. He called, but because you didn’t have his number, you of course didn’t answer. He showed up at your front door, thumbs hooked in his pockets, and one grunt was all it took for you to gather it was time to start packing. 

You groaned internally that it was happening, again. You had too much going on around you to even consider time off, and now you were being forced, yet again, to figure it out. Your life had essentially become the very definition of one thing after another.

Happy had reverted back to his comfort zone of darkness and misery due to the circumstances. The stone cold soldier who needed to be ready for anything. His face was blank, his tone flat, eyes void of emotion. You paid him little mind because it was normal to you, routine.

Usually, it would be a prospect eager to please, or Tig who knows where everything is, but this way was admittedly easier. A silent pillar of support willing to help with whatever you two needed, but he didn’t offer, and you didn’t ask.

Even after reminding him this wasn’t even close to your first rodeo, he still stayed.

He didn’t hover when you started stuffing bags in the trunk, he didn’t rush you while reviewing your mental checklist three separate times before locking the door. He gave you space, time. Keeping your baby out of the way, and his eyes searching for danger. 

He insisted he escort you across town, riding your bumper like his life depended on it. He watched every corner at every red light, lips pursed in a thin line, head on a swivel.

You had the windows down, music up, singing along to your minis current favorite song. It made it easy for him to roll right on up, hand dipped into your passenger door so she could hold it tight while she belted out nonsense. She was on beat, words slurring together, and so off key he slipped up and started laughing. A belly deep rumble that made your head spin. 

The Tacoma Killer, officially in the running for a worlds best dad mug. 

The first thing you did when you parked was walk her towards his bike, meeting him halfway and guiding her into his arms like it was normal. “I forgot I was supposed to pick up Lyla, can you keep her? I’ll be quick.” 

He settled her on his hip with ease, morphing together like she was an extension of himself. 

“You ain’t going nowhere by yourself today.” 

“I won’t be by myself, I’ll be with Lyla,” you winked, tipping your toes with your lips puckered. Each second happened in slow motion, he was borderline convinced you were coming up to him. He leaned, supporting her gently, and met you in the middle where your lips found her cheek. “Be good for Happy, okay baby?” 

All the air left his lungs, a sudden burst from his flared nostrils made you do a double take at the wrecked expression he was wearing. You wheeled through the options, was it because you didn’t call him her daddy? It may be fine for her, but it still feels weird for you. It doesn’t exactly roll off the tongue seeing as you’ve never even kissed the old man. His cheeks were flushed, his jaw tight, muscles flexed, lips glossy from the slip of his tongue. 

Oh. 

What felt like hours was a single minute of you collecting information and processing what the hell to do. He didn’t show you much, but he couldn’t hide that. The hunger in his eyes, gaze on your bottom lip now held hostage between your teeth. 

Happy wanted to kiss you.

“Be careful,” he muttered, raising a hand to take hold of your chin, “keep your eyes open.” 

You opened your mouth to speak but nothing came out. You had half a mind to do it, already on your toes, close enough you could smell the freshness of his spearmint toothpaste. Fuck it, right? …but you chickened out. The word complicated playing on a loop in your mind. You gave him exactly what you gave her, a shift kiss to the cheek, pulling back with bewildered expression like you had surprised even yourself.

You cleared your throat, eyes painfully down, “I will.” 

And there you went, fleeing for your life, yet again...but this time the mess was your own making. 

“You see that?” He rumbled, bouncing your baby in his arms. Without a clue as to what he was talking about, she laughed anyway. Hugging tight around his neck, snug as a bug making their way into the clubhouse.

You talked Lyla to death. The moment she slipped into the passenger seat your mouth opened and didn’t shut for the entire drive. You took the long way and there still wasn't enough time to run down exactly what you were doing. Because you didn’t know, it just happened. It’s been happening. He’s silent, but persistent. He’s distant, but attentive in all the right ways. Taking down your wall one brick at a time. 

You convinced yourself it was just about her, but with her comes you. It meant something, that’s the conclusion you came to as you pulled back into the busy lot. The way his warmth radiated through your body, your little girls giggle in between, and that look in his eye. You were sure it meant something. 

You shuffled in behind Lyla, a bag in each hand, searching for her kids, your kid, anywhere with enough space for the lot of you. 

You heard her before you saw her. The unmistakable sound of her never ending giggle. The bags dropped with a thud, and your blood boiled. Red hot fire in your veins as you watched him, her, and the age appropriate croweater fawning over them both. You didn’t realize you were moving, but the overcrowded clubhouse did, and they parted like the red sea. 

“So you’ve just been using my daughter to get laid? That’s low, Happy, even for you.” 

