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wardenparker · 2 years

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You, Me & Mexico

Jack ‘Whiskey’ Daniels x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 16.9k Warnings: Mentions of deceased spouse and child (of course, it’s Jack), previous relationship, cursing, food mentions, alcohol consumption, aggressive use of a baseball bat, vaginal sex, unprotected sex. Dad!Jack, unplanned pregnancy (after the fact). Summary: Moving to New York with your teenage daughter would have been a big enough change all on its own. But when your new next-door neighbor rings your doorbell, your whole world is about to get flipped upside down. Notes: This silly little ‘What If?’ is inspired by our dear devotion to the Yeehonk Cowboy of Our Hearts, but also by the fact that I just got the results of my DNA kit back. Enjoy! 🤠🧡

Nothing ever stops moving from being stressful. Not the adventure, the chance to get away from that one annoying coworker in your office, not even being excited for the beautiful brownstone in the West Village that your grandmother left to you in her will. There's always things to worry about no matter how carefully you plan. What if something happens to your furniture on that moving truck? What if something important gets lost? Or left behind? What if the cat freaks out in his carrier because your fourteen-year-old has been playing the same song on repeat for the last two hours and the poor little ball of fluff just can't take it anymore? Thankfully, there doesn't seem to be any kind of horrific crisis with this move. At least not yet.

It's a sunny, cool morning in New York City and every passerby on the street seems happy to ignore your existence, leaving you to direct the movers as they bring the last of your things inside the biggest home you've ever owned. Mallory is already up in her room shoving furniture around to find the best configuration in her new room, and no doubt Astro is meowing his approval or disapproval with every change.

Getting settled will take a little time. New York City is nothing like anyplace you have lived before. But with a teenager who desperately wants to be a musician one day and the chance to actually own your own home? Asking your company for a transfer to the Manhattan office had been a no-brainer. "Maybe you'll meet somebody." Your mother had said, when you had told her you were moving. "There's so many men in New York City!" But you had insisted that the only man you needed in your and Mallory's life was your tomcat, and left it at that. There's just no use in pretending that you haven't compared every man in the last fourteen years to the man who gave you your daughter.

******

Groaning, Jack opens his eyes to the sounds of people working outside. Not unusual for a city that is constantly busy, but this is right outside his windows. Right. New people are moving in next door. The sweet old lady that had been his neighbor in passing for the last six years had died. Apparently leaving her house to her granddaughter. Sighing, the Statesman agent rolls out of bed and shuffles towards his bathroom. His body aches and he feels every day of his forty-one years after the beating he had taken on his last mission. For the first time since he had become an agent, Jack Daniels was looking forward to sitting at the office.

******

"Last load." One of the movers tells you, carefully pulling his hand-truck loaded with boxes marked Master Bedroom up the ramp they laid over your front steps when everyone arrived this morning.

“Thank you so much.” At this point there's nothing left for you to do but haul yourself inside, and you take a moment to lean against your front steps and really take it all in. The three-floor brownstone is sandwiched in the middle of a fully populated street and your grandmother's little window boxes are crammed full of cooking herbs and pansies that give the house a welcoming feel. You'll definitely keep those, you think, looking up and down the length of the building. But maybe not the faded floral curtains just inside.

******

The inside of his brownstone had been updated when it was chosen as his residence in New York. Modernized and filled with Statesman technology, but the thing he loves most is the walk-in shower. The hot water on demand beats down on the blooming bruises that ache and the stiff joints. He’s getting old, a realization he hates when he’s lived for the job for twenty years, since he lost the reason for living for someone else. The only other bright spot when he got down in his feels was the month-long interlude to his grief that is something he looks back on with fondness of an old love.

******

It's more than a half an hour later when the movers are vacating your new home, and you can hear Mallory happily crowing inside about having her own bathroom. For a teenager, finally having her own bathroom separate from her mother is the absolute epitome of privacy, and it makes you smile to hear her happy about something relatively simple. She had had to leave her few friends behind to start fresh in the big city, but you're not worried about her making new ones. She had her father's charm, for better or for worse, and people are drawn to her just like you were drawn to him fifteen years ago. With a contented sigh, you pull out your phone to take a few pictures of the front of the house now that it's officially home. You promised your mom that you would send them, after all. At some point today you'll have to search out the nearest grocery store, but not this very moment.

