#fargo fx

[fysamspruell]

[fysamspruell]

[fysamspruell]

[kittywisp]

[thoroughlymimi]

Under The Skin : Part Eight - Necrosis

Gator Tillman x Reader

18+ | minors do not interact

Word Count: 12670 

Summary: Hard-won healing, unconditional love, and Maggie Heaton reminding everyone exactly why nobody messes with her people. 

Note: When I tell you that uploading this has been the most STRESSFUL thing in my life. My laptop is dying, and it has been a chore, but alas, here I am. I will prevail. Be fed my little loves... Mimi <3

Masterlist

Necrosis 

Translation: Tissue Death 

From nekros, meaning ‘dead body or corpse’ and the suffix -osis, meaning ‘a state or condition’. The localised death of living cells. 

The tapping pulled you gently from sleep. For a moment you lay still, listening. The house hadn't quite woken yet. No children charging around upstairs. No distant clatter from the kitchen. Just the soft, deliberate tapping coming from your porch door.  

You pushed back the covers and crossed the room, drawing the curtain aside. Gator stood on the porch, the sight of him woke you properly. He looked exhausted. His uniform was still on, his hair was mussed beneath where his hat had clearly been, and there were shadows beneath his eyes that suggested he hadn't slept at all. 

You unlocked the door and pulled him inside. 

"Hey, I didn't know you were coming? You didn't text. You okay?" 

He stepped into your room, the cool morning air following him in. Up close he looked worse. Tense. Drained. He simply shook his head. Concern settled in your chest. 

"What's wrong?" 

"Um, I need t'speak t'Maggie." 

"Yeah, okay, yeah, I can get her." 

You'd barely turned towards the door when his hand closed gently around yours, stopping you. His grip wasn't tight, but it was enough to make you look back. 

"Can y'stay with me?" 

You softened immediately. 

"Course, let me get her, just go sit in the office, I'll come back." 

You kissed him softly before slipping out into the hallway. The Big House was still quiet as you hurried across the living room towards Maggie's bedroom. You tapped against the door lightly. 

"Maggie?" 

For a few seconds there was only silence. You were just reaching for the handle when the door opened. Maggie stood there already awake, an expensive cream silk robe tied neatly around her waist and fluffy pink slippers on her feet. Her hair was still a little tousled from sleep. 

"Jesus, Baby, the house burning down? Why you up so early?" 

The teasing disappeared almost as quickly as it arrived. She took one look at your face and straightened slightly. 

"Gator's here, he says he needs to speak to you. I dunno, he looks… something's wrong." 

She didn't ask another question. She simply nodded and stepped into the hallway beside you. 

"He's in the office." 

"He say what it was about?" 

You shook your head as you crossed the quiet living room together. 

"No, just knocked on my door looking like he hasn't slept." 

You turned into the office. Gator wasn't sitting where you'd expected him to be. He was pacing slowly across the rug, one hand dragging repeatedly through his already dishevelled hair. He stopped the moment you walked in. Maggie moved behind the desk and took her usual seat. 

"You alright, Gator?" 

You crossed the room first, slipping your hand into his before gently steering him towards one of the armchairs. He sat, though only because you encouraged him to, his eyes never leaving Maggie. 

"M'sorry, I didn't know what t'do, been thinkin' bout it all night, I jus', I dunno I jus', he's gonna be mad that I told ya, but I couldn't not tell ya." 

"Gator, tell us what?" You asked. 

He reached into his vest and pulled out a thick stack of folded papers, passing them across the desk. 

"Dad's been hidin' reports, not filin' 'em. Some lady came in yesterday. Was only listenin' 'cause she mentioned a loan," his eyes found yours. "Y'said Maggie was lookin' at a loan company." 

"Yeah, we think they've been targeting people at the Grace Foundation." 

He nodded once before looking back to Maggie. 

"Also, I saw who he's hidin' them for." 

Maggie paused halfway through the first report and looked up; Gator unlocked his phone and held it out across the desk. 

"I didn't know, Maggie, I swear. I didn't have nothin' t'do with it, I ain't ever hidden nothin'..." 

"I know, Gator." 

The reassurance landed instantly. Some of the tension left his shoulders and you reached for his hand beneath the desk. He took it without hesitation, weaving his fingers through yours. 

"Y'know the guy?" 

Maggie handed the phone back. 

"Marshall Beaumont. I know him." 

"Marshall?" You frowned. "As in… poker money Marshall?" 

"The very same." 

Beside you, Gator's grip tightened. 

"I didn't know anythin', I only found 'em yesterday 'cause that woman came in an' dad was actin' strange, if I had known..." 

Maggie looked at him with a softness that she reserved for very few people. 

"I know, Gator. I know you didn't have anything to do with it. You are not your daddy, that's why you're sat here showing me these." 

You squeezed his hand gently. Only then did you understand why he'd looked so exhausted standing outside your bedroom. He hadn't just lost sleep. He'd spent the entire night deciding between the man who'd raised him and the people who had become his family. 

Your mind drifted back to that evening in the bath, when he'd quietly admitted that Roy was all he had. He'd been wrong then. He had you. He had Maggie. He had this family. And sat here in the office, handing over those reports despite knowing exactly what it might cost him, this felt like Gator choosing all of you. 

Maggie gathered the reports into a neat pile before sliding them beneath the notepad on the corner of her desk. Then she looked back at Gator. 

"Thank you, Gator. I'll deal with it." 

"Do y'want the texts? I can send 'em?" 

She shook her head. Gator hesitated, clearly still trying to work out where he fit into all of this. 

"D'you... need me t'like.... be..." 

Again, Maggie shook her head. 

"I won't tell him it was you and you definitely don't need to be here for it. I can handle Junior." 

There wasn't even a hint of uncertainty in her voice. Whatever conversation she was about to have with Roy, she'd already decided exactly how it was going to go. 

She glanced towards you and gave a small nod. Understanding, you squeezed Gator's hand before standing. You gave him a gentle tug and, after only the briefest hesitation, he rose with you, his fingers still threaded tightly through yours. 

The office door clicked shut behind you, leaving Maggie with the reports, while you led Gator back to your bedroom. Once inside, you closed the door quietly before turning to him. He was still carrying the weight of the morning on his shoulders. You wrapped your arms around him. He folded into you, burying his face against your shoulder with a tired sigh that sounded as though he'd been holding it in for hours. 

"This why you were avoiding me last night?" 

"Weren't avoidin' ya," he murmured against you. "Jus' got in m'head. He's my dad, y'know?" 

"I know," you tipped your head back just enough to kiss him softly. "I know. You could have come to me though, you didn't even have to tell me, you could've just... been here. With me. At least then you might have slept." 

"I know, m'sorry." 

You kissed him again before your hands found the zip of his deputy vest. 

"You don't have to be sorry. C'mon, let's get you to bed. You look exhausted." 

He didn't argue. You eased the heavy vest from his shoulders, followed by the rest of his uniform until he was left in nothing but his T-shirt and boxers. Every movement seemed slower than usual, dulled by a night without sleep. 

When you climbed beneath the covers together, he came to you without hesitation. His head settled against your chest while you curled yourself around him, one hand threading gently through his hair, the other still laced with his. It reminded you a little of Nicky; the first few weeks after Madison had passed, he'd get nightmares and you'd climb into bed with him, twirling your fingers through his curls until he drifted off. 

For a while neither of you spoke. His breathing was still uneven, sleep tugging at him but refusing to take hold. You combed your fingers slowly through his hair. 

"...Logan told me something today. He told me it wasn't him who used to leave the headphones on the bleachers during football practice. It was you." 

He was quiet for a moment before giving the smallest shrug against your chest. 

"Yeah." 

"...Yeah?" 

"Y'd get bored." 

A smile tugged faintly at your mouth. 

