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cherry pie.

✶ pairing! robert ‘bob’ floyd x fem!bradshaw!reader

✶ summary! just imagine, bob falls in love with single!mom!bradshaw!reader. (bradley and reader are twins).

✶ w. count! 16.2k

✶ warnings! a child (NO), reader is a nurse, reader’s lover (father of their daughter) died before the story takes place, reader gets called a buckle bunny, reader punches a shit man in the face, bob being absolutely enamored with reader, the kid’s fav songs having the word ‘pie’ in the titles (i was streaming cherry pie on repeat while writing this forgive me), mentioning of smoking weed, cigs, and underaged drinking in high school (please don’t smoke/drink unless you’re of age i know LAME of me to say, but it should always be said—taking care of your mind & health is so important especially when its at such an important time of growth & development), reader has the mouth of a sailor (if you’ve seen dexter—think deb vibes), lots of twin jokes, reader’s daughter also gets in a fight with another kid, & if there is anything else lmk!!!

A.N. firstly 1) i’m in a cowgirl boots phase (because of lewis) so sorry…. 2) this is my second actual fic on this account & both include children HELP lewis pullman u are the only man to ever make me wanna have kids… (i hate children, i’ve never wanted to have children, but lewis heyyyyy). lastly my semester started a few weeks and i wanted to get this out as quickly as possible, and i only proof read it once HSJSHD so i apologize if there are any spelling mistakes or anything!!!

“Mav come on just, just, hold her for a minute. I swear it’ll just be a minute. I gotta go’n grab my dissertation from that dungeon Penny calls an office.”

Your voice was laced thin with exhaustion. Every word being exhaled, like the effort of speaking was almost too much to bear. That it was only making you more tired with each sentence being pushed out.

You couldn’t wait to get home.

Roughly ten minutes ago, you’d quickly changed in the back seat of your car, ridding your work scrubs for a simple pair of jeans and a white tank top (the only pair of extra clothes you had back there). You’d shuffled your little girl into the bar, despite it being packed like an unopened can of sardines—with one purpose; get your dissertation and get out of there.

Being as gentle as possible, you reached down, lifting her, your daughter (who’d been clutching your leg—as if she were shy, she was the most social kid you knew), by her armpits.

You shifted, ignoring the way Maverick’s mouth opened to protest, as you passed her off without a second thought.

Maverick was family. Uncle Mavy you used to call him, teeth missing from repeatedly running into things, hair always tangled, and miss-matched socks. You’d grown up with him always ruffling your hair, teaching you how to throw a football and spike a volleyball into Bradley’s face. He taught you how to fly, how to beat up boys three times your size, and most certainly how to break the rules. Bradley had always wanted your mother’s approval and attention, especially after the death of your father (of course you wanted the attention, however, you found living on the edge a little more thrilling).

You were rebellious if you could even call it that. You liked to live life, you liked being free. And Bradley was no prude, especially in your high school years, but while Bradley fulfilled his momma’s boy arc, you found yourself sticking to crowds your mother would’ve had an aneurysm from if she ever found out.

Friday’s, Saturday’s, even into the early Sunday mornings—beer, weed, cigarettes, just normal teenage things, were your playmates. You’d wished you’d take care of yourself more back than, but you couldn’t really blame yourself. Living with Bradley and your mom, as much as you loved them, it was so hard sometimes. And all you ever wanted to do was to pack up and leave, just for a little while, just to get away and see what this world had to offer.

And with Maverick’s teachings, it wasn’t too much of a surprise that you’d gotten knocked up and did exactly that.

It hadn’t been planned, as things rarely were, but you’d loved the girls father, and you really thought you’d spend the rest of your life with him.

You’d met him in high school, your high school sweetheart, and the two of you eventually ended up in Texas, why you’d decided to end up there was—well, you were more or less following him. He’d gotten transfered to a base out there, and who were you to not go with him.

He was the father of your daughter and you loved him.

So you three had packed up, filled your car, kissed your family, told Bradley he had to call you every single day or you’d fly back and beat his ass—and then you were off.

But like always, the universe seemed determined to never let you be happy.

His death was classified, all you knew was that it’d been some sort of training incident—something too important to let the mother of his child know. And you tried to not blame anyone, you really did, but the one person you couldn’t give any slack to, was yourself.

You’d known the night before that something was going to happen, you’d felt it in your gut—hell even Bradley knew something was wrong. He’d called you, when you’d awoken yourself at four in the morning, nauseous and terrified out of your mind.

The man you loved who lay silently beside you slept peacefully. You’d kissed his temple, and answered your twin brother’s frantic call.

Call it twin-tuition, call it the universe laughing at you—you didn’t know. All you knew was that Bradley had been able to calm you down, you’d crawled back into bed, and hugged the man you loved tightly.

Like nothing could ever tear you away from him.

He’d left a note that morning, kissing your forehead and whispering a goodbye to your daughter, before leaving when the sun still stirred underneath the horizon.

You’d wished you’d woken up again, you hated yourself for not getting a proper goodbye from him.

You hated yourself so deeply. You should made him stay home, even though you knew he couldn’t.

You should have done, something.

Anything.

Now that stupid American Flag made your eyes burn every time you glanced at it on the display table. You’d burn it if it wasn’t one of the last things you had left of him.

Penny pulled you back from the land of memories, her finger reaching out to flick your forehead, fingers then dangling the keys to her office in front of your face.

You must have really zoned out.

Rubbing the spot where she flicked you, you tried not to whine in pain and furrowed your eyebrows at her. She had an incredibly strong grip, you were surprised she didn’t fracture your skull.

“Need someone to drive y’all home, hun?” She asked, now looking genuinely concerned with how exhausted you appeared.

Back to back 14hr shifts at the hospital were definitely not something you’d planned on, but you’d needed to pick up an extra shift and at least now you had two days off.

You planned to at least take one of those to sleep the entire time. You’d drop your girl off with Maverick, he deserved it, you never asked him to watch her, always feeling like you’d be burdening him.

“No s’alright Pen, we’re not too far.” You offered her a small smile, eyes flickering back to Maverick. It looked like he was currently playing for everyone’s drinks, for having said something (unintentionally…maybe) rude to Penny not even five minutes ago—so you didn’t feel bad about adding holding your daughter as another sentence for being disrespectful.

She was giggling, her head tilted, like she always did whenever you picked her up, twirled her, anything. She was just a bundle of happiness, it was no wonder her nickname was 'Sunshine' it was as if the world lit up whenever she entered a room, laughed, giggled, or even just smiled. Nothing could stomp out her light.

Even with her being absolutely more stubborn than the older man in front of you, she was still the happiest kid you'd ever known.

Maverick was ready to grumble, his hand pushing a drink to the side and away from the small child, mouth ajar—about to loudly proclaim that he wasn’t a babysitter, but a glare from Penny and a pout from you, sealed any form of complaints.

He gave a dramatic sigh in defeat as he watched the child settle herself onto the top of the bar. She wiggled to make herself comfortable, her sundress, the longer jorts, and cowgirl boots combo almost like nothing he’d ever seen before. Maverick reaching forward to fix her sleeves (they always seemed to be falling down, it reminded him so much of you), her smile bright as she reached her hand out.

"Evenin' Mavy.” Jasmine, your little girl, was desperately trying not to laugh, her attempt at being professional for a four year old. Maverick was used to the child's antics letting out a huff of a laugh, his eyes rolling playfully as he indulged her shaking her tiny hand and ignoring the grin Penny was shooting his way (even though he literally just pissed her off) as she filled another drink for patron.

The Hard Desk was definitely no place for a child, you knew that—especially with the rowdiness of drunk men tripping over their own foot. But you’d just gotten off your shift, picked Jasmine up from Richard Crane, your daughter’s best friend’s dad (which side note: you literally just got to this town not even two weeks ago and she already had a best friend), he’d been kind enough to watch her because you didn’t want to bother Bradley or Maverick (knowing their work). Penny had offered Ameila’s help—but you’d just waved your hand, they’d helped you so much already you hated feeling like you were burdening them. And Rich had basically trapped you into agreeing, his son and your daughter were best friends, he could pick her up from daycare, it just seemed like the easiest way—without bothering too many people. You just hated being a bother.

Especially now.

And you as much as you’d wanted to head home, tucking your daughter into her bed, and finish that crying session you were pushing off (watching your favorite romcom, Me Before You). But, Penny had sent you a text saying that she’d finished reading and annotating your dissertation that afternoon and you were afraid it might end up destroyed if it stayed any longer in her pile of—whatever the fuck of a monster she kept in her office.

So here you were, digging through the mounds of papers like Indiana Jones searching for the Art of the Covenant. Fingers threatening to receive a thousand tiny paper cuts as you dug and scoured. And after nearly ten minutes you'd spotted it, the thick packet littered with the pink sparkly ink of Penny's handwriting.

Sighing, knowing that even with the coffee stains, at least it was still intact.

Leaning over another stack of receipts you shimmed your way out of the office, locking it and doing your best to avoid the couple—or hookup—happening not nearly far enough away from you. God you really wished you didn’t have so much to worry about right now. Because you definitely needed to get laid.

Bracing yourself, the exhaustion really starting to catch up to you, you made your way back to where you'd left Maverick and your daughter at the bar.