The older woman’s eyes tripled. It could’ve been your tone, your face, the red hot rage that was visibly vibrating through you. “Oh he wasn’t-” 

“Am I talking to you?” You hissed, barely sparing her a glance. “My daughter,” you held your arms out, and he couldn’t help but notice the hurt you were burying under the appearance of hate, “right now.” 

Jealousy was oozing out of you, and he counted each mental step back you were taking. Happy fought every muscle in his face to keep from challenging you. If talking to a croweater was all it took to bring you to reality, he would’ve made that mistake a month ago just to speed things along. He wanted to play into it, quip back something blunt and indecent but your face suggested that was the wrong move. He was officially under your skin, but after this you might not even be willing to admit it. He cleared his throat and followed your demands like it was a hostage situation. 

Your little girl went to you willingly but looked so confused as to why you were taking her away from her favorite person on the planet.

You bullied your way through the overcrowding, sweating in places you shouldn’t, muttering to yourself about how idiotic you were to even think it. You were immediately done with all of it. Him, the club, the stupid lockdown that was overkill at best. This building, these people, it was suffocating you. All you wanted to do was get the fuck out, but you couldn’t find your stuff. 

“Where the hell is-”

“One of the girls just went to put your stuff in Happy’s room.” 

You spun around, hair on fire. “Who the hell told them to do that?” 

“I assumed you did,” Lyla said offhandedly, barely looking up from the book she had brought with her. 

“This is getting crazy, it feels like I’m being sold off like cattle.” 

“Probably shouldn’t have kissed him then,” she chuckled softly. You huffed, puffed, searched the space some more like maybe you could avoid the inevitable, but it was done. You were stuck in this building, and now apparently you were doing it in his room.  

“Fuck.”

One thing became instantly clear. There was no getting rid of him. You could avoid him, retreat back into that natural state of indifference where life was less complicated. Only now you have a batshit crazy toddler bullying you around, and all she wanted was him. After holding her hostage for an hour, her restlessness was getting the best of you, so you put her down.

She stomped the entire way over to him, making sure every eye in the room gave her a glance as she pounded her attitude into the concrete flooring. 

Your head dropped into your hands and just when you thought you had a moment to breathe. 

“Here sweetie,” the older blonde mused, placing down a steaming cup of perfectly creamed coffee, “for what it’s worth…I’m sorry for getting too close, she’s just so damn cute.” 

“I know,” you offered half a smile in return for the fresh cup of coffee, “sorry for yelling at you.”

You didn’t hate the croweaters. You grew up around most of them. You don’t exactly approve of their lifestyle choices, or want your daughter picking up their tendencies, but usually there’s a level of respect you like to maintain between worlds. She took it as an invitation, sliding into the bar stool next to you. 

“Don’t be, I knew better. Your family’s real important to him, he’s adamant we need to steer clear.” 

Your heart skipped. “He what?” 

She laughed, looked you up and down the moment she realized you didn’t have a clue. “He tossed Britney out of here by the hair the other day after she tried to sneak into his room during nap time.” Her head nodded towards the corner, your little girl pressing her nose against his and babbling endless little nothings he seemed to understand perfectly. “I’m clear of your man sweetie, I was just showing him how to fix the setting on his camera.” 

Your man. Happy, as far as anyone in this room was concerned, was officially your old man. Love it, hate it, none of that mattered. It wasn’t about you, it was all about her. Your little lady who had more love in her whole body than Happy had in his pinky finger, but every ounce he did have, went to her. 

You had easily a dozen questions, but you didn’t want to interrupt. They were so content. Off in the corner that might as well be their own little world. So you waited, watched, waited some more. So painfully obvious your brother by circumstance took matters into his own hands. 

Jax casually made his rounds, checking in as any decent president would. Landing himself in their space, grabbing hands snagged his niece up for some quality uncle time she wanted no part in.

She looked right over the charming blonde's shoulder. A deadly gaze she obviously picked up from Happy, eyes locked on her daddy. Silent communication happening between the pair for him to come save her. Jax gave you a look. A silent communication of his own to take advantage of the opportunity.

You weren’t built for apologizing, and you already punched that ticket for the day. Your steps were hesitant, but you crashed the party of one anyway. 

“I understand you have a camera.” 

He broke away from her just long enough to look up. Eyes void of the warmth he has with her sized you up like a meal, then gestured to the empty seat beside him. “You asking around about me?” 

“I'd like to see it,” you said, deflecting the question but keeping him hooked, “considering my little girl is your muse.” 