"So your solution was to leave me your headphones?" 

"Headphones... iPod... Game Boy if m'iPod was dead." He shrugged again. "Whatever I had." 

You couldn't help laughing softly. 

"Gator..." 

"What?" 

"I spent years thanking Logan, I handed them back to Logan. Why didn’t you never say anything?" 

He was quiet for so long you wondered if he'd already fallen asleep. Finally he murmured, almost confused by the question. 

"...Didn't do it so you'd thank me," his thumb lazily traced once across the back of your hand. "Just hated knowin' you were sat up there on y’own, waitin' on us." 

You shook your head, smiling to yourself as your fingers continued their slow path through his hair. 

"...I can't believe I never knew." 

He hummed sleepily. 

"Didn't matter if y'knew." 

"It matters to me." 

Another sleepy shrug. 

"Mattered t'me that y'weren't lonely." 

The words were so quiet you almost thought you'd imagined them. You felt something inside your chest pull tight. All those afternoons. Walking out to the bleachers because there was nowhere else to go. Finding the headphones already looped around the rail. Thinking Logan had remembered you. 

All along, it had been Gator. 

He'd never needed you to know. He'd just wanted you looked after. 

Before you could think of anything to say, his breathing finally deepened against your chest. His grip on your hand loosened, the tension slowly melting from his body until, at last, sleep claimed him. 

You still didn't know exactly what had gone through Gator's mind overnight, but you knew what it must have cost him to walk into Maggie's office. He'd spent years believing that, whatever Roy did, loyalty meant standing beside him. This morning he'd chosen something else. 

He'd chosen you. 

・❥・ 

The television murmured quietly from the living room. Some cartoon Maggie couldn't have named was keeping the younger children occupied while Ford drifted somewhere between them and the kitchen, never quite sitting still for more than a minute. The Big House felt settled in that familiar way it always did between breakfast and lunch, everybody close enough to hear one another without necessarily sharing the same room. 

Maggie leaned against the counter with a mug of coffee, one hand wrapped around the warmth while the fingers of the other tapped idly against the ceramic. Her attention rested across the room. 

You were sat at the dining table surrounded by organised chaos. The biker refurbishment had gradually claimed almost every inch of the tabletop; plans spread open beside your laptop, folders stacked into neat piles, notes scribbled in margins only you would ever understand. Every so often you'd type something, reach for another sheet or pause to read through a quotation before carrying on. 

It reminded Maggie a little of herself. The way you disappeared into the work. 

She found herself thinking about Gator. She'd always had a soft spot for the boy. Truthfully, she'd expected far less from him. A child raised by Roy Tillman had every reason to become another Roy Tillman. Yet somehow Gator had grown into a decent man despite it. 

Now he had you. Maggie wasn't naïve enough to believe you'd changed him overnight. But she'd watched enough people over the years to know the difference between a man trying to become better and one content to stay the same. 

Those reports had proved it. She doubted Gator would have walked into her office a month ago. The loyalty he'd carried towards Roy all his life would've won. Guilt had a habit of looking an awful lot like devotion. Then you'd quietly made yourself part of his life, Maggie suspected you'd never even realise what you'd done. 

It reminded her of Wayne. Not because Gator was much like him. Wayne had been louder. More confident. Entirely too fond of hearing his own voice. But every now and then Maggie caught Gator watching you when you weren't looking, and it was the same expression she'd spent years pretending not to notice on Wayne's face. Like you were something extraordinary. Like he still couldn't quite believe he'd somehow ended up with you. 

Wayne had always looked at Maggie that way. It was a rare thing. The sort of love that never really settled into habit. The sort that kept choosing the same person every morning. 

A knock at the front door interrupted the thought. You looked up from your laptop at exactly the same moment Maggie lifted her head, but Ford reached the door first. 

"Sheriff, we expecting you?" 

"Maggie is." 

Ford stepped aside, nodding towards the kitchen. Maggie held Roy's gaze for a beat before setting her coffee down on the island. Then she turned and walked towards the office. She didn't ask him to follow. She knew he would. 

The office door closed behind them with a soft click. Maggie crossed to her desk and took her usual seat, waiting while Roy settled himself into the armchair opposite. To her surprise, he removed his hat, placing it beside him along with his phone before leaning back. 

"This a business meeting or a casual one, Maggie?" 

For the briefest moment, irritation flared. Roy had always possessed that particular brand of confidence that came from believing he was the smartest man in the room. It wasn't unique to him. His father had carried exactly the same swagger. Maggie had known Roy Tillman Senior well enough over the years. He'd been just as arrogant, just as convinced the world revolved around him. The difference was that Senior had actually been clever enough to support it. Junior simply thought he was. 

She leaned back in her chair, refusing to let the annoyance reach her face. 

"Depends how you wanna play it, Junior. Want to tell me about a loan company, causing trouble, repossessing houses?" 

She watched his jaw tighten almost imperceptibly. There it was, the pause. Maggie had spent the better part of sixty years listening to people lie. There was always a moment where they decided which version of the truth they were willing to tell, she could practically hear Roy planning his next line. 

"Ain't heard about no repossessions." 

"No? So you're not getting reports about people taking out loans, repayments doubling?" 

"You in need of a loan, Maggie?" 

Maggie had heard that trick before too, humour. People had a habit of reaching for it when they felt the conversation slipping away from them. A joke changed the rhythm of a room. Bought them a second or two to think. Invited everyone else to stop taking things quite so seriously. 

It was a shame Junior was about as funny as he was clever. 

She wasn't about to tell him where she'd gotten her information. The image of Gator sitting opposite her in this very office, looking exhausted. Like every word had cost him something. She remembered the way he'd stumbled over his sentences, apologising before he'd even told her what he'd found, terrified she'd somehow think less of him for bringing evidence against his own father. No. She wasn't going to reward that courage by selling him out. This conversation could happen perfectly well without Gator's name ever leaving her lips. 

"I've got several clients at the Foundation who have only ended up there due to these loans. Some of whom, categorically tell me they spoke to you. Filed a report." 

"Ain't much I can do 'bout all that Maggie. People should pay their bills." 

She ran her tongue thoughtfully across the inside of her lip. There it was again, that effortless ability to reduce somebody’s troubles because they weren’t something Roy faced himself. A quiet huff of laughter escaped her. 

"You always have been a piece of shit, Junior. Fine, you don't wanna tell me, I'll find out for myself." 

Roy reached for his hat and settled it back onto his head. 

"You know I do what I can for folks, but I can't pay off the whole county's debts, Maggie." He smiled. "Maybe you could." 

"You're walking a thin line, Junior. Don't forget who put you where you are." 

Roy's shoulders stiffened almost imperceptibly. His jaw worked once, the only outward sign that she'd managed to land the blow exactly where she'd intended. For a moment Maggie wondered whether he might turn back, but instead he simply tipped the brim of his hat in a gesture that fell somewhere between respect and insolence before letting himself out. Maggie let out a slow breath. 

Fuck Roy Tillman. 

She pushed herself up from behind the desk, intending to head back to the kitchen, when something caught her eye. Roy's phone was still sitting on the armchair where he'd left it beside his hat. She picked it up, weighing it thoughtfully in her hand before the corner of her mouth lifted into the faintest smile. 

Well, there was no reason to go chasing after him. Soon enough he'd be halfway back to town, patting his pockets and cursing under his breath while trying to remember where he'd left it. She'd give it back, of course. Eventually. But there was something deeply satisfying about the thought of Roy Tillman spending a few hours mildly inconvenienced. 

Petty? Perhaps. But Maggie found she could live with that. 

・❥・ 

The roads were almost empty by the time Gator finished his shift. Darkness had settled over the county hours ago, the headlights of his truck cutting a lonely path through familiar roads as he drove home. He hated the late shift. Always had. There was something about finishing work when everybody else was already settling into bed that made the whole day feel longer than it really was. Mostly, though, he hated that it meant saying goodnight to you through a phone screen. 