However with a single glance you noticed that, that bouncing and bubbly girl was no where to be seen and Maverick was again busy chatting Penny up like he was hoping to take her home. (He definitely was).

“Mav, where the fuck is my child.”

Your voice cut off Maverick’s deep and drunk laugh as he turned, his hands raised to stop you from smacking the back of his head, something you couldn't help but doing because sometimes he was just a stupid old man.

“Rooster’s got her.” He mumbled drunkly with a wave of his hand, like he was trying to swat a fly. You would have punched him if Penny hadn't enacted that 'No violence at my bar' rule. You loved your brother. Truly you did, he was your twin, your other half—however, knowing Jasmine, she would want to hang onto Rooster for the rest of the night, even if that meant being around drunken military men and women.

“You’re so lucky I can’t afford to go to jail right now Mav.” You grumbled out not really caring if he heard you or not as you offered Penny a tired but soft smile, sliding her keys back across the table.

“Thanks for the annotations Pen, Jaz and I’ll be a little late tomorrow, forgot I gotta take her to the dentist." You smiled, your voice traveling slightly as you folded the packet of paper before tucking it into your cowgirl boots.

The jeans you wore were starting to grow tighter with each turn, the buckle of your belt (that you kept in your car) was digging into your lower abdomen, just a sign that your body was getting tired of being in 'actual' clothes—you couldn't wait to pull sweats on. You would have stayed inside your scrubs but, knowing the men here, you wouldn’t put it past one of them either spilling a drink on you, or trying to enact some nurse fantasy of theirs—you’d seen it all.

Not that what you were wearing now could be considered any better—the, albeit simple, white wife-beater clung to your body, riding slightly up to show a sliver of skin at your waist. And the bra you wore was practically on display, a black bra underneath a white top, not the smartest idea you’d ever had.

And it was so hot, so muggy, like a furnace had been turned on inside the building—even though the windows were open.

As your eyes flickered around searching for your daughter and Bradley, you couldn’t help by feel completely underdressed in the room full of military men and women, their uniforms making you stand out like a sore thumb.

God you’d forgotten how it felt to have eyes linger on you.

"S’alright hun, food’ll be ready whenever you stop by!” Penny called with a wave when you’d begin your search, stopping for a moment to turn, smile, and waved back.

Brushing past a couple dancing, you turned towards where you figured Bradley would be—probably swinging your daughter around or recruiting her to walk across the pool table to stealing the balls of whoever was playing against him. (It has happened way too many times to count).

With a sigh, you smiled when your daughter's laughter grazed your ears. Even over the music and loud conversations you were always attuned to her.

Crossing your arms over your chest, you watched her almost trip tugging on the pant leg of a man, who was not only holding a cola but also leaning down to listen to her.

Jasmine was muttering something you couldn’t make out over the music, her little hands debating on trying to climb into his lap. After a few moments the man laughed quietly, his head tipping back as he lowered his hand offering a drink from his cola. That was definitely something you would have chastised her for, but seeing as he was one of Bradley's friends you trusted he wasn't trying to drug your daughter.

Combed hair, glasses perched on the bridge of his nose, head lowered as his deep blue eyes kept his attention on your daughter as she rambled. It was so endearing, so precious to watch and you couldn't help the small smile that started to crawl up your lips.

Jasmine rarely liked men, especially not after her father had died (unless it was Maverick and Bradley, she actually despised Rich too for some reason). She wouldn't even go near a man she’d never met before. She’d always said that she just didn’t feel comfortable around men, so to see her leaning into the lap, let alone ramble and tug their pant leg, of this man it made your eyebrows furrow.

"Bradshaw, what did I say about stealing my kid." You called when you'd finally fully approached the group, arms crossed and hip jutted just slightly to the side as you leaned.

Bradley's smirk crossed his lips before his eyes even met you, that loud laugh of his echoing as crossed the distance between the two of you. It wasn’t even a second later before he had his arms wrapped tightly around your neck, squeezing the life out of you.

Curse him and his stupid strength.

"It's Sunshine's fault she came willingly." He called loudly making sure the girl heard him, lips in a permeant smirk just waiting for Jasmine to argue back with him.

Rubbing his back, you tried to not laugh at his antics.

It was normal, the bickering, he really loved teasing her, it was his favorite pass time. And your daughter, as if baited, sent him a glare, something she definitely got from you.

Bradley pulled away, pressing a kiss on your forehead before leaning to rest his arm across your shoulder.

Bradley was always a clingy brother—always hung on you, always took care of you, always made sure you were doing okay. You loved him, but sometimes he could just be a little too much at times.

With a tilt of your head, you watched your daughter, who was still playing with the man’s pant leg.

Jasmine began with a "Uh-uh", sticking her finger out to wave it, "Mommy, Chick'n kidnap me from Mavy." Her words were slightly jumbled, (one of her teeth still missing and the other loose—from face planting not even a few days ago) as she motioned towards Bradley who pulled away to put his hands up in mock-offense.

You bit the inside of your cheek, desperate to not laugh knowing that it would just feed the both of them into arguing more and making you stand there longer.

"Jaz, y'know it's Rooster." Bradley fake huffed his lips coming out into a pout as she only shook her head lips pursed into a line her cheekbones prominent as if she were a judge serving him his papers and not a four year old girl in miss matched socks, cowgirl boots, and a sundress, dirty from tumbling around.

"Yer a chick'n to me." She concluded as if it were the most obvious thing in the world and that caused the group to burst into laughter, a laughter that everyone had been desperately trying to keep to themselves.

When you'd glanced around you noticed that only a few of Bradley’s friends were here, the very pretty guy sitting on the stool, name—Unknown, the girl to your left, Natasha Trace or better known by her callsign, Phoenix, and by the smirk of the man beside Bradley you were most certain he was Hangman, or Jake Seresin.

It had been only a week in a half since you moved back, and Bradley had wanted you to finally meet his friends—however both of your schedules had just never synced up.

"Y'know what I kinda like the sound of Chicken, the kids gotta be right." The man smirked wider, if that was even possible, his head tilting as he sent Bradley a wink. Bradley in turn rolled his eyes flipping him off only to get a gasp from your four year old as she began reprimanding the man.

Jake leaned away from the pool table, his hand reaching out towards yours.

“The handsome, the glorious, the most stunning and perfect man you’ll ever come in contact with.” Jake introduced himself and you couldn’t help the confused tilt of your head as you tried to not burst into laughter.

Bradley was right when he said that he was very very full of himself.

You shook his hand, clocking the slightly accent as you ranked your eyes across his body. He was beautifully built—you couldn’t deny it, but the ego was definitely a hard turn off for you.

“Rooster said y’ah lived in Texas, y’know I’m from there.” He added and you hummed, that you had heard from Bradley, whenever he was having his daily rants about the ‘stupid cowboy who doesn’t know how to ever shut the fuck up’.

You couldn’t hold back a smirk.

“So I’ve heard.” You drawled out, releasing his hand as you tried not to physically step away from him. It wasn’t had he made you uncomfortable, he seemed like a decent guy, but you honestly just wanted to head home, not go down a line of introducing yourself to the remainder of Bradley’s friends.

You had time, you could do all of this another time.

A sigh left you as you shifted onto your other leg. You honestly needed to hurry up your little girl, knowing that if you didn't pull her away now, she would either fall asleep in some rando’s arms or you'd end up pass out on the dirty bar floor.

Both of which happened to not sound all that appealing.

Glancing back towards your daughter, you watched as she cut Bradley off with a wave of her hand completely done with the conversation. She turned and tugged on the pant leg of man (who you still didn't know—and if you were going to meet anymore of Bradley’s friends tonight, he was definitely one you would not be mad about) reaching and finally climbing her way into his lap as if he weren't some stranger she'd just met.

"No, no, Sunshine come on, time to go." You began to call, your arms uncrossing as you started towards them. You tried to be stern with her, but even you could tell that your voice was half-assing it. You only watched her snuggle more into this man, as if she were more interested in staying with this random man arms than going home and sleeping (like you were).

"Nuh-uh." Was all she replied back, turning fully around and facing the man, her hands coming up to play with his glasses.

The man, with the patience of a saint, let her play with his glasses, his ears flushing. You were sure it was more or less from being in the spotlight seeing as he was only drinking a cola. His hands were just barely touching her, just enough to make sure that she wouldn't fall off his lap with her wiggling.

You could already feel the ache of a headache forming and you didn't think you had enough patience in you to deal with your daughters persistent need to get her away.

But, how could you really blame her, she was your daughter after all.

"Bob, you do know when I said Bob stood for Baby-on-board, I didn't mean go-n-get yourself a kid." Jake began his hip leaning back into the pool table as he earned a chuckle from the Bradley and Natasha. (That comment was the highlight of Jake's night).

After noticing the way you tried not to sigh to loudly, your hand coming up to rub the furrow between your brows, and the occasional of switching which leg you were leaning on Bradley could tell that you were most likely more exhausted than the lot of them after doing three hundred push-ups, and so he started towards Jasmine. But the girl had seen him coming and she turned into her favorite animal; a koala, clinging herself onto the man. Bob—who, you felt bad for because he looked so surprised when she yelled out a "No!" before her arms wrapped around his neck, tried not to fall out of his seat, setting the cola down and adjusting.