Getting dressed, Jack wonders about the new neighbor. He had been nosy, looking out the windows and saw evidence of a kid, at least a teenager. He chuckles to himself, wondering if the newest residence had been told about the raccoon that frequents the back gardens between the houses and loves to raid the trash cans. As he buttons up his dress shirt, he decides that after work, he’ll be neighborly and introduce himself.

Three Weeks Later:

"Mal, take the groceries in through the kitchen door, sweetie, not the front door." Once a week grocery trips to the market have been a whole different experience than your old chain grocery store used to be, but now you've got a bunch of bags of fresh things that are brand new favourites to fill your kitchen with. The trick is to remember that you technically have two front doors here, and the old servants' entrance to the 120-year-old brownstone leads directly into the kitchen, so you don't have to climb your front steps to go into the parlour-level front door and then down the stairs inside to get to the kitchen.

No neighbors have emerged to introduce themselves in the time since you moved in, but you figure that's just New Yorkers keeping to themselves and you don't worry about it. Mallory's school year has begun and even with the change of location, work is just work. New York isn't feeling all too different from anywhere else so far, except for the neighbors being less nosy. And honestly? That's just fine with you. Tonight you're making Mal's favourite dinner to celebrate finally unpacking the last box, and that required a big grocery trip. You're not inclined to skimp, though, because you really would do anything for your little girl. Even if she's a lot less "little" then she used to be.

******

Living in the city had taken some time to get used to. He was comfortable here now, enjoying the way that he had convenience to everything, but he missed the sense of community he had in Kentucky. While they were spread out, people waved and talked and asked about the family when they saw one another. Here, he didn’t see his neighbors, still not having gotten a look at the new ones that had moved in three weeks ago. That’s partly his fault, getting caught up at work had made it easy to continuously put off going over and introducing himself. So he’s making up for it.

The large white box in his hand holds a selection of – in his opinion – the finest bakery selections in the city. Which is saying something. Jack pops up the steps of the neighboring brownstone, his knees protesting creakily, and rings the bell.

It's surprisingly easy to hear the doorbell from downstairs in the kitchen, although you don't know anyone who would be ringing it. Maybe this is your first taste of door-to-door proselytizing that you never got living in small towns. "I'll be right back," you tell Mallory before hustling up to the front door. When you peak through the peephole in the door there's a man standing on your front step but his back is turned, so you just figure what the hell and pull open the door. "Hi. Can I help you?"

Jack turns around, the charming, easy smile on his face freezing when he comes face to face with you. You’re older, he can tell, but the time has been good to you. Dumbfounded for a moment, he gasps out your name, wondering suddenly if he’s gotten shot in the damn head again and is dreaming.

“Jack?” Swearing you could faint right there on the spot; you swallow down the panic crawling up your throat and try to quell the shock on your face. Of course it’s him. You see those eyes and that smile every single time you look at your daughter. “H—how…I mean…what—what are you doing here?” He has a box in those large hands that you used to know so well, and there are more crow’s feet around those questioning eyes, making you wonder if he came here intentionally. If that goddamn kit you did with Mallory might have sent him to your doorstep somehow. God, how did he get even more handsome? That’s not fair…

“Me? I – you live here?” Jack asks, trying to overcome his surprise at seeing you again. He can’t help but think you are still gorgeous.

“Just moved in.” Still in your work clothes and not yet dressed for comfort, you step outside and pull the front door mostly shut behind you. You can still hear inside if you need to, but this way Astro can’t make a break for it. “How did you find me?” After all, you had searched for years and never managed to find a single trace of him. Not that you knew much in the first place.

The truth is, he didn’t find you. He purposely never went looking for you, not wanting to see the life that he wasn’t a part of. He had been so messed up from Allita’s death, losing his unborn son, that he had vowed to never find that kind of love again. So when he had found himself missing you, he had sworn that he would never go looking. And he hadn’t. “I— uh, well—” Jack flashes you a small smile, as if it was just the most unusual thing. “I’m your neighbor.” He admits, turning to point to the townhouse right to your left. “Lived here for years. Did you— were you related to Mrs. Jones?”