He'd already sent the text while he was at the station. A quick Sleep well, Baby. Love you. It wasn't enough. He'd much rather have driven to the Big House, climbed into bed beside you and fallen asleep with you tucked against him. 

He rubbed a hand slowly down his face before lowering the driver's window, letting the cool night air rush into the cab. It helped a little. His phone buzzed against the centre console. For half a second he smiled, already expecting your name. Instead, the screen read: 

Roy: Ranch. Now. 

The smile disappeared; his stomach sank with a familiarity that was almost biologically ingrained. He knew exactly what this was. It wasn't the first time Roy had summoned him like this. Never with an explanation. Never with a request. Just an instruction and the expectation that Gator would obey it. 

He could ignore it. The thought crossed his mind. He could keep driving. Turn towards the Heaton Ranch instead. You might still be awake. He could climb into your bed, wrap his arms around you and pretend none of this existed. 

Part of him wanted to. The other part knew he wasn't going to. He'd made his choice the moment he'd walked into Maggie's office carrying those reports. 

Whatever Roy Tillman had become, he was still Gator's dad. Somewhere deep inside him, buried beneath years of disappointment and resentment, was a little boy who still believed fathers deserved loyalty. Roy certainly believed they did. Gator had gone against him. He'd chosen Maggie. Chosen you. Chosen what he knew was right. Choices had consequences. 

Besides, disappointing Roy wasn't exactly new. He'd been doing that his whole life, and he'd learnt to take the punishment that came with it. He could try to delay it, sure, but there was no avoiding it. 

By the time the Tillman Ranch came into view, any lingering hope that he might have been wrong had disappeared. The place was quiet; no guards lingered outside the house; no ranch hands were finishing late jobs. The house itself sat in darkness, every window black against the night. 

Only the barn was lit. One solitary light spilled through the open doorway, casting a pale square across the dirt yard. Gator parked beside the cattle fence and switched off the engine. For a moment he simply sat there, staring towards the barn. 

Eventually he climbed out but each step felt heavier than the last as he crossed the yard towards the waiting light. 

The barn felt cavernous. Empty stalls. Stacked hay bales. Machinery sitting idle beneath dust sheets. The silence only made Roy's presence feel larger somehow. He was waiting exactly where Gator knew he would be, hands hooked through his belt, posture relaxed enough that anybody passing by might have mistaken him for a man simply ending another day's work. Gator knew better. 

As he stepped inside, Roy shifted just enough to place himself between Gator and the barn door. 

"I knew you were stupid, but I didn't peg you for a traitor," Roy grunted. 

Gator opened his mouth; Roy never gave him the chance. 

"Fancy yourself a Heaton, do ya? Knew you were fucking the girl but didn't realise you'd taken her last name as well." 

He removed his hat with unhurried precision, hanging it on the hook beside the door before turning back around.  

Gator felt his jaw tighten. It wasn't what Roy thought of him, that hadn't mattered for a long time. It was the way he talked about you, reducing everything the two of you had built together into something cheap enough to sneer at. A familiar anger stirred in his chest before he forced it back down again.  He'd learnt a long time ago there was no point rising to Roy's bait. Not when Roy had already decided how the conversation was going to end. 

"Got nothing to say for y'self? I got you that damn badge, now you're using it to play spy, on me, in my own house?" 

Roy started towards him. It was remarkable how quickly Gator's body remembered things his mind wished it could forget. His shoulders tightened, his stomach knotted. Somewhere deep inside him he was already waiting for the first blow before Roy had even reached him. 

"Shit that doesn't concern you." 

Gator kept his eyes lowered, another lesson learnt long ago. Sometimes looking Roy in the eye only made him angrier. A hand clamped around his jaw anyway, rough fingers digging into his chin as Roy forced his head upwards. 

"Such a fuckin' disappointment, boy. Ain't no wonder your mama ran." 

The words stung, not because Gator believed them anymore but because Roy always knew exactly which wounds had never healed properly. The punch came a split second later, driving hard into his stomach. Air rushed from his lungs as pain folded through his middle, but he stayed upright through instinct more than determination. 

Roy had some rules; faces healed too publicly but broken ribs didn't invite questions from anyone, bruises were better hidden. 

"Couldn't just keep your mouth shut?" 

The second punch landed against his ribs. Pain shot around his side, and he sucked in a sharp breath through clenched teeth. Roy smiled as though he'd been hoping for exactly that. 

"You know, she didn't even say it was you. I just knew." 

Another fist buried itself in his gut. Gator doubled slightly before forcing himself straight again, his breathing already becoming shallow against the ache spreading through his torso. 

"Made your way into Maggie Heaton's good books have ya? Protected by her now? Enough you've become her fuckin' dog?" 

Roy caught the front of his shirt this time, bunching the fabric in his fist and dragging him forwards until they were almost nose to nose. 

"This family not good enough for ya?" 

The punch caught him clean across the jaw, his head snapped sideways, copper flooding his mouth where his teeth split the inside of his cheek. 

"My name not good enough for ya?" 

Another followed before he'd properly recovered from the first. Gator rocked backwards, steadied himself and said nothing. He'd spent most of his life learning that Roy eventually got bored, you just had to survive long enough for him to reach that point. 

By the time Maggie turned onto the Tillman Ranch, she already knew something was wrong. The place was too quiet. Ordinarily the ranch was alive regardless of the hour. Armed guards wandering between the house and the outbuildings. Trucks arriving. Engines idling. Roy had built the place to feel occupied, to remind anyone passing through that they were being watched. 

Tonight there was nothing, even the house sat in darkness. Only the barn glowed against the night. 

Maggie pulled the Yukon to a stop and killed the engine. For a moment she simply looked through the windscreen, taking it all in. Then she reached across to the glovebox, retrieved her pistol and checked it with practised ease. Roy's phone disappeared into the pocket of her jacket before she climbed out into the cool night air. 

The second the driver's door shut, she heard it. Roy. His voice carried across the yard, muffled by timber walls but unmistakable all the same. 

"I raised you, boy. This the thanks I get?" 

Maggie was already moving. She crossed the yard, the gravel crunching beneath her shoes. The shouting grew clearer with every step until she reached the barn door, left slightly ajar. Through the gap she could see them. 

Roy's fist crashed into Gator's side with enough force to make him double over. For a second it looked as though he might collapse completely, but Roy caught hold of the front of his shirt, hauling him upright again as though he wasn't yet finished with him. 

Something cold settled inside Maggie, she pushed the door open just enough to slip through. Roy's arm was already drawing back again. The click of the safety echoed through the barn and Roy froze. Maggie stood with both hands steady on the pistol, the barrel pressed against the back of Roy’s head. 

"Lay another hand on him and I'll shoot, Junior." 

Roy turned. He looked from the gun to Maggie before letting out a short, disbelieving laugh. Slowly, almost mockingly, he lifted both hands away from Gator and took a step backwards. 

Maggie didn't lower the weapon; her eyes flicked briefly towards Gator. He was bent over slightly, one hand wrapped around his ribs, blood running steadily from his nose onto the dirt floor. 

"You good? Get up." 

He nodded, it wasn't convincing, but it was enough. As he straightened, Maggie reached into her pocket and tossed him the Yukon keys. 

"Get in the car." 

He caught them and disappeared through the barn door, leaving Maggie alone with Roy. She waited until she heard the distant slam of the passenger door before looking back at him. The gun never moved, but she reached to pull Roy's phone from her pocket. She tossed it onto the dirt between them. 

"If your daddy could see you now. What a fucking disgrace," she spat. 

The words landed exactly where she'd intended. For the first time that evening, Roy's composure slipped. His jaw tightened, something angry and almost embarrassed flashing across his face at the mention of the only man he'd ever truly wanted approval from. 