"He's coming home with us." Jasmine mumbled but everyone had heard her, getting a stifled laugh from Natasha who whipped around to face the other way so that she wouldn't see the glare you sent her way.

They were all just feeding into you girls playful manner and all Bob could do was hold her arms so that she wouldn't choke the life out of him. That would be in an interesting way to go; death by a four-year-old from hugging too hard.

Bradley called your name with a slightly drunk tone as he waited for you to meet his eyes, "How does it feel to have your daughter as a wingman?" He giggled and you tried, you really really tried, not to glare too hard, you knew your brother was only joking, he was your brother, it was a simple joke at the fact that for over a year you hadn't met anyone, hadn't had the time or the patience to handle anyone that wasn't your daughter. But it still, the comment, hurt because deep down you knew this whole parenting thing would be so much easier if you had someone.

"Bradley, if you don't shut the fuck—" "Thats a bad word Mommy." Jasmine hummed out, cutting you off instantly and getting a few more stifled laughs from Natasha and now Jake as well. You were close to shoving your headache induced head into a wall.

Bringing your hands up to your eyes you tried not to scream in frustration, you rubbed them.

"Right, sorry baby, come on, let's go, you got daycare in the morning, y'know Ms. Jessel'll have my a—my butt if you're late again." You tried again using your pleading voice but she wasn't budging. Her fingers were playing with Bob's hair on the back of his neck mumbling about how she hated Ms. Jessel, when you for sure knew she adored the woman.

(You were the one who disliked her.)

You’d opened your mouth to speak again, to almost beg your daughter to let go of the man so that they two of you could go home, when a drunk voice drawled your name out from behind you. A chill ran down your spine, and you tried to not tense too awkwardly, too quickly.

You’d froze, shoulder blades inching together as you found Bradley’s eyes. He was glaring at the man behind you, and thats when you felt his presence. Unbearable and unnerving. As he occupied the space right behind you, like he owned it, like he was going to try and get back to owning you, you tried not to react, like he would want.

Demanding Bradley’s eyes, you gave him an ‘I’ll handle it’ look, motioning towards Jasmine in your own twin way of telling him to make sure she wouldn’t see what you were about to do. Because as much as you didn’t want to shield your daughter from the way of the world, you also didn’t think she was ready to see you beat the shit out of this douchebag—if it came to that.

The man behind you, reached, brushing your shoulder blades, his finger tips just barely ghosting like he had any right. Like he could touch you without your permission. He called out your name again, like he was reminiscing, a sigh leaving his drunken lips.

You definitely didn’t want to hear this right now. God the universe did actually hate you, what had you ever done to it?

“Thought I heard Bradshaw sayin’ his buckle bunny sister was comin’ home.” He mumbled, when you’d turned around to face him. His eyes ranking your body like a starved piranha. And even with the mumble, the group, Natasha, Jake, Bradley, and the man who still held your daughter carefully all quieted, a few people in the outer circles hushing their voices, also having heard the man.

God you hated that nickname, it wasn’t even remotely accurate to you. You’d dated two ‘cowboys’—one of which was standing in front of you, and suddenly you were a buckle bunny.

If you were a buckle bunny, then Bradley was Father Christmas.

“The fuck y’ah want Johnny.” You greeted, trying desperately to be polite (this was as polite as you could be with him), because you honestly didn’t know how else to approach this situation.

When his eyes finally left your chest, fingers tracing the metal part of your buckle, bile rose in the back of your throat. You should have swatted his hand away, but you knew how he got when he was drunk.

You’d forgotten he’d been transferred a month before you moved back, you truly thought you could put him past you. (Bradley also forgot to warn you, twin forgetfulness).

A few stupid one night stands—you’d all but used each other (you apparently more so than him), just to get frustration out, but this guy could not take a hint that you were not interested anymore. Hell you hadn’t been interested in him since before you’d met Jasmine’s father.

“And I’m not a buckle bunny, ‘member? You’re not much of a cowboy, couldn’ stay on that bull for more than a few seconds, if I recall correctly, so the buckle bunny status was revoked.” You added, not being too loud (you could have definitely been a lot louder, he’d done enough to you to deserved to be publicly embarrassed) watching the way his lip twitched in a slightly.

You couldn’t help in the smirk that tugged on your lips. He was so easily angered.

“I remember you stayin’ on for a lot more than 4 seconds.” He called back, taking a step forward (he definitely didn’t need to invade more of your space) not talking about the bull anymore, as you finally grabbed his wrist. His fingers were always so slippery, he always touched where he shouldn’t without the fear of Bradley beating the shit out of him. Because you always said that, you could handle it.

Ever since you were 13 picking fights with the older boys, you could handle it. Senior in high school, beating the fuck out of an older guy who tried to get into your pants at a college party, you could handle it. An old ex with loose fingers, a piece of cake—you could definitely handle it. Even if you wanted nothing more than to smack his smug grin off his lips.

“Nearly a decade ago, what the fuck do you want.” You finally snapped, smirk gone, fingers digging into his wrist as you brought it up and away from the way he was trying to reach underneath the hem of your tank top.

Johnny grunted in pain as you raised your eyebrows as if to tell him to continue explaining himself.

“Fuckin’ christ, forgot how strong your damn grip is, just wanted to see how you were doing s’all.” He snapped back, initiating his innocent act and yanking his hand away. You watched him finally take a step backwards in any attempt to gain his composure.

You raised your eyebrows as you refused to look away from him, he had something planned, he always did.

“Thought we’d reconnect y’know? My favorite Bradshaw in town, figured since y’ah boyfriend’s all dead and buried, we could rekindle that fire, go back to before you up ‘nd you ran off with that waste of space. Could’a told y’ah he was bad news, knocked y’ah up good though didn’ he? Such a pretty lil girl you got, too bad he’d rather nose dive into the ocean than be in a big ol’ happy family. What can you expect from a fuckin’ cuck like him, bet he would’a loved to see you creaming all over my c—”

The ‘No violence at my bar’ sign beside Penny seemed to blur from your memory. A lapse in judgement you’d claim as you leaned slightly, raised your fist and knocked the air straight out of Johnny’s jaw.

There was a gasp and a few ‘oohs’ as you connected your knuckles with his face. You didn’t stop though, everyone who knew you, knew you wouldn’t stop unless someone pulled you off. Your temper sometimes got the better of you. Blame Maverick.

You’d watched him fall back slightly, letting out a ‘fuckin’ bitch’ before you raised your wrist again and punched him once more. The satisfaction of hearing a bone crack should have made you smile for being such a fucking asshole, but you couldn’t find it in yourself—just the punching would have had to do.

His blood stained your knuckles as you let him fall climbing on top of him. You didn’t stop when Maverick started shouting out your name, not when Bradley (who had let you get in multiple blows without even stopping you—knowing the bastard deserved it) had jumped forward finally grabbing your arms and pulling you back as one of Johnny’s friends pulled him away from you.

You’d pushed Bradley off harshly, not really in the mood for his protective brotherly stance as you approached Johnny again, who was still on the floor, his buddy trying to help him up.

You kicked him, hard, in the side, continuing to beat him as if every kick would amend the words he’d said about the man you’d loved and lost.

Bradley grabbed your arms again, pulling you back once more as Maverick had put himself in between the two of you, pulling Johnny off the ground and escorted him out (more or so, so you wouldn’t jump at him again—because Maverick knew you were a carbon copy of him, you’d beat the shit out of him again if you even glanced in his direction).

“He’s such a fuckin’ prick, this fuckers gotta be fuckin’ kiddin’ me I swear to everything fuckin’ holy, swear to the fuckin’ ground, the fuck he thinks he can just talk about him like that, fuckin’ balloon headed stupid ass fuckin’ mozart wannabe fuckin’ lyin’ ass sack of fuckin’ piece of shit, get the fuck outta my way Bradley.”

You should’ve hit him harder.

You were pacing now, hands on your hips as you ignored the way your knuckles had cracked open, his blood and your blood. You really needed to get it cleaned up, but you couldn’t stop spiraling. He had no right calling him shit like that, especially when Jasmine’s father had been the most caring and kind man you’d ever met. He’d loved you so deeply, and you, him.

So someone attacking his character? Yeah you were gonna raise hell.

“The mouth on you girl, damn.” Bradley tried to lighten the mood a little as he stopped you from pacing, his hands reaching up to rest on your shoulders. Trying to ground you in the only way he knew how, physical contact.

“Just come on, cool down for a second.” He added tilting his head to try and get you to look at him.

“Fuck,” You pushed the air out of you chest as you brought your hands up to rub your eyes.

You didn’t even want to look behind him, afraid that Jasmine had seen it all—seen the anger you tried to keep so buried down that she would never see it. Especially when you’d told her violence was never the answer.

Maverick had come back with a warm cloth, slipping past a few patrons who’d gone back to their drinking and chatting. Especially now that the ‘show’ was over.

“Need a goddamn fuckin’ cigarette.” You muttered out as you took the cloth from Maverick, thanking him and telling him to get back to Penny—that you were fine, it was just a scratch.

Maverick sighed as he shook his head, leaning forward to kiss your temple before ruffling your hair.