There was a hopefulness alongside the worry in your heart that you hadn’t felt until just now – as it twists in your chest and extinguishes completely. He hadn’t found you at all — this was all an accident. “She was my grandmother.” You tell him honestly, winding your arms around yourself like a shield. “She left me the house when she died.” It was a generous gift, of course, and caused a small amount of family drama, but your grandmother’s will was specific: the West Village brownstone that she had lived in for almost her entire adult life was to go to you and Mallory. “You…uh…you knew her?”

“Not well.” Jack admits, shamefaced. “Work keeps me busy, but I would help her when she needed something moved or when the damn raccoon got trapped in her cans.” He reaches up and rubs the back of his neck, bowled over by the fact that he didn’t know his sweet, older neighbor was your grandmother. Remembering the box, he offers it to you. “Here, this was supposed to be a welcome to the neighborhood gift.” He tells you. “Meant to come introduce myself when you moved in, but – life.” He shrugs as if it’s not a big deal, his stomach clenching at your mere presence. Especially since he remembered there being a teen’s stuff among the moving boxes. He wants to ask about your husband, but he’s afraid he will hate the man on principle alone.

“Raccoon in the trash cans. Got it.” You nod vaguely, not even sure if you want to accept the otherwise very neighborly gift of whatever is in that box marked with a bakery’s logo. Your head is spinning and your throat is dry and you can swear you hear Mallory downstairs calling for you. “That’s—” But can you even bring yourself to explain? “I gotta go,” you mumble instead. The box has somehow made it into your hands, and you feel like a retreating wild animal fleeing the scene. “Thanks for stopping by, I guess.”

“Bye.” Jack stares after you for a moment, bewildered by how quickly you had turned and fled. The immediate happiness of seeing you again turns to confusion and then sours in his stomach. Wondering if you were upset with a past lover being so close to your family. Jack sighs and shoves his hands in pockets, turning around and walking down the steps. Maybe it was going to be better to just be those neighbors that didn’t speak.

The panic attack that comes as soon as you shut the door is not small, and it’s not something you can hide from your daughter when she comes running up the stairs at the sound of her mother crying. “Mom?” She bends down, taking both of your shoulders in her hands and checking you over the same way you used to do with her when she was small. “Who was it? What happened?”

“I—it—” You hiccup back more tears, trying to calm yourself down. “It’s fine, Mal. I’m fine. I just had a tough day at work.”

“That’s bullshit.” Proclaims your headstrong teenager, who has hopped up and grabbed her baseball bat from the umbrella stand by the front door. “You were in an amazing mood five minutes ago.” She’s faster than you, obviously, and pulls the door open to find whoever it was that upset her mother. The only person she sees is the next-door neighbor opening his front door and she fumes. “Hey Asshole!” She screams out, raising the bat.

“Mallory, stop!” You’re too late by a mere hair – unable to pull her back inside before Jack has made eye contact with his daughter.

Jack freezes, his entire body locking up and he couldn’t move if he wanted to. If he had been in danger, he’d be dead. Not that there isn’t significant danger from the teenager, an enraged expression on her face as she charges towards him with a baseball bat. Jesus…she…she looks like him. Jack staggers back slightly at the dark eyes, furious with the same calculating expression he’s seen in his own mirror. But what gets him – the ears. Her ears are curled back on the edges.

“Jesus fucking Christ.” Jack yelps, looking past her to where you are wide eyed with terror. “You had my kid?!”

It’s Mallory’s turn to freeze now – raised bat dropping to her side like cement as she looks at the man on his front step and then back at you. “Mom?” Her voice is small – almost scared – and you swear the last time she sounded so helpless, she was six years old.

“Everybody in the house.” You direct, in a voice that will not compromise. Waiting until Mallory has passed you and gone inside to look Jack square in the eyes. “I had my kid. You were nowhere to be found.”

Jack grinds his teeth, angry – furious that you had a fucking child and he didn’t know about it. “So that’s how it is?” He demands, the wounds that he had managed to start to close that month with you torn open, a bleeding mess on his heart. He has a child he never met – never knew existed – until she called him an asshole. “It wasn’t like you left a number for me to get up with you either.”

“At least you knew my last name.” You counter, clenching your jaw as he steps up to your front door for the second time. “I knew your first name, a dubious last name, and Kentucky. And it turns out that that not enough for a birth certificate.” All you can do in this moment is shake your head, the weight of fifteen years of missing him far outweighing any residual anger. It was a month, and you were only twenty-one. You had never considered that what you felt for him was real love, or that your life would be so completely changed. “Just