It was all the opening Maggie needed, she stepped forward once and swung. The butt of the pistol cracked sharply against Roy's cheekbone, splitting the skin and sending him staggering sideways before he could recover. When he looked back at her, the gun was already trained on him again. 

"You lay a hand on that boy again and I won't let you walk away." 

Maggie backed slowly out of the barn. She climbed behind the wheel and shut the door with deliberate calm. For a moment she simply gripped the steering wheel, her breathing measured, refusing to look across at Gator. 

She'd seen enough. The blood running from his nose. The way he'd been holding his ribs. The slight tremor in his hands as he'd caught the car keys. Worse, the fact he took every punch like this was all too familiar. How had she missed it? The question arrived with startling force. 

Gator had been around this family for years. Sunday lunches. Football games. Birthdays. Christmases. She'd watched him become a man and never once stopped to wonder why he always seemed to carry himself like somebody waiting for permission to exist. She'd seen bruises often enough, dismissed them as roughhousing with Logan or the hazards of ranch work or police work. God knew she'd never imagined... 

The engine rumbled into life; headlights swept across the barn just as Roy stepped back outside. Without taking her eyes from the windscreen, Maggie spoke quietly. 

"Don't give him the satisfaction of letting him see you cry, Gator." 

She pulled away before Roy could take another step, the tyres throwing dirt behind them as the Yukon surged down the ranch road. Neither of them spoke, the silence stretched all the way to the county road. Only once the Tillman Ranch had disappeared completely in the rear-view mirror did Maggie pull into a small lay-by beneath a stand of cottonwoods. She switched the engine off. The sudden quiet rang in her ears. 

Then she undid her seatbelt. She didn't hesitate, leaning across the centre console, she wrapped both arms around Gator and pulled him against her with all the force of a mother reclaiming a frightened child. 

He broke instantly. The first sob tore out of him before he'd even managed to return the embrace. Then another. Years of restraint seemed to collapse all at once as he buried his face against her shoulder, every breath catching painfully in his chest. Maggie simply held him tighter, one hand cradling the back of his head while the other stroked slowly through his hair. 

She'd held Brooks like this after Wayne died, Ford too. Baby, more times than she could count. 

"How long?" She asked quietly. 

It took Gator several attempts before he managed to answer. His voice was muffled against her shirt, shaking almost beyond recognition. 

"Forever." 

The single word hollowed something out inside her. She kept stroking his hair for another few moments before gently drawing him back just enough to see his face. Blood had dried beneath his nose. Tears had carved clean tracks through the dust on his cheeks. Maggie brushed them away with her thumb as though he were still ten years old instead of a grown man wearing a deputy's badge. 

"I wish you told me, Gator. I would've protected you." 

The guilt settled heavily in her chest. She prided herself on seeing people, on noticing what others overlooked. Yet Gator had walked through her front door for years carrying this alone and she'd never once asked the right question. She'd accepted every bruise, every split knuckle, every quiet explanation because she'd assumed boys would be boys. Logan. Work. A bar fight. Anything except the truth. 

"I am so sorry. If I had known, I never would've spoken to him. I never would've put you in this position." 

"Y'didn't,” Gator shook his head. “He said y'didn't say nothin'. He jus' knew it was me." 

Maggie gathered him into her arms again without a second thought, uncaring that his blood and tears were soaking through her shirt. 

"You're staying with us. As long as you need. Forever, if you want. With Baby, long as she don't mind, or I'll have Brooks put you up in the Cabin. You ain't going back to that house, understand me." 

She didn't phrase it as a question; there was nothing to negotiate. Gator gave a small nod against her shoulder. Only then did Maggie finally let him go. 

He settled back into the passenger seat looking utterly exhausted, his eyes red and swollen, his breathing finally beginning to steady. Maggie reached for her phone, sent one brief text, then slipped it back into the centre console before starting the engine again. As she fastened her seatbelt, she reached across and rested her hand briefly on Gator's knee, giving it a reassuring squeeze. 

"Let's get you home, kid." 

・❥・ 

You'd been lying awake for long enough that you'd stopped trying to force it, instead watching the shadows cast across your ceiling by the porch light outside. Gator should have finished work by now. You wondered if he was home yet, if he was asleep. When your phone lit up, you reached for it almost automatically. 

Your heart sank the moment you saw the name on the screen. Maggie. That was strange enough on its own. Maggie didn't text. She called. If she wanted somebody, she'd simply come and find them, she hated texting. You frowned as you opened the message. 

Maggie: Coming to your porch door in 10. Need you to be calm, Baby. Don't freak out. He needs you. 

For a moment you simply stared at the words. He. Your mind began trying to fill in the blank. Logan? Brooks? Ford? Then another name forced itself to the front of your thoughts. Gator. Maggie had gone to the Tillman ranch, said she had to give Roy something. Your stomach twisted. 

You sat upright so quickly the duvet slid into your lap. The lamp clicked on beside the bed, bathing your room in soft yellow light as you read the message again, somehow hoping the words might have changed. They hadn't. 

Need you to be calm. 

That was easy enough for Maggie to say. You climbed out of bed and began pacing the room, your phone still clutched tightly in your hand. Eight minutes had never felt so impossibly long. Every time you reached the bedroom door, you turned and walked straight back again, chewing on the edge of your thumb. 

Don't freak out. 

You repeated it to yourself over and over; it did absolutely nothing. You pulled your thumb from your mouth, forcing yourself to stand still in the middle of the room. The porch door opened and you turned instinctively. Maggie stepped inside first, then Gator followed her. 

Everything else disappeared. 

His eyes were swollen and red, his face streaked with dried blood, and he held himself with that careful, guarded stiffness people only had when every movement hurt. Whatever Maggie had meant by he needs you, it hadn't prepared you for this. 

You crossed the room before either of them had the chance to say a word. Your arms wrapped around him, pulling him against you as tightly as you dared. For a second he simply stood there, then every ounce of tension seemed to leave him as he leaned into the embrace, burying his face against your shoulder. Behind him, Maggie rested a gentle hand on his back. 

"Get some rest, we'll talk more in the morning." 

When you looked up, she was already smiling at you with that familiar mixture of reassurance and quiet affection that somehow managed to steady your own panic. Then, without another word, she slipped through the door, pulling it closed behind her and leaving the two of you alone. You held onto Gator for another moment before gently easing back, your hands finding his arms as you looked up at him. 

The sight of him made your chest ache. There was a stiffness to the way he stood that told you every part of him hurt. You had no idea what had happened. A dozen possibilities chased one another through your mind, none of them making any sense. Maggie had told you not to freak out and now didn’t seem the time for talking, so you swallowed every question. 

"Can you sit on the bed for me? Let me clean you up?" 

He didn't answer but he let you guide him towards the bed, lowering himself carefully onto the edge of the mattress. Even that looked painful. Your fingers drifted gently through his hair, smoothing it back from his forehead. 

"I'm just gonna get some stuff, I'm coming right back, okay?" 

He gave the smallest nod. You hurried through the house as quickly as you dared, grabbing the first aid kit from the kitchen cupboard before filling a bowl with warm water. A couple of clean cloths came from the drawer beside the sink, then, almost as an afterthought, you took a bottle of water from the fridge too. Your arms were full by the time you made it back to your bedroom, your thoughts racing faster than your feet. 

Nothing about tonight made sense. Had someone attacked him? Had something happened on shift? Why hadn't he called you? Why had Maggie brought him here? When you stepped back into your room, Gator hadn't moved an inch. 

He was still sitting exactly where you'd left him, elbows resting loosely on his knees, staring at the floor with empty, unfocused eyes. He looked so utterly defeated that your own heart felt as though it might break. You set everything carefully on the floor beside him before lowering yourself to your knees between his legs. 