“Can’t be smokin’ around her remember you quit for that reason.” Bradley hummed as you finally glanced backwards at the two (Jasmine and Bob). Bob had her faced away, still in his lap, from you and Bradley, involved in what looked like a very important conversation. He had moved a couple feet away, and from the position, Jasmine wouldn’t have been able to see that it was you throwing a punch into Johnny’s face.

You could have thrown yourself onto the ground and kissed his feet in gratitude.

"Jaz," You began again, sighing and handing Bradley the now bloodied cloth. You side stepped past Bradley, ignoring the way your body absolutely felt like it was ready to drop dead right in front of everyone.

Jasmine shook her head and only buried herself farther into Bob—like a mole into mounds of dirt. She was mumbling about how she didn’t want to leave her ‘new friend’. And if you weren’t so exhausted you would have cooed at the mention of her making a friend. Especially when her only friend was a boy she’d kicked off the swing set on her first day of daycare.

"I can bring her out for ya." Bob, the man who had mostly stayed silent—listening to the girls ramblings and mumblings, finally spoke in an offered whisper. And then his eyes finally met yours and you could have fainted. Right then and there, if you hadn't reached to brace yourself as quickly as you had, your knees would have fully given out. He looked so beautiful, you'd be surprised if your jaw wasn't on the floor already. And not only was he watching you with such fondness like you hadn’t just beat the shit out of a man not even minutes ago, he was also holding your daughter like she was the most precious thing in this entire world and you didn't know how to function.

God you needed sleep.

"No, no, no thats okay, she's just being stubborn." You forced the words out as you let go of the pool table that you'd braced yourself on, hands coming out as if to wave the thought of him carrying your child out of your mind.

"Wonder where she gets that from." Bradley tried to joke, wanting to put the little fight-debacle behind everyone, a smirk rising when you glared at him again.

Sometimes you hated your twin.

"This is all your fault Bradley, she gets like this because of you." You snapped.

Bradley raised his hands in innocence, "She didn't come outta me." He fired back with shrug and you were sure, as sure as that fuckass mustache he supported on his upper lip, that you could have killed him in that moment.

Bradley, who had just pulled you off a man, Bradley who had grown up with you beating him in every game of football, Bradley who knew from that look that you’d mess him up—had taken a step back, dragging Jake in front of him, because he knew you just might.

"It's no problem," Bob began again, his voice ever soft a n octave lover as he finally stood, "I also think she fell asleep on me."

Bob's arms wrapped around the small girl (who was definitely now pretending to sleep) protectively maneuvering her so that she could lay her head on his shoulder more comfortably. (Bob knew that Jasmine wasn't asleep, but who was he to give up this perfect opportunity of getting to spend more time with you).

Bradley watched, no longer frightened for his life, another smirk creeping onto his lips when Bob walked past him and he watched as Jasmine smirked one of her eyes peaking open to see if anyone believed her.

He had to hide his laughter in a cough, especially when you shot him another glare.

Bob passed you, his arm warm—like he was a living furnace—just barely brushing you as you tried not to stare (you definitely were, mouth slightly ajar, opening and closing like fish). And you just stood there, still, trying to comprehend if he was just being nice or if he was kidnapping your child.

And when his back was fully to you, (those big broad...shoulders..) you made eye contact with your daughter, whose eyes were open again now, playing with Bob’s hair again as she was smirking like she'd won the lottery.

"I'm gonna beat her ass."

"You can't even scold her without crying." Natasha laughed as she tipped her drink back before nudging your shoulder making you shake your head.

She was right of course, you would rather cry than tell her no, perhaps it was horrible, she definitely would turn into a monster, but you were doing your best. (You could beat the breaks off a man for saying nasty things, but if your daughter asked for cookies in the middle of the night, you’d climb out of bed and make them yourself—you had your priorities straight).

“And hey,” Natasha began again, nudging you with the edge of her beer bottle, “At least she picked Floyd, out of everyone, he’s probably the best one to trust with your kid. I mean—” She tilted her head toward the blond mid-debate with Bradley (probably over something stupid), “—imagine if she'd picked Bagman…”

She grimaced dramatically at the thought and gagged for extra emphasis while you tried not to laugh. It wasn't just the way she visibly retracted but also the way you could hear Jake gasping, like the comment had personally reached out and smacked him, that almost sent you over the edge.

"Hey!” He jabbed a finger at himself, lower lip jutting out in an exaggerated pout. “I’d make a great dad.”

You snorted, shaking your head and agreeing with Natasha, forever grateful that your daughter did not like him. Crossing your arms over your chest again, you watched briefly as he argued with Natasha.

“I pray the day you have children Seresin, never comes.” She responded with a tip of her bottle as if cheering to the prospect of him never having children.

Jake shook his head turning towards Bradley as if to say 'do you hear her?' But Bradley just raised his hands claiming he was Switzerland in this conversation.

"Wow,” Jake sighed out dramatically, still pouting but now theatrically wounded like his pride had taken a hit, "You all seriously underestimate how good I am with kids. I’d be the best parent in the world—no, scratch that, the universe.” He was definitely going to pout about this the entire night, and you knew that you didn't have time or the effort to stay and indulge him. So you began to bid your goodbyes knowing that Bob was just paying his tab and you didn't want to make him wait carrying your child.

Bob adjusted Jasmine, she was now curled up against him, little arms draped lazily around his neck, only wiggling slightly so she could lean back to wave Maverick and Penny goodbye, the both of them slightly confused at the sight because everyone knew Jasmine hated being held by anyone who wasn't you, Bradley or Maverick. Yet there she was, resting against Bob like she’d known him her entire life.

Placing cash down, Bob gave Penny a smile muttering for her to keep the change as his gaze kept drifting back towards you—you smiled, warm and unguarded and Bob felt his chest constrict. If he hadn’t been holding your daughter, he might have fainted.

You tried to ignore the way he was looking at you, your chest tightened and your insides turning to mush. You felt like a teenaged girl all over again with a stupid crush. And without a word, the two of you headed out together.

By the time the two of you had gotten to your car, the silence had becoming deafening. Bob honestly didn't know what to say, you also didn't know what to say, and so the two of you listened to Jasmine humming a tune as you unlocked your car, walking to Jasmine’s side of the car, opening the back door and letting him shuffle her into the seat, which she thankfully allowed him too.

Giving her a smile, Bob stepped aside, walking back towards the drivers side, as you took his place and leaned towards her.

"Yknow Jaz, we're not supposed to hang on strangers—you know that." You began softly in a whisper as you brushed her hair from her head before kissing her temple and buckling her in.

Jasmine lifted her eyes as she watched you get her all settled into her carseat, lip biting nervously as she waiting for you to meet her eyes again.

"He just reminded me of Daddy." She whispered, however not quiet enough from the cough that came from the man behind you.

Giving her a soft smile, you pressed another kiss to her forehead before gently closing the back door.

You circled to your side of the car, pulling the door open and leaning in to reach across the seat. With the shift of your tank top rising, your back dimples peaking out, it made Bob's throat dry up as he desperately tried to keep his eyes respectful. But with Bob’s presence just behind your shoulder it made your skin prickle, and you tried to ignored it, focusing on rolling down Jasmine’s window.

She was still humming some tuneless little melody until—

“Mommy I want Cherry Pie,” She announced loudly, punctuating her demand with a light kick to the back of the seat.

You let out a small groan, rolling your eyes affectionately. You’d cursed the day you ever introduced her to that damn song. Now it was the song—one of the only songs—on her personal playlist, and she didn’t have the faintest clue what the lyrics meant.

“Alright, alright…” You clicked the accessory on, switched the stereo to CD, and sure enough, the familiar opening strum of Cherry Pie by Warrant blasted out like a punch to the throat, as if the radio itself was trying to deafen you.

“Fuckin’ Jesus—” You winced, scrambling to turn the volume down while Jasmine giggled like it was the best joke in the world. She probably had been the one to turn it up all the way.

Shaking your head, you backed out from the front seat and shut your door. When you turned, you expected Bob to have slipped back inside to avoid the cool night air. But instead, he was still there, hands in his pockets, cheeks faintly flushed, a small, polite smile on his lips. And the unmistakable look of a man who had definitely been staring at your ass and was now pretending he hadn’t.

For a beat, neither of you said a word. The thump of “She’s my cherry pie,” floated between you, Jasmine singing the pre-chorus slightly off-key in the background, her feet kicking the seat with each beat drop. It was no surprise that your car had as many scuff marks as it did.

You cleared your throat, a smile tugging at your mouth. “Thank you. For, uh… not letting her see that back there in the bar, and for uh bringing her out.” You tipped your head toward the backseat, feeling a warmth creep up your neck. You didn't know why you felt so small underneath his eyes, like you hadn’t just beat up a guy twice the size of you. And as your eyes fawned over him, all you could think about in that moment was what he would look like above you.

“It’s no problem,” Bob said, voice quiet but earnest, swatting that image of him above you instantly away. His smile wasn’t flashy, it was soft, almost shy, but it had a way of burrowing itself somewhere deep in your chest.

You wanted to believe he would’ve done it for anyone. That it wasn’t personal. But the way his eyes lingered just a little too long, the way he shifted his weight like he didn’t want to leave, it made you doubt that.

“I mean it,” You began again, your own body suddenly not wanting to leave either, crossing your arms—not because you were defensive, but because you needed to keep from fidgeting under his gaze.