“She’s cute,” he rumbled, watching her like a hawk as Chibs tossed her up in the air. Leather kuttes provide a good distraction, but not good enough. 

“She gets it from me.”

His eyes flickered to you, the corner of his mouth hardly moved but it was there. His jaw flexed, his gaze softened, and you squirmed. Such an unfamiliar look taking over his features, and you liked it. You liked being the reason for it. That was new, and scary.

“It’s uh, nap time, can I put her down in-” 

“Bags already in there.”

“I heard,” you chuckled, looking his way again. Smug. So smug, watching your baby toddle through the crowded clubhouse to find her way back to him. “Did you do that?” 

“She sleeps better in there.” He leaned forward, legs spread, hands open. Her head fell into the crook of his neck with practiced ease and his hand tucked in his kutte as he stood. A small digital camera dropped into your lap. “Go through it, I got her.” 

You always wondered what they got up to when you were gone. How much fun could she possibly have with him? Tons, it seemed. The camera powered up and the first three you clicked through were just her laughing. Her on the swings, standing on top of the pool table like she owned it. A few of her covered in finger paint, head to toe. One too many of her smiling face covered in chocolate. The ones of her sleeping were heartwarming. Always in his bed, on his chest, at an angle you could just barely see the corner of his mouth, smiling. 

Happy Lowman, worlds best dad.

She was so adored, genuinely loved by this hunk of stone. Indisputable proof sat in your hands. He was actively, willingly, and unconditionally filling a hole in her life. The most obnoxious part was, he was doing it well. He was patient, kind, but most importantly he knew her. He took the time to understand every wild thought her little mind had to offer. 

There was no manual on parenting, no rules for how to handle this at all. Could some random guy just…be her dad? Could you allow this suddenly soft around the edges version of the silent killer you know take part in raising her? And if you did, where does it leave you?

There were so many images. Her, her, and you. You, always from a distance. Holding her hand, walking away, dancing with her like nobody was watching, but he was. He was always watching, admiring. Mindful of your need for space. 

Once you reached the end of the month's worth of memories, you sighed. You stared out at the overcrowded space and wished your dad was amongst the sea of faces. He’d know what to do, what to say, he’d take all the overthinking off your plate. He wasn’t a man of many words but he’d either kick his ass, or give you the nod.

Instead you had Jax. Blonde hair, blue eyes, too cocky for his own good. Giving you his cheesy version of the nod you were searching for from the bar. Beer in hand, smile on his face, head gesturing to the hall that Happy had disappeared in. 

All Jax had done was tell you it’s a good idea, without actually saying anything at all, you just weren’t a very good listener. 

You drummed your fingers against the door softly, slipping in quick and quiet to keep the noise out. She was already out like a light. Dead center of the bed, lips parted letting out tiny noises that were too faint to be snores. He didn’t look up, didn’t move, didn’t even tense as you crawled up his bed beside them. 

“Next time you can ask me,” you said, voice small, “how to use something.” You slid the silver camera across the sheets, unsure where it would take you or where you wanted it to.

“You weren’t here.” 

“Then wait.” 

An amused exhale burst from his nostrils. Glancing at her, then you, back to her and her death grip she had on his finger even in sleep. 

He’s not dumb, not slow or brain damaged like some like to believe. He knows how crazy this is. Happy considered how he would feel if one day a patch like Juice, or Rat even, found themselves in this predicament with your daughter. Intentions pure, fondness on overdrive, but far too old for her. He’d kill them, simple as that. Patch or no patch, disappearing someone was his specialty. 

It made those thoughts about you messy, and made him question himself. He knew your dad, loved him even. They took rides, shots, dug shallow graves together in the dead of night. He remembers everything.

You sitting at the bar doing your homework throughout the years when Tacoma got called up for assistance. The silent slips of tears at your father's funeral. Your graduation party, your sudden return home from college that left you different. 

He’s seen every phase of your life and this one. This era you're locked in forever, motherhood, it’s your best look. It’s a guilty pleasure he never would’ve acted on without the push forward of tiny toddled steps into his personal space. 

But now he's here, with her, waiting on you. No pressure, no rush, just a willingness to give you exactly what you ask for until you're willing to meet him where they already are.

“I know I’ve been over stepping,” he mumbled, avoiding your gaze to keep a hold on his composure. His next words were too important to get wrong, “but she’s the only good thing I got.” 

“Yeah,” you whispered, glancing around his room. Little hints of her were everywhere. Toys, books, arts and crafts. Your gaze landed on her scribbled attempts at art. Taped to his mirror, what you can only assume was a masterpiece depicting the two of them. Her, and her daddy. “That much we have in common.” 

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