For a moment you simply looked at him. Then you reached up and cupped his face as though he were made of glass, your thumbs brushing gently against his cheeks until, eventually, he lifted his eyes to meet yours. 

"I'm gonna clean you up, okay? You don't have to talk, just let me look after you." 

His expression crumpled. Fresh tears gathered instantly, spilling over before he could stop them. You felt your own eyes sting in response, but you forced yourself to smile anyway. Carefully, you let your hands fall away from his face and reached instead for one of the cloths, dipping it into the warm water as you tried to think of nothing except taking care of him. 

Gator closed his eyes the moment the warm cloth touched his face. You barely grazed his skin, carefully wiping away the dried blood beneath his nose before moving to the split in his lip. Every touch was impossibly gentle. He was only slightly aware of the fresh tears escaping beneath his closed eyelids, sliding silently down his cheeks. 

He didn't bother apologising for them, he didn't have the energy. His ribs ached every time he breathed. His jaw throbbed. Every muscle in his body felt heavy, but none of it hurt as much as the thoughts he couldn't seem to quiet. 

Roy had known. But Maggie hadn’t told him. The thought kept circling back to the same place. Maggie had protected him before she'd even understood what she was protecting him from. She could have spoken his name. She could have told Roy exactly where she'd gotten those reports. Instead she had tried to keep him out of it. 

The memory of her standing in the barn doorway flashed across his mind. Gun levelled at Roy. Calm as anything. Lay another hand on him and I'll shoot. He felt another tear escape. 

The cloth left his face, and he heard you place it back into the bowl before gently pushing everything aside across the floor. Only then did he open his eyes. You were still kneeling between his knees, watching him with that same soft expression you'd worn from the second he'd walked into your bedroom. 

Without really thinking about it, he reached for you. His thumb brushed lightly across your cheek, the movement slow enough that he noticed the tremor in his own hand. He tried to still it, but you simply leaned into his touch as though the shaking didn't matter. His chest tightened. Even now, even looking like this. You still leaned towards him. 

"Lip is split, and you're gonna have some nasty bruises. But your nose isn't broken, and you're still pretty." 

A tired smile tugged weakly at the corner of his mouth. 

"You gonna let me see the rest?" 

Slowly, he let his hand fall from your face before pushing himself carefully to his feet. You stepped back to give him room, your eyes never leaving him. His fingers found the hem of his T-shirt, he wanted to show you, he didn't want to lie to you. But somehow this felt different, this was vulnerable.  

The bruises hidden beneath the fabric weren't just injuries. They were years of keeping quiet. Years of pretending nothing was wrong. He'd spent so long making sure nobody ever saw them that the thought of letting you see this part of him made something twist painfully in his chest. Roy did his worst work here specifically because Gator could hide it, but he didn’t want to hide from you. 

He stood there for a long moment; fingers curled around the cotton without moving. 

"Want me to help?" 

He didn't answer, he simply let his hands fall away from the hem of his shirt and stood still while you stepped closer. Carefully, you gathered the fabric in your hands and began lifting it upwards. You moved as gently as you could, taking your time whenever the cotton caught against his ribs, but even your lightest touch drew a quiet wince from him. 

"I'm sorry, being as gentle as I can." 

He gave the smallest shake of his head, more to reassure you than himself. As the shirt reached his chest, your eyes dropped almost instinctively, and the sight made you freeze. Bruises covered him. Deep purple already spread beneath his skin, angry reds blooming around fresh impacts until almost his entire torso had become a patchwork of injuries. Some marks had the shape of knuckles. Others had begun to blur together where blow after blow had landed in the same place. 

You felt your throat tighten. You knew Gator; if somebody had swung at him in the street or during an arrest, he'd have swung back. He'd have come home bruised, certainly, but there would've been something to show for it. Split knuckles. Torn skin. The evidence that he'd fought to protect himself. 

But there was none of that. These injuries belonged to somebody who'd simply stood there and taken it. Swallowing hard, you continued lifting the shirt over his head before laying it quietly on the bed behind him. 

Gator's eyes remained fixed somewhere over your shoulder, refusing to meet yours. Gently, you reached up and cupped his cheek, your thumb brushing lightly across his skin until he finally looked back at you. 

"Anything feel broken or just bruised?" 

"Ain't broken." 

"Good." You nodded, relieved despite everything. 

You turned towards the dresser, remembering one of his T-shirts folded neatly in the bottom drawer. You'd barely taken a step before his hand closed carefully around your wrist, you looked back over your shoulder. 

"Just getting you a clean shirt, I'm not going anywhere." 

Instead of letting go, he gave the slightest pull. You stepped back towards him and his arms slipped around your waist. He held you carefully despite the pain you knew every movement must have been causing him, burying his face into the crook of your neck. 

"M'sorry." 

The words were little more than a whisper against your skin. Your hand found his hair, stroking slowly through it. 

"You've got nothing to be sorry for." 

"Y'shouldn't have t'see this." 

Your heart ached. Carefully, you drew back just enough to look at him again, your hand settling against his jaw. 

"You wanna tell me about it?" 

He stayed quiet for so long you wondered whether he was going to answer at all. When he finally did, he never looked at you. 

"Brought it on m'self. Knew he'd kick off that I told Maggie." 

The words settled somewhere deep inside your chest. For a moment you simply looked at him, your hand still resting against his jaw, your thumb moving absent-mindedly across his skin as your mind tried to make sense of what he'd just said. Then, slowly, everything about tonight began to rearrange itself. 

The bruises covering his body. The blood on his face. None of it had happened at work. None of it had been some drunken idiot or an arrest gone wrong. It had been Roy. 

His own dad. 

You thought back to that evening in the bath, when Gator had quietly admitted that Roy was all he had. At the time you'd thought he'd meant emotionally. That despite everything, despite Roy's temper and impossible expectations, he couldn't bring himself to walk away because he was still his dad. 

You hadn't understood. Not really. You'd never imagined that all this time, the bruises you'd occasionally caught sight of, the way he sometimes flinched when somebody raised their voice, the quiet loyalty he still carried for Roy, had all been growing from the same place. 

He'd been surviving him. 

Your chest ached as you looked at him standing there, shoulders rounded as though he was somehow trying to make himself smaller. 

"Deserved it." 

The words were spoken so quietly you almost didn't hear them. Somehow they hurt more than everything else he'd told you. You shook your head before you'd even thought about it, nobody deserved this. 

"If Maggie did this to me, would you tell me I deserved it?" 

He blinked at you. The question seemed to stop him completely. His eyes searched yours for a long moment before he slowly shook his head. Of course he wouldn't. You reached up, smoothing a strand of hair back from his forehead, wishing there were some way to make him see what felt so painfully obvious to everyone else. 

You'd never seen him like this before. Gator was always the steady one. The person who listened while everybody else fell apart. Tonight there was nothing left of that careful composure. Just a frightened, exhausted man trying to convince himself that the people who loved him would see him the same way his father did. 

Gator stood quietly for a long moment, his eyes never leaving yours. He hated this. Not being hurt, he'd lived with that for so long it had become something he simply endured. It was this part he didn't know what to do with. Standing in front of you with nothing left to hide. Letting you see the parts of himself he'd spent years pretending didn't exist. He'd never shown anybody this. Not really. The bruises had always healed before anyone looked too closely. The excuses had always come easily enough. Roy had made sure of that.  

But this was different. He was choosing to let you see. Not because he wanted you to carry it with him. Because he wanted you to know him. All of him. Even the parts he'd spent his whole life believing made him difficult to love. Slowly, he rested his forehead against yours. 

"I don't want you t'leave." 

You smiled sadly, your noses almost brushing. 

"I'm not going anywhere. I love you. All of you." 