“I know she can be a little difficult.”

Bob glanced toward Jasmine, who was now drumming the tips of her boots against the seat in perfect time with the song. “She’s great,” He smiled softly, like it was the simplest truth in the world. “And for what its worth, I can see that you’re doing a good job with her.”

The words caught you off guard. Compliments about your parenting always did—but coming from him, they landed heavier than you expected.

You let out a slow breath, your lips curling into a small smile. “Thanks." It was breathy the way it pushed past your lips, as you reached up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear.

“That means more than you think.”

And Bob nodded, but you caught the faintest flicker of something in his expression—like he wanted to say more but didn’t trust himself. The air between you felt heavier, charged in a way you weren’t sure how to name.

"Put a smile on your face ten miles wide"

Jasmine’s voice rose again in the background, half-singing, half-yelling the lyrics, blissfully unaware of the tension simmering just outside her window.

You laughed under your breath, your daughter’s favorite part of "You ain't gonna swing with my daughter no more" continuing in the background as you tilted your head towards him.

“I’m sorry if you get that song stuck in your head now.” Trying not to laugh loudly knowing that it would draw attention to yourself but couldn't help in watching as Bob’s smile widened, his cheeks still lightly flushed as the corners of his eyes crinkling.

"Too late.”

And for another moment, you both stood there, the glossy overhead from the street lamps casting soft shadows across his face. His combed hair slightly tousled from Jasmine’s fingers, and the way his lips twitched slightly in a smile. He was so beautiful—not in a loud, showy way, but in that steady, grounding way that made you think of safety and home. You had not truly been looking for love, not now, especially with the way your daughter and your job kept you busier than anything. But looking at him, seeing how careful he was with your girl, god, he made you want to.

You opened your mouth to say something else, maybe even ask if he wanted to maybe meet up sometime for some coffee or something, when Jasmine’s voice rang out again.

“Mommy!” She interrupted loudly from the backseat, the song ending, just to restart again (because it was the only song on that playlist that actually worked—unfortunately for you).

"He can come for pie too!”

What was with your daughter and wanting to bring this man, this stranger, she had just met home. It was like last week when she tried to bring home that stray cat.

Bob’s brows shot up, as you were sure yours did, while he tried not to look at Jasmine knowing that he wouldn't be able to say no to her.

You turned toward your daughter a soft smile creeping onto your lips, knowing that even if you wanted him to come home for 'pie' he should definitely just go back into the bar with his friends. “Sweetheart, it’s bedtime.” You called softly as if that would sway her. Jasmine just waved her hand as if dismissing the idea that just because it was bedtime didn't mean they couldn't have pie.

“But he likes pie,” She insisted, as if she's known this man her entire life. She leaned across her booster seat, hands trying to free herself as if she could get a better view of him. “You like cherry pie, right Mr. Bob?”

Bob felt his heart jump into his throat trying desperately to not think about the innuendo—especially with the song playing in the back ground. But no matter how hard he tried to think of something else, hell even real cherry pie, all he could think about her you. You and that sweet scent of your shampoo, you and the way you looked so warmly at him, you and the way you took care of your daughter, you and the way you’d handed that man his ass, you and that stupidly beautiful smile you kept giving him.

God he wanted to bury himself in your thighs for hours.

Bob chuckled awkwardly, of course he liked cherry pie, and he definitely would not mind eating your cherry pie right about now either.

“Uh yeah, yeah I do.”

You shook your head, laughing despite yourself, taking the comment in the way that you knew he was thinking about.

Uncrossing your arms you motioned back towards the Hard Deck.

"You better get back in there before my brother thinks I kidnapped you, Bob.” You tried not to blush at the way he kept watching you, a small part of you was wishing he would stay even with you telling him to go back inside.

Bob's gaze lingered on you for a moment longer, like he was debating something, then he gave a small nod, his lips twitching slightly as if the words wanted nothing more than to escape.

"Goodnight.” He added a soft twang onto the way he send your name, your knees feeling instantly like jello.

Then he took a step back, and Jasmine piped up again—louder this time.

"Wait!”

Both of you turned toward the backseat, startled at the sheer volume of her voice. She was leaning forward farther this time, eyes wide and mischievous like she just had the brightest idea ever.

"Mr. Bob, you can’t leave yet, Mommy didn’t say thank you with a hug.”

Your jaw dropped, (you believed it’d fallen to the floor) heart stopping as you tried to not meet Bob's eyes.

“Jasmine—”

Bob shifted awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck.

“It’s okay, she doesn’t have to—”

“She has to,” Jasmine insisted interrupting Bob, and pointing at you like she’d just delivered a state sanctioned order. “’Cause hugs make people happy, right Mommy?”

She was smiling so wide, teeth peeking out as she used the back of her palm to pushed her hair back.

"Jaz, neither of us are sad right now." You tried to reason but she just shook her head and waved her finger as if she didn't believe either of you.

"You could thank him with a smoochy."

You felt the way your face heated up quickly as you glanced back at Bob, he was equally flushed his hand reaching up to scratch the back of his neck nervously, again.

“She’s very… persistent.”

His lips twitched like he was fighting a smile, eyes flickering back to meet yours fully.

“So I’ve noticed.”

The silence stretched just long enough for you to make a choice. Stepping toward him, you unfolded your arms, wrapping them around his neck, raising on your tip-toes to accommodate his height.

He was warm, like a walking furnace, and steady like he could throw you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. His arms slid gently around you with a kind of careful certainty, like he was making sure you knew you could pull away at any moment. But you didn’t. You let him wrap his arms around you, engulfing you in his scent. And you truly never wanted to leave.

Jasmine let out a muffled little 'yay' from the car, but the rest of the world seemed to quiet, the thumping of Cherry Pie fading into a background hum.

When you finally eased back onto the heels of your boots, your hands still rested lightly against his shoulders, and you realized you were close enough to see the flecks of warmth in his blue eyes, the way his glasses slightly fogged from your breath, and the tips of his cheek bones burning so red you believed if you brushed them it'd burn you. He didn’t let go immediately either large hands tapping your hips and the air between you shifted slightly—heavier, charged. Like in that moment you could change the trajectory of whatever this possibly could be.

“Guess that was your official thank you,” You found yourself whispering as you still didn't pull away.

“Guess so,” Bob replied, his voice lower now, as he tried not to look down at your lips. For one dizzy second, you thought he might close the space entirely. Your gaze matched his flicking just barely down to his mouth without meaning to.

You’d almost forgotten about sleep, wanting nothing more than to just engulf this man. But before either of you could cross any line, Jasmine's voice rang out again.

“I'm tired!” Jasmine shouted, breaking the moment clean in half. You stepped back quickly, arms instantly pulling away from him and clenching to your sides as you cleared your throat. “Right, we, uh…we should go.”

Bob nodded, though there was something unreadable in his eyes, like he wasn’t quite ready to leave either. “Sleep well,” He hummed, quieter this time, before leaning around your body and towards the window, smiling at Jasmine. "You too, Jaz, sleep well.”

Jasmine smiled as she waved at him, before tucking herself into the corner happy with herself.

Watching him step back slightly, you tugged your dissertation from your boot before tossing it into the passenger seat and sliding into the driver’s seat. You couldn't get your heart to stop beating so fast that even your daughters singing sounded like it was underwater. Stealing one last glance as he stood there, hands back in his pockets. You absolutely hated that your heart was still thudding like you’d just done something dangerous.

Bob stayed there as you pulled out, trying not to smile to hard as he returned another wave from your daughter. He stayed there for a few more moments, his heart beating in his ears as he tried to control the way his chest felt so warm, his cheeks hot and his brain all foggy like he’d had several beers, when in actuality all he'd drank was cola.

He didn't remember entering the bar again, nor did he remember making his way back over to the group.

"So,"

Bob began to speak, his voice abruptly cutting off everyone's conversation—each of them curious as to what had taken him so long. He began settling into his seat again, brushing the seat awkwardly trying his best to ignore the way the others were waiting on him for the details.

"Uh, Rooster,” Bob avoided Bradley’s eyes, words spilling out, his cheeks warm, “Is your sister…uh..single or..?"

The color of Bob’s face grew more and more red as he cleared his throat.

He knew Bradley could have beat the shit out of him if he wanted too, he knew that asking about his best friends sister was probably crossing some sort of line—but in that moment, Bob physically couldn’t stop himself from asking.

He needed to know.

Bob would never forget the way the group immediately fell silent, like someone had cut the sound from the entire place. Even the hum of the jukebox felt quieter.

Bradley froze mid-swig, his beer hovering halfway to his lips. Natasha’s eyes went so wide you’d think Bob had just announced he was moving to Mars. And Jake's laugh had gotten caught in his throat, his hand coming out to pound on his chest, in an attempt to prevent him from choking on his beer and his tongue.

"Robert Floyd," Bradley lowered his bottle, eyes finding Bob (who was doing everything in his power to avoid). The hair on the back of his neck stood, a shiver inching—from the addressing of his full government name, "Y’ah telling me you’re crushing on my sister?"

Bob blinked, heat continuing to crawl up his neck. He was sure he looked like a tomato, there was no doubt about it.

There was a beat of silence before Bob opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again.