The words settled somewhere deep inside him. For a moment he simply stood there with his eyes closed, breathing you in. The familiar scent of your shampoo. The warmth of your hands against him. The steady rhythm of your breathing. It grounded him in a way nothing else ever had. 

"He jus' gets mad. Starts off yellin'... he don't normally go f'my face, can usually hide it. Guess I made him real mad this time." 

"It's not on you, Gator. He should never lay his hands on you. There is no excuse. He's supposed to love you. People who love you, they don't do this." 

He wanted to argue. Not because he thought you were wrong, but because somewhere inside him, there was still a little boy who wanted his dad to be different. 

Instead he found himself thinking about Ford. The way Ford looked at you across a room. The quiet pride in his face whenever you succeeded at something. The instinctive way he'd always stepped between you and anything that might hurt you, whether it was a playground bully when you were little or a grown man now. 

That was love. 

He thought about Maggie walking into that barn with a gun, holding him across the centre console of her car. 

That was love. 

He thought about Brooks, Logan, the boys, every loud dinner around the table at the Big House, every hug that lasted longer than it needed to, every hand squeezed, every forehead kissed, every drive safe and text me when you get there. 

That was love. 

Then he thought about Roy. About all the years he'd spent trying to learn which version of his father he was coming home to. How easy it had always been to say the wrong thing. Stand in the wrong place. Breathe at the wrong moment. 

You were right. If Roy had loved him the way the Heatons loved one another he wouldn't have done this. Not tonight. Not ever. Gator finally understood something he'd never been able to admit to himself before. Roy wasn't teaching him love. He'd been teaching him fear. 

Because Gator knew what love felt like now. It was standing in front of him with tears in your eyes, refusing to let go of him. It was your hands on his face, your voice telling him none of this was his fault. 

He couldn't imagine hurting you. Couldn't imagine raising a hand to you. To Ford. To Maggie. To Logan. To any of them. His own hands lifted slowly until they rested against either side of your face, holding you carefully as though you were the most precious thing he'd ever been trusted with. 

"I love you, Baby." 

You leaned forwards and kissed him softly. It wasn't hurried or desperate, just gentle. A quiet promise pressed against his lips. 

"I love you, Gator. More than anything. Thank you, for telling me." 

You felt him nod ever so slightly, his forehead still resting against yours. 

"Maggie said I can stay, if y'alright with it?" 

You couldn't help the tiny smile that found its way onto your face. Even now, after everything that had happened tonight, he was still asking permission. Still worrying about whether he was welcome. 

"Of course I'm okay with it. I want you here, always. Stay, you're safe here." 

The words felt far too small for what you wanted to say. Stay forever. Don't ever go back there. Let us be your family. Instead, you kissed him again, hoping somehow he'd hear all of those things anyway. 

When you finally stepped away, you crossed quietly to the dresser and opened the bottom drawer. One of Gator's T-shirts lay folded neatly inside amongst your own clothes. It had gradually become normal over the past few months. A spare pair of jeans. A hoodie. A toothbrush in the bathroom. Little pieces of him had found permanent homes in your room long before either of you had ever spoken about it. You carried the shirt back over to him. 

"Arms up." 

He managed a faint smile before carefully doing as he was told. Together you eased the shirt over his head, taking your time around the bruises that covered his ribs and stomach until the soft cotton finally settled against his skin. 

One by one you helped him out of his boots, then his trousers, leaving him in nothing but his boxers and T-shirt before guiding him gently around to his side of the bed. He lowered himself onto the mattress with obvious care. 

You picked up the bottle of water from the floor and passed it to him. He drank obediently while you gathered the bowl, cloths and first aid kit into your arms. The water had turned a murky pink now, stained with dried blood, and you found yourself looking away from it as you carried everything through to the bathroom. You left it all on the counter, it could wait until morning. Gator couldn't. 

When you returned, he'd already stretched out beneath the covers, the bottle resting on the bedside table beside him. His eyes followed you as you climbed into bed, and without needing either of you to say a word, you opened your arms, he moved into them immediately. 

You settled back against the headboard, drawing him gently against your chest until his head rested beneath your chin. Your fingers disappeared into his hair, stroking slowly through it, the same steady rhythm. You weren't trying to fix anything; you simply wanted him to know he wasn't alone anymore. 

For a long time the only sound in the room was the quiet rhythm of his breathing. Gradually it began to slow, each breath a little deeper than the last, the tension leaving his body piece by piece until, eventually, you felt the full weight of him settle against you. You kept stroking his hair anyway, just in case he woke up and needed reminding where he was. 

You looked down at him and felt something inside you quietly settle. This was what mattered. Not pretending life was easy. Not relationships that only existed while everything was fun and uncomplicated. This was what loving somebody actually meant. Being trusted with the ugly parts as well as the beautiful ones. Holding them together on the nights they couldn't quite do it themselves and knowing, without either of you needing to say it aloud, that tomorrow you would still be there. 

Your thoughts drifted back over the last few days. 

It was strange how quickly life could change. You'd spent tonight watching the man you loved finally trust someone enough to tell the truth about something he'd been carrying for years. You knew that the people who loved you didn't disappear when life became difficult. They stepped closer. 

Perhaps that was what growing up really was. Not losing your innocence all at once but quietly realising that your time and your heart were too valuable to keep giving away to people who only ever asked you to doubt yourself. Brooke and Paige had spent the last few days making you feel guilty, making you question yourself, making you feel as though you somehow owed them pieces of yourself you'd already outgrown. 

The people who truly loved you had never done that. 

Carefully, so you didn't disturb Gator, you leaned across to the bedside table and picked up your phone. The screen illuminated the room just enough for you to navigate to the group chat, the familiar names appearing one beneath the other. For so long they'd represented your whole world outside the ranch. School. Sleepovers. Teenage years. Growing up. 

Now they just looked like names on a screen. You knew Megan would still call. Hannah would still text. The people who genuinely wanted to be part of your life would find their way to you because that was what people did when they cared. 

You didn't need a group chat to hold people together; your thumb rested over the screen for only a moment before you pressed the button. Tonight, you chose the people who chose you. 

You: *left the group chat* 

・❥・ 

The morning sun washed the pastures in pale gold as the Yukon rolled steadily towards town, long grass bowing beneath the breeze on either side of the gravel road. You had one leg tucked beneath you on the passenger seat, the other drawn loosely against your chest, watching the fence posts pass by in an endless rhythm. Everything outside looked impossibly ordinary. Horses grazed in neighbouring fields. A tractor crawled along in the distance. Somewhere behind you, back at the ranch, the rest of the family would already be filtering into the day. 

It felt strange that the world could carry on so normally after yesterday. After Gator. Maggie kept both hands on the steering wheel for a while, her eyes fixed on the road ahead.  

"How was Gator this morning?" 

"Yeah, he's okay..." You looked down at your hands before correcting yourself with a small shake of your head. "Well, no he isn't, but I left him in bed, told him to stay and rest. Cleaned him up as best I could but..." You swallowed against the image that resurfaced. "His whole body, Mags. He's covered." 

The bruises had looked even worse in daylight. Last night you'd mostly been working on instinct, focused entirely on getting him cleaned up, stopping the bleeding. This morning there had been time to actually see what Roy had done to him. Every mark carried its own shape and colour now. Deep purple blooming beneath tan skin. Bruising scattered across his ribs and shoulders where punches had landed over and over again. 

Without taking her eyes off the road, Maggie lifted one hand from the steering wheel and rested it lightly on your thigh across the centre console. 

"You did a good job," she said quietly. "You stayed calm when he needed you most. He's safe now. He can stay as long as he wants." 

You knew she meant it. Especially now, now that you knew her even better.  Maggie collected people; not casually, not quickly but with certainty. And once somebody became one of hers, that was it. They were fed without asking. They had somewhere to sleep. Someone worrying whether they'd eaten enough or slept enough or looked tired. They became another name Maggie mentally counted whenever she checked everybody was safe. Somehow, somewhere over the past few weeks, Gator had crossed that invisible line. 

"What happened?" you asked. "I mean, he told me it was Roy, but I didn't want to ask him a million questions." 

For the first time since leaving the ranch, Maggie's attention seemed to drift somewhere beyond the road ahead. 

"I went to return Junior's phone," she said after a pause. "When I got there they were in the barn. When I spoke to Junior, I didn't mention Gator's name, but I should have done a better job protecting him. I had no idea." 

You turned towards her. The expression on Maggie's face wasn't anger. If anything, it was worse. Regret sat heavily around her eyes. Maggie wasn't somebody who second-guessed herself very often. She made decisions, accepted the consequences and kept moving. Seeing genuine guilt sitting on her features felt strangely unsettling. 

"I've known that boy his whole life, and I know Junior. I know he's a piece of shit, but I never thought he..." She stopped herself, exhaling slowly through her nose. "I don't agree with Roy Tillman about much, but I at least thought he valued family." 

You reached across the centre console and covered her hand with yours. 

"At least you were there," you said softly. "You got him out. He's safe now." 

Maggie was quiet for another few seconds before giving a small nod. 

"Yeah," she said. "You're right. And now we have some headway with this loan company." 

"So how much do you know about Marshall?" You asked. 

A humourless little sound escaped her. 

"Unfortunately, more than I'd like. Marshall's one of those men who's spent his entire life convincing people he's respectable because he wears an expensive suit and sponsors enough charity dinners." 

"So... not respectable." You raised an eyebrow. 

"Oh, he owns legitimate businesses," Maggie replied. "Big Dakotan family name in agriculture. I met him for the first time last year; he’s been at a few poker tables. He’s sleazy, inappropriate, a misogynist at best, and I sometimes dread to think at worst." 

"But?" You prompted. 

"I've never liked him. Never trusted him particularly. But I had him down as the sort of man who exploited legal loopholes and underpaid contractors. I didn’t have him down for much more than that. Never thought he was all that clever." 

“So,” you tried to hide your smile. “You… underestimated him?” 

She glanced at you briefly before looking back to the road, a little smirk tugging at her lips. 

“With men like that, it isn’t often an underestimation.” 

“Men like that have the money to pay other people to be clever for them,” you shrugged. 

"True,” Maggie sighed. “And it appears I've been underestimating quite a few people lately." 

You knew she wasn't only talking about Marshall. Knew that after the last few weeks there were probably a half dozen people she probably felt she had calculated wrong; Roy, Gator, Noah. What you hadn’t considered was that she was talking about you. 

Mallard Heights came into view a few minutes later. Maggie pulled into a visitor's space and switched off the engine. You followed her to the door and watch as she pressed the buzzer, almost immediately it clicked. By the time you reached Bug's apartment door on the second floor, it was already standing open. 

Bug looked as though he'd forgotten the existence of everything outside his computer screens. His hair had become a tousled, slightly greasy mess on his head, headphones draped around his neck. His t-shirt was somehow both back to front and inside out, there was an unidentifiable stain spread across one thigh of his grey sweatpants and his socks didn't even vaguely belong together. One had a hole worn clean through the toe. 

The second he saw you both he smiled. Not because he'd remembered basic social etiquette, but because his brain was still halfway through the thought he'd been having before you'd arrived. 

"I have been looking into it, like it was annoying me at first, because I didn’t have enough and I kept getting lost but then you came up with that name, Marshall Beaumont. He’s like a cattle king. You know there is like two and a half cows for every person in North Dakota. We’re outnumbered by hooves." 

"Morning, Bug." 

He barely paused long enough for the greeting before turning and wandering back into the apartment, still talking to himself beneath his breath. You followed Maggie inside. 

Bug dropped into the large ergonomic chair at the centre of his command centre, already waking monitors before he'd even properly sat down. Maggie joined him, laying her folder beside the keyboard as though she'd expected to find him exactly like this. Truthfully, she probably had. 

You quietly slipped away towards the kitchen. The mess wasn't overwhelming. It was simply... cumulative. The sort that happened when somebody kept telling themselves they'd deal with it after the next task, then the next one, until eventually three days had passed without them noticing.  You filled the sink with hot water, rinsed the mugs and stacked them on the draining board before wiping down enough counter space to work. You opened the fridge and it occurred to you then that almost none of the groceries looked any emptier. No wonder Maggie checked on him, he really hadn't been eating. 

The kettle boiled while you put together a sandwich, cutting it in half before carrying both the tea and the plate back into the living room. Neither of them had moved. 

You placed the mug and plate in front of Bug. His fingers paused on the keyboard. His eyes dropped to the plate before slowly lifting to yours. The silence stretched just long enough for uncertainty to creep into your stomach. 

"Sorry, you just looked--" 

"No, yeah, no, like I haven’t eaten, I’ve been busy, thanks, er, thank you. Yeah, looks good." 

He looked genuinely caught off guard. Across the desk, Maggie's mouth softened into a small smile that she tried not to let become anything bigger. 

"Bug, eat, then we can work." 

The sandwich disappeared with remarkable speed, halfway through another bite he swivelled towards a different bank of monitors. 

"The names on the reports?" 

Maggie slid the folded scrap of paper across the desk. While Bug typed one-handed around his lunch, your attention drifted towards the whiteboard. It had spread. Last time there had been organised notes, now almost the entire board had disappeared beneath property photographs, IDs, company registrations, maps and printed emails. Coloured lines linked names together until the whole thing resembled the inside of Bug's head made visible. You stepped closer and Bug noticed without looking away from the monitor. 

"Oh, yeah, I needed to put it together, like to see it, sometimes I need to like, see it, you know? And I don’t have enough monitors to have it all up at one time, you know, and there’s something about it being like there…" 

"Yeah, no, I get it. Maggie makes me print out the blueprints for our jobs, because it’s easier than scrolling across it on a screen." 

He glanced over his shoulder just long enough to nod. 

"Exactly." 

A notification chimed sharply through the room; Bug spun back towards the monitor. 

"Wow, ok, Maggie, look at this." 

"I don’t know what I’m looking at Bug, that’s why I have you." 

"Right, yeah, sorry, um so, this is like all the companies that have some link back to Beaumont or the loan company. Anything in green is registered, tax paying, so like his supply stores… Field Marshalls, god I hate names with puns man, sorry, um, his stores they’re all legit, the meat supply and stuff. But then it gets a bit sketchier as you scroll down. Those in orange are mostly shells or flagged for something and then the red ones are stuff that’s been closed, like retired names. There’s 658 results. This guy is flipping businesses and hiding all sorts.” 

Rows upon rows of company names filled the screen, highlighted in blocks of green, orange and red until they blurred together into something only Bug could possibly make immediate sense of. 

"Okay, remove all the legitimate stuff, that’s in his name, right?" 

"Yeah, his and his son, Beau Beaumont. I mean, that’s just a lack of imagination, Beau Beaumont. Goddamn." 

The name snagged your attention; you looked over from the whiteboard. 

"Did you say Beau?" 

"Yeah, Beau Archibald Beaumont. 33 years old. Owns a large percentage of the legitimate business and has shares in all the generational companies." 

Maggie looked across at you. 

"You know him, Baby?" 

"Not really, I mean, not personally but that’s the guy Paige is dating." 

Your voice must have given away some of your anxiety because Maggie’s voice went soft and reassuring. 

"Nothing to say he’s like his daddy. Not all boys grow up to be their fathers,” she smiled. “What about the shells, Bug." 

"Um, none of them have his name on, but associates, and a couple reoccurring names that ‘Deran Chamberlain’ comes up a lot, but I can’t find him anywhere, think it’s an alias. Also a ‘Deacon Ross’. I found him, but he’s dead. Used to be on Beaumont’s company board but died eight years ago, so he definitely didn’t start any of these businesses." 