"I…uh…I was…uh…just asking—"

The rest of the night Bob sat, practically strapped to his seat, while his three friends (and specifically an over protective brother) interrogating him relentlessly.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The second time you’d meet Bob Floyd was when Natasha had volunteered him and Bradley (everyone else were all either busy or they were working their shift—Bradley invited himself) over to your place.

You’d off-handedly made a comment, while on the phone with Bradley (he always put you on speaker) and Nat over heard that; because you'd been so busy over the past couple weeks you still hadn't full unpacked your apartment. And Natasha being Natasha, had offered (the boy's) help (while she sits back, gossips, and drinks up your entire liquor cabinet).

And you'd tried, really tried, to deny the help saying that you had it covered. That Jaz’s friend’s father would be taking her to daycare—(another person you had to deal with), and it was your day off (finally) so you’d be home alone, with nothing to do.

But with one threat to invite himself over anyways, from Bradley, Nat convinced Bob to tag along also. (Not that Bob needed much convincing). And how were you supposed to deny the help, even when you hated burdening people, they would have found a way to break in anyways if you said no.

So here you were, ushering them into your small and currently chaotic apartment.

This morning had been rough to say the least. You were running late (as if you were ever on time), having rolled off the couch (because you hadn’t had the time to even put your bed frame together), not even twenty minutes ago—Jasmine shouting up and down the halls about how you were sleeping too long.

You had to give her credit for her little body waking herself up before you, because if she hadn’t awoken you from the deep sleep and possible lovely dream about a certain Lieutenant, Ms Jessel would have had your head on a spike, thats for sure.

Nat was currently in the middle of the argument with Bradley (who was smirking—so you knew he was winning unfortunately) who had one hand holding a bag of (definitely squished) donuts and his other arm wrapped tightly around Bob’s shoulder, keeping him close in an almost locked position like Bob had no were else to go.

Bob, flushed at the neck, lifted his head and raised his hand in a small wave.

You could have just dropped to your knees.

Why did he have to be such a heartthrob.

Letting the door close quickly, you didn’t bother locking it, knowing that Rich would be arriving sooner rather than later. Trying not to actively search for Bob’s eyes (oh who are you kidding, you meet his before you even looked at your brother), a blush crawling up your own neck as you waved back—doing everything in your power to not bite a hole in your cheek.

“Apologies for the mess..” You began, taking your eyes off Bob (who didn’t even try to hide the way he kept staring) and kicking stray shoes into the wall, out of the way.

Bradley let out a laugh as he squeezed Bob once more before pulling away and shuffling the bag of donuts into your face.

“You’re always a mess.” He replied shaking the bag trying to get you to grab it faster.

Sending him a glare you snatched the bag before sticking your tongue out at him.

“You’re such an asshole, y’know that?”

Bradley only smirked as he ventured farther into your apartment like he owned the place.

Turning back towards Nat and Bob, you gave them both a smile.

“Make yourselves at home, I’m kind of running late, so just bare with me, I’m so sorry.” You added quickly apologizing as Nat just shook her head swatting her hand like there was a fly.

“Don’t even worry about it,” She began, “You do you, girl.”

Finally letting out a sigh, like you’d been told you could finally breathe, you smiled.

But almost instantly you remembered Ms Jessel’s angry face before you nodded and then got back to being busy.

Bob slide himself beside Nat who was slouched on your couch, as he let his eyes wander about your apartment.

He could definitely tell that you hadn’t fully unpacked, the multiple boxes scattered around, things laying everywhere—mostly from you rushing this morning—but it was the song playing in the background that made a small smile crawling onto his lips again.

"Jaz can we please listen to something else."

You groaned, opening the donut bag, and shoving the donut Bradley bought for you, towards him knowing you wouldn’t have time to eat it.

“I bought that for you, you—”

You shoved it into his open mouth before grabbing a paper plate, placing Jasmine’s donut on it and then on the counter for her.

“No time.” You called back. (It would either grow stale on your counter or Bradley could eat it).

‘Cherry Pie’ was again blaring through your ears. Jasmine must have gotten ahold of your phone (how she knew how to open your phone and open the playlists was beyond you), putting her favorite song on. It was slightly muffled with her being in the bathroom, but as you quickly moved through the kitchen trying to make it look presentable you couldn’t help but groan at the lyrics you knew were gonna be stuck in your head.

Jasmine was ignoring you, singing her little heart out, as you found your eyes flickering to Bob again.

He was watching you, every time you glanced over, as quickly and subtly as you could (all in while trying to clean, pack your daughters lunch, and what not) and every time your heart skipped a beat.

Seeing him in his uniform had been one thing, but seeing him now in a loose shirt, his hair slightly messy and damp (as if he’d taken a shower before hand—you needed to calm down), and sweatpants. If you weren't so stressed trying to get the four year old ready, you would have dropped to your knees in a heartbeat. Even with an audience. (Of course you would first usher them out, you weren’t a fuckin freak—especially since one of the audience members was your brother).

Bob smiled at you when you met his eyes again and you quite literally sighed in relief, it was like the simple smile had cured all the tension in your shoulders.

"Mommy here you can change," Jasmine called from down the hall, her little feet patting against the cold wood. She was wearing her favorite tank top (the one with the big ass Kool-Aid man on the front—because she thought he was cute) and jean shorts that went to her knees. Her hair was still a mess when she entered the kitchen, eyes tired, toothbrush sticking out of the side of her mouth. Her hand was holding your phone for dear life as she thrusted it into your thigh.

You’d just barely caught it as she let go, skipping back towards the bathroom.

“But y’ah gotta put the American one on now!” She called loudly as she entered the bathroom again.

Bradley was trying to hide his laughter wiping his mouth from the donut, as you glared daggers at him. It was his fault honestly for her being obsessed with music—whenever the two of you would visit, he’d always took her for joy rides in his Bronco, blasting music without a single care in the world.

"What's with Sunshine and her favorite songs having the word 'pie' in them?" Natasha called with a laugh as she leaned forward to see you still glaring daggers at Bradley. Letting out a sigh, you gave up, knowing that you were wasting time. Rubbing your eyes, you tucked a few strands of lose hair behind your ears as you began to scramble around again.

"Just wait til she's asking for Custard Pie, or Country Pie or god forbid Slice of Your Pie." You huffed out with a laugh, flicking the song American Pie on before tossing the phone onto the counter and grabbing a couple shirts off the ground, smelling them and tucking them underneath your arm.

"I think she just loves pie." You added, as you stopped for a moment to look towards Nat and Bob.

Motioning towards the kitchen, you offered them both a tired but warm smile, “If y'all want a drink or something to eat, feel free." You spoke, not bothering to include Bradley knowing that he always made himself at home anyways, even without your permission. ‘Thats what twins do’ he’d shrug.

And then you were off again, not even bothering to wait for Nat’s or Bob’s response, nearly tripping over a Barbie with her head popped off heading towards the dryer room searching for Jasmine's missing socks.

When you had succeeded in your mission for the missing socks, you found yourself glancing down at your beeping watch. You had less than ten minutes before Rich would arrive.

Letting out another sigh, you entered the living room again and now Jasmine was, (hair no longer a mess thanks to Natasha for brushing it), trying to twirl around singing loudly "By by Miss American Pie" like she was on stage performing for the biggest audience.

Bradley had turned to lean against the island table, Bob was leaning his elbows against his knees smiling softly and listening intently and Nat was clapping along.

Even with the wonderful vibe, you felt that awful feeling. That feeling you always got when you were running late, or something just wasn’t going the way you planned. You should have woken up from your alarms, you should have had her ready thirty minutes ago, you shouldn’t be stressing yourself out so much.

And then, it left your lips, before you could slap a hand on it.

"Fuckin’ hell, I'm a terrible Mom."

Blinking the thoughts away quickly, you crouched down in front of her. Jasmine was no longer singing along, her lips pouted as she reached forward to hold your face.

"Y'ah the best Mommy don't say that." She spoke with such conviction as she reached forward to kiss your forehead. And if you weren't currently running late, if you definitely didn't have like ten thousand other things to get done and if you didn't have an audience you would have bursted into tears.

Reaching forward, when she pulled back to smile softly widely, you kissed her cheek, her forehead, and then her nose your heart warming as she giggled trying desperately to pull herself out of your arms.

There was a knock at the door, a dramatic groan leaving you.

Offering Jasmine another smile, a kiss on the forehead again, you patted her foot in a motion to tell her to put her socks on.

"It's open!" You called, the door swinging open as Richard popped his head in—freezing slightly when he saw the living room filled with people he didn’t know.

"Damn," He began calling your nickname, one that he had heard Bradley call you once over the phone—and now apparently thats all he wanted to call you (despite the way you hated how he said it), "You got yourself a full house." Rich chuckled, his hands going onto his waist as he scanned the room, unfamiliar with everyone, besides you and Jasmine of course (and he’d heard of Bradley but had never put face to name).

Each of them scanned him equally confused but you only hummed with a nod, taking your daughter's sweater off and flipping it around before putting it back over her tank top.

"She's almost ready Rich just, just gimme a minute." You called not even looking up at him as he waved his hand making his way into your kitchen as if he too owned the place. It was one thing for Bradley to prance around, but for him? You hated when he did that. But right now, you had more important things to worry about.