The next hour seemed to disappear beneath the steady rhythm of Bug's keyboard. 

Every few minutes another notification chimed from one of the monitors before another company joined the ever-growing web stretched across the whiteboards. Maggie asked questions sparingly, never interrupting Bug's train of thought unless she needed clarification. She had long ago learnt that his mind worked fastest when it was allowed to run uninterrupted. Your own role became quieter still. Every so often you refreshed mugs of tea, gathered abandoned plates or passed Bug another pen when he absently reached for one that no longer worked. 

Slowly, a picture began to emerge. 

Across the room Maggie was making herself another mug of tea, waiting for the kettle to finish while Bug continued disappearing deeper into Beaumont's world. Then the frantic typing stopped. You looked up. Bug was halfway out of his chair. 

"Woah, Maggie, I found something, look, come here." 

The urgency in his voice was enough to bring Maggie across the room before the kettle had even finished boiling. 

"So, that report, Hadley? Woman’s just made a call; she’s going to sell. Look at this." 

He pulled an email onto the centre monitor. Even from where you were stood you recognised the Vallard logo sitting at the top of the page. Beneath it sat pages of legal jargon followed by a purchase price that made your stomach sink. Maggie leaned closer, her eyes scanning the wording rapidly. 

"Has she signed this yet? Bug?" 

Her voice had changed. The calm remained, but it had sharpened. Bug must have heard it too because his fingers were already flying across the keyboard. 

"No, um, no it’s just the paperwork being sent over, she’s got to sign it in person, email says Vallard will come to her, 2pm." 

He barely reached the end of the sentence before Maggie answered. 

"Get me her number, now." 

Bug didn't question it. You watched line after line of information flash across his monitors while he searched. 

"Maggie, what are you gonna do?" 

She didn't take her eyes off the screen. 

"That offer is an insult. She’ll be left with nothing." 

"Katy Hadley, 555-8974." 

The number had barely left Bug's mouth before Maggie was already typing it into her phone. She stepped away from the desk, moving towards the far end of the apartment as the call began ringing. You couldn't make out much of the conversation. Only Maggie's voice, quieter now, measured and reassuring in the way it always became when she wanted somebody to trust her. 

Beside you, Bug hadn't stopped working; more windows opened, more searches, more information. 

"Her husband died, four months ago, bills, debts, two kids." His eyes never left the monitor. "Looks like they hand-picked her, gave her a loan, doubled the repayments." 

You looked towards Maggie just as she was walking back across the apartment. She'd already ended one call and was on another. 

"Yes... No, now… I want that contract drafted…” her voice was in full business mode. “Move the money... Katy Hadley. Yes... I’ll have someone come to collect it… Rourke. Jack Rourke, he’ll be at your office in fifteen minutes." 

She ended the call without another word before gently tapping Bug's shoulder. 

"Keep tracking Vallard, I want to know what they know." 

Another number was already dialling. 

"Jack, need you to head to my lawyer’s office. Collect some paperwork and meet me at the address I’m about to text you… Yes… Good... Thankyou." 

The call ended and Maggie turned towards you. There wasn't a trace of panic on her face, just purpose. 

"Get your stuff, we’ve got to go." 

You grabbed your bag before picking up Maggie's untouched mug and carrying it back into the kitchen. Behind you, you could still hear her talking to Bug. 

"I’ll come back later. Keep searching, use that genius brain. You’ll get bonus points if you also take a shower. I’ll stop by the diner on my way, text me what you want. I’ve got to go deal with this, you gonna be ok?" 

"Yeah, yeah, I got this. I’ll shower, I’ll text you,” Bug rushed to agree. “Is it the diner on 9th or the one on Boyce? Because the one on Boyce does better shakes, they use like gelato, it’s great, the strawberry is my favourite, but the banana is so good, which is like unheard of because banana shakes usually suck." 

"I’ll go to whichever one you want,” Maggie replied. “Just text me." 

When you turned back around, Maggie was standing behind Bug's chair. She leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to the top of his head. Bug went completely still beneath the touch, his shoulders lifted almost imperceptibly before freezing there, like his brain had momentarily forgotten how to process what had just happened. Maggie only smiled. One hand squeezed both of his shoulders before she stepped back towards the front door. 

"Thank you, Bug. I don’t know what I would do without you." 

For perhaps the first time since you'd met him, Bug seemed genuinely lost for words. 

"Oh, um, yeah, you’re welcome, I guess." 

You smiled to yourself as you followed Maggie towards the door. 

"Bye, Bug." 

He looked up from the monitors long enough to lift a small wave in your direction before his attention was already drifting back towards the maze of names and companies covering every screen.  

By the time the apartment door closed behind you, Maggie was already pulling her phone back out. She barely made it halfway across the parking lot before tossing her keys towards you. You caught them instinctively. 

"I’ve got to make some calls, you drive, I’ll put the address in the navigation." 

Maggie settled into the passenger seat while you climbed behind the wheel, adjusting the mirrors out of habit before starting the engine. Beside you, Maggie was already programming the navigation with an address you'd never heard before. You pulled out of Mallard Heights and followed the directions towards the other side of town. 

For the first few minutes, the car became little more than Maggie's office. Her phone never seemed to leave her ear. You caught fragments more than complete conversations. Lawyers. Bank managers. Somebody confirming transfers. Somebody else promising contracts would be ready before Jack arrived. Every call lasted barely long enough to accomplish exactly what she needed before she was dialling the next number. 

By the time you reached the edge of town, she'd already bought the property. Not promised to, not negotiated, bought it. Somewhere between Bug finding an email and you stopping at a red light, Maggie had intercepted the entire purchase. 

The phone rang again and this time her voice softened. 

"Katy, I have a man on the way to you. His name is Jack. He will announce himself at the door and show you his ID. Do not let anyone else in the house. I’m on my way but he’ll beat me there. He has the paperwork." 

You kept your eyes on the road, concentrating on the traffic ahead while Maggie listened to the voice on the other end of the line. 

"There is no catch, Katy. I just don’t like bullies… No… You don’t have to leave; the house is still yours. I will clear the debts. I’ll explain everything when I get to you. No-one is kicking you out, not on my watch." 

The conviction in her voice left absolutely no room for argument. You found yourself tightening your grip slightly on the steering wheel. Your eyes flicked briefly to the dashboard clock. 

1:14 p.m. 

You thought back to the email Bug had pulled up barely minutes earlier. 2pm. That had been the appointment. Vallard's representative was supposed to be arriving at Katy Hadley's front door with paperwork for her to sign. Less than an hour from now they would have expected to walk away owning her home. 

Except they weren't going to, because somewhere between Bug opening that email and you pulling away from Mallard Heights, Maggie had bought the property. The contract Vallard intended to put in front of Katy would be worthless. 

Marshall Beaumont may have spent years building a system designed to move faster than desperate people could think. But he had never accounted for Maggie Heaton arriving first. 

You weren't entirely sure how she'd done it. Then again, perhaps that was the point. People often thought Maggie's strength came from her money and sure, the money helped, the contacts helped; but neither of those things explained what had just happened. 

What set Maggie apart was that while other people were still discussing whether something ought to be done, she was already doing it. Problems didn't linger around her because she refused to give them the opportunity. 

Watching her work from this close made something settle quietly inside you. There had never really been a time in your life where you questioned Maggie Heaton. She had raised you, protected you, built the family that was your entire world. 

But seeing her now, watching her decisiveness, her protectiveness over a woman she didn’t even know, only solidified something you had probably believed since you were a little girl. 

Heroes didn't always wear uniforms. Sometimes they wore silk blouses, carried a designer purse and quietly declared war on anybody who thought they could prey on people with nowhere left to turn. 

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