And if Jasmine wasn’t too busy trying to glare him down she would have shouted at him to stop drinking their water.

Bob had never been a jealous person before, truly, he found jealousy to be a taxing emotion and he hated the way it made his stomach feel.

But seeing this man just waltz his way into your kitchen, he couldn't deny the way his heart squeezed and his hands twitched just slightly at his side.

"If you get warm, give the sweater to Ms Jessel—Penny’ll skin me alive if you even get a drop of sweat on it." You said flattening out the wrinkles on the sweater before buttoning her pants, and brushing her hair from her eyes.

Standing you brushed your knees, "Get your boots on," You called with a nod of your head before making your way into the kitchen. Three steps and you were in front of Fletcher, taking the glass of water from him and drinking the remaining. That had been the first glass of water you'd had all morning (besides the little bit you used to swish your mouth when brushing your teeth). It wasn't weird for you to drink from the same cup, you drank from the same cup as your four year old, however to everyone else it looked more than friendly.

And you if you weren’t still sleep deprived and desperate for a glass of water, you might have wondered why you even did it.

Natasha’s eyes darted straight to Bob’s face, her brows climbing. She was leaned closer to Bradley, who had pushed himself off the island to settle into a spot beside her, her lips curling slightly into a smirk. "He’s not liking this, is he?" She narrated in a whisper, though not quietly enough, because Bob heard her clear as day.

Bradley was grinning like a cat playing with a toy. "Oh, he’s hating it." He mocked, his eyes watching Bob with amusement.

"I’m fine," Bob muttered, though he hadn’t been asked directly, doing his best to keep his eyes off of you and Rich.

"You’re red," Natasha smirked, "And not in the sunburn way."

Bob ignored them, clenching and unclenching his jaw as he focused instead on the little tug at his pant leg. Jasmine had approached him, looking up at him with big eyes, steadying herself on him as she wriggled one boot on, then the other.

"She already ate, please let Ms. Jessel know that she's been having an iffy stomach lately cause I know the bitch'll force her to eat if she doesn't know." You muttered the words to Rich, your side turned into his body in an attempt to keep your daughter from reading your lips because she had that phase going on currently. But to the others it looked even more personal especially when Rich laughed his hand coming up to brush an eyelash from your cheek.

Bob’s fingers curled into his palms.

Natasha leaned forward, eyes wide, the gossip train beginning again.

"Oh my God, did he just—"

"Yup," Bradley confirmed, popping the ‘p.’ There was a furrowed crease between his brows, especially because he’d been on the receiving end of you ranting about how close Rich tried to be with you. So to see you not even stop him was curious to say the least.

Natasha tilted his head at Bob.

"So ya gonna stand up or…?"

Before Bob could respond, Jasmine made a dramatic gagging sound, her tiny hands clinging into Bob's sweats as you tried not to fully push yourself away from Rich. He was a nice guy, truly, and perhaps you were allowing him to get away with more than you would like. But he also was your daughter’s best friend’s dad—and he was the one taking her to daycare, so letting him think you didn’t absolutely hate his guts was the only plan you currently had.

Sliding your cup onto the counter you ignored your daughters grumbling and the way Rich’s eyes kept watching you as you moved towards the fridge.

"Stop flirting with my Mommy Dick." Jasmine called with a glare as she reached to now hold Bob's hand playing with his fingers. Rich raised an eyebrow as he turned back towards the little girl a furrow creasing his brows.

"Rich," He called correcting her but she rolled her eyes turning back towards Bob.

"He thinks I care." She whispered, however it was loud enough for Rich because she wasn't really trying to whisper and Bob did everything in his power not to laugh at her bluntness.

"Jaz what have I said about sassing Rich, he's being so kind and taking you to daycare so I can spend the day sweating away trying to turn this apartment into a home." You called inside the fridge dragging a lunch pail of a lunch you didn't expect Jasmine to eat, especially with the way her stomach had been acting but just in case. Passing it off to Rich you glanced towards Jasmine who had her nose turned upward in defiance.

"Is Vince waitin' in the car with Barb?" You asked when you knew you wouldn't get your daughter to apologize.

Rich was still staring at you, his arms crossed and his body pressed closer than you had expected so when you turned back to face him you nearly jumped out of your skin.

Laughing nervously, you tried not to feel too bad back away quickly and knelt down in front of Jasmine (Nat and Bradley both watching as if it were their favorite reality tv show). Rich hummed in agreement, saying that they were just waiting in the car as you tried not to groan.

"Fuck, ‘m making you wait I’m sorry, come on, baby, let go of Bob so I can get a kiss before you leave me. Please be good, don’t yell at Ms. Jessel, don’t kick the older boys off the slide, and please for the love of everything good, don’t get into any fights."

Bob’s heart skipped at the brief brush of your fingers against his as you tried to pry Jasmine’s hand from his. She only laughed, hugging his arm tighter.

God she could be such a lovable pain in the ass.

Trying not to manhandle her out of his arm you just leaned forward and kissed her forehead, nose, and cheek before standing again and guiding her towards Rich, who was already at the door.

Jasmine, letting out a dramatic sigh as she finally let go of Bob, ignored the hand Rich offered, glaring at him instead as she strutted out like a four-year-old CEO.

"God, I’m such a mess," you muttered, repeating the words as you rubbed your eyes watching as Roch waved and closed the door behind him.

You turned back to find the three still staring like they’d just watched a soap opera play out in your living room.

Bradley was the first to burst out laughing. His loud and obnoxious tone echoing off your walls. "If I didn’t know any better—" He started, calling you by your nickname, "—I’d say you should take an hour to relax before we even start today."

Natasha folded her arms, grinning mischievously more or less at Bob, as you started towards the dryer room again in need of something to cover your now cold arms—now that you would most likely not be running around the apartment like a headless chicken.

"Or maybe we should let Floyd here help her ‘relax’ instead, seems like he’s got the patience for it."

Bradley giggled like a school girl, pointing between Bob and the door. "I think he’s about two seconds away from volunteering to do every school drop-off for the rest of the year."

"Shut up," Bob mumbled, cheeks heating as he adjusted his glasses, praying that you wouldn't be able to hear them from the dryer room.

“Don’t worry, Bobby, we’re absolutely gonna help you shoot your shot." Bradley’s grin sharpened as he leaned farther into the couch his knees sticking out. Bob felt like he was in a horror movie at that moment just slowly turning around to stare at the way Bradley and Natasha were wearing matching smirks.

"Oh, this is gonna be so much fun."

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

It was only noon when your phone started ringing for the first time that day. Noon was the sort of hour that allowed a sort of lazy permission into your bones—the best time for a nap on your days off, the apartment (still new) smelled faintly of coffee and sawdust because you’d been currently building Jaz’s bed for the better part of the morning.

You usually didn’t get calls around this time, especially since Jaz was in daycare, so the ringtone cutting through the low thump of a power drill felt wrong—like an alarm that woke you from a deep sleep. It bounced off the plaster and the half-painted walls while you were knee-deep in a stack of pine slats and a pile of screws.

Bob was across from you, measuring twice and cursing once. You’d desperately, the entire time, been trying to keep your own thoughts PG with the way he looked helping you construct your daughter’s bed.

Forearms on display, sweat prickling his forehead, and the breath sounds escaping him.

God you’d lost count of the amount of times you’d wanted to jump his bones.

Natasha who had declared, louder than necessary, that Bob was “the absolute best builder, no contest”, was at the sink, loading a blender into the dishwasher, rubbing her hands clean.

Bradley and Reuben (whom he and Mickey—two you’d also just met, arrived a few hours ago, claiming they wanted to help—they just wanted to see Bob fumbling over his words around you) crouched in the living room, Ikea instructions spread between them like a small, folded map; they were arguing in muffled tones about Allen keys. And Mickey, bless him, had managed to wrap himself up in the throw rug and was making animal noises that might be described as ‘dramatic.’

You tilted back on your heels and called out, half expecting someone to shout “Unknown caller!” in reply.

“Hey—Nat? Mickey? Who—?”

The phone kept ringing. One, two, three times the melody continued to ring out. Then there was a thunk and a muffled groan before “Ms. Jessel’s calling!” left Mickey’s lips as he yelped, freeing one arm and holding the phone up like a trophy (he’d somehow managed to roll in the rug and grab the phone off the coffee table).

You could have named yourself the Flash with how quickly you’d launched yourself up, shin slamming into raw metal and a flash of white pain clouding your vision.

Tools clinked around Bob as his eyebrows drew together; he wiped his hands on the back of his pants and followed after you, like he knew how important this call might be and wanted to be there to comfort you in anyway.

You almost did a faceplant over that goddamn headless Barbie that nobody would pick up—a modern-day landmine—but you snatched the phone from Mickey’s awaiting hand and accepted before the fifth ring had time to finish.

Adrenaline made your fingers clumsy; the world spinning slightly as you tried to catch your breath. Damn you really needed to work out more, especially if only jogging into your living room made you dizzy.

“Hello?” Your voice started out unsteady, unsure, “Yes, Ms. Jessel, this is me. Who else—who the fuck else would answer my phone?” The edges of the words were sharp, already annoyed with the tone of the older woman.

She was quiet for a breath that stretched too long. And when she spoke again, it was careful, like she was stepping around something precious. You caught fragments, a word that sounded like “fight,” then another you couldn’t quite place, then “hospital,” and it was all your heart needed to jolt out of sync.

“What?” The single syllable came out like a punch to your chest.

The shift in your tone pulled the room into silence. Natasha paused mid-deep in the silverware drawer, Mickey froze from dusting himself off, Bradley and Reuben stopped scanning pictograms, while Bob’s head tilted as if he could try and listen with his eyes, being a few feet away.

“What the fuck?” You began again and than the rest poured out of you in a white-hot rush. “What the fuck do you mean she’s in the hospital? What the fuck? Is this a joke? What hospital? Who hit my kid? My daughter is four years old. Who the fuck put my girl in the hospital? How could you let this happen? What hospital—tell me what fucking hospital—who—”

Words continued to spill out of you like a knocked over carton of milk. You didn’t let Ms. Jessel get a sentence in; each syllable from the other end was a match and you were pouring fuel over it. You didn’t even realize you’d started moving, jamming one foot into a cowgirl boot while the other tried to keep yourself balanced. Your phone bounced between shoulder and ear as you tugged, trying to wrestle on a jacket, and doing your absolute best to not to trip on the chaotic evidence of a life mid-renovation: a coil of extension cord, a half-open paint can, crayons rolling under the sofa.

“And don’t even tell me you can’t give me the name of the kid who hit my kid because of some rights or whatever.” Your voice fraying into a shout that made even Bradley shutter. “I’m gonna find those parents and—” The sentence sputtered; you didn’t finish the violent promise because the next one took over. “What hospital where is she—”

Ms. Jessel, finally allowed a breath, managed two words: “Children’s—ER.”

The room went from crowded wood and human bodies to a tiny, echoing space inside your skull. You shouted another profanity, wishing the worst on the poor woman as you jammed the screen off with the pad of your thumb, more because you needed silence. For a second you just stood there, chest piston-sharp, trying to form a coherent thought, as you rubbed your eyes.

Someone made a noise behind you—a soft sound that could’ve been sympathy or fear. You shoved your phone into your boot, keys into your hand, and turned, a storm of movement and apologies filtering past your tongue.

“I’m so sorry, I gotta go pick up Jaz from the hospital,” You sighed, head already forming a headache as you turned towards the group of people who’d only come to help. “I don’t know anything as of now, Ms. Jessel wouldn’t loosen her lips, but, just—some kid hit her hard enough to the point they had to take her in. If you want to stay, eat, finish the bookshelf, whatever you’d like, please be my guest. But I gotta go, if you need to go, thats totally fine, I just gotta go.”

You tried to massage the rawness out of your throat, to make the edges gentler so you wouldn’t blow up on them for no reason. But that didn’t stop your hands from trembling as you shoved yourself out the door. Not bothering to lock it knowing Bradley had a key and that he would lock up for you.

They all watched you for a beat that felt too long and brittle. Like their brains were trying to catch up to the sputtering mess you’d become.

Bradley was the first to look over at Bob, whose face was unreadable for a second.

“You gonna go or what?” Bradley asked, voice low as if knowing that if he went after you, you’d definitely bite his head off—but he also knew that you shouldn’t be alone. And as angry as you might be, you’d never bite Bob’s head off (and he also really didn’t want you to drive pissed off by yourself).

Bob was moving before he could get an answer out.

At the car you tried to breathe like a normal person. Head down on the steering wheel, counting to ten and down to one and then to ten again. Your hands were clutching the sides of the steering wheel not even bothering to care about how your fingers were pulling lightly on your hair painfully.

And than a beat later, the passenger door opened and a warm shape slid in beside you. You blinked up, mascara speckled and stupid—you hadn’t even noticed tears were falling down your cheeks, to find Bob buckling his seatbelt with the same methodical calm he used to put the planks together on your daughters bed. His scent of faint sawdust and coffee filtered though the small space making your heart flutter slightly, even with the fear and confusion fitting your mind.

“So, we going or what?” He asked quietly, and there was none of the careful distance you sometimes saw in men who didn’t know what to do with other people’s panic, there was only a steady, low offering.

You wanted to say no. You wanted to tell him to go back inside and be with his friends (even though they were all in your apartment) and that you could do this—you’d done it before, been there for her despite her tendencies, you could and would have smashed every bureaucracy to get back to your kid back—but the truth was small and simple and immediate. You hadn’t eaten breakfast. You were furious and thin as glass. You needed someone who would not hand you tissues and platitudes, someone who would climb in the car and not ask for anything in return.

“Figured you’d need some emotional support,” Bob added, softer now, with a smile that didn’t try to fix you as much as to keep you from breaking. God he was so considerate.

You let out a breath that could have been a laugh or a sob.

“Yeah, you have no idea.”

“Want me drive?” He offered his head tilting towards the way you were gripping the steering wheel like it was a lifeline.

You shook your head quickly, the movement abrupt and causing an ache to form in the crook of your neck. “No. I just need to get there.” Your hands found the wheel again, grip hard and precise.

And while the city rushed past in a blur of late-morning light and impatient horns, one thought kept cycling through your mind like a stuck record: you just prayed she was okay.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

You carried her, bruised face laid gently on the side of your shoulder. She wasn't asleep, her eyes were opened just a crack as she watched Bob follow behind them. He looked so sorrowful, saddened at the state that Jasmine was in and it broke the little girls heart. Reaching forward she offered her hand to him, and Bob took it giving her a small smile as he squeezed it.

You tilted slightly to jam your key into the lock before using the toe of your boots to nudge it open, the coolness of the dark room inviting the trio of y'all as you stepped aside to let Bob in (him letting go of Jasmine's hand—despite her grumble) before locking the door behind you.

You hadn't expected him to stay the entire time, but seeing as he hadn't left your side you figured offering him a warm drink and a towel to dry his wet hair would suffice.

Bob followed you, closely, his hand making sure that you wouldn’t fall over in the dark apartment.

Bradley and the others had left the apartment cleaned, they’d actually finished up building everything.

You couldn’t help the tears the streamed steadily down your cheeks. You were gonna make them cookies, cupcakes, individual cakes, and bring them to them. You might even make them all pies as well.

It was still silent, as you entered her room and shuffled Jasmine into her newly made bed. She hummed head hitting the pillow gently as she snuggled into the warm blanket.

You tried not to coo as you reached down to kiss her forehead.

The two, Bob and you, exited the room, leaving the door a crack as you let out a shaky breath.

“Are you okay?” Bob was quiet, gentle, as he leaned slightly into your frame. You wanted to hug him so badly, just a hug right now would probably make everything better.

“I’ll be okay.” You mumbled back as you turned to try and give him a smile, “It’s her I’m worried about.” You added and Bob nodded, his hand coming out to guide you into the kitchen.

It was silent again between the two of you, Bob leaning against the counter as he crossed his arms.

Reaching into a cabinet, you grabbed a soft towel, before stepping towards Bob. Motioning for him to move slightly, you pushed yourself onto the counter, sitting comfortably before beckoning him to approach you again.

Bob flushed softly and you tried not to smile at him, opening your legs just slightly so he could step forward more.

Using the towel you began to dry his hair, using extra care to be careful of his glasses as you tried to not notice the way he was watching you so carefully.

It was so intimate, so close, and you’d tried to not make it weird. But holding his head, gently patting the dampness away, and staring into those soft blue eyes, it was a good thing you were sitting because you could have melted into the floorboards at any moment.

After finishing the drying, you tucked his now damp hair behind his ears and set the towel down beside you.

Bob whispered a ‘thank you’ as he leaned slightly closer his hands resting on the counter right beside your hips, fingers rubbing the skin that was bare, your shorts riding up slightly.

He was careful, gentle, slow and polite as he leaned in. You watched him, his eyes flickering down to your lips before into your eyes as if to tell whether or not you felt the same way.

The moment your lips met it felt like there was a fire that exploded in your chest, the warm engrossing you as you arched into him chasing the feeling.

"Gotta be quiet, wouldn't want little Miss Sunshine to walk in on us, huh?" His whisper sent chills down your spine, the prickling sensation making you bite your lip to stop a smirk as you leaned in again.

Bob's hand gently raised, fingers ghosting across your cheekbone bringing your chin in farther so he could kiss you again deeper as his warm body searched out for yours.

You'd almost gotten lost in him if it wasn't for the sound of your daughter.

"I would like a brother please." Was all she commented, waddling past with her nightgown halfway off from how she'd been sleeping as she walked in between the two of you grabbing her step stool and getting herself a glass of water. It was so domestic, just the way she didn’t even react fiddling with her strawberry shortcake mug.

You tried not to laugh, your lips pursed together as you pushed some distance between the two of you. Bob was flushed his glasses slightly fogged as he rubbed the back of his neck.

Jasmine filled her mug of water, stepped down and didn't even glance back at the either of you before she started back towards her room.

"I wanna name him too, so hurry up."

And then she was gone like a little thief in the night and Bob did his best to try and quiet the giggles that escaped him, reaching forward to play with the hem of your sleep shorts.

"What do you think, shouldn’t we hurry up?" His smirk was wicked as he pulled your waist forward capturing your lips again swallowing the giggle you let out.

"Hmm yeah, yeah I think we should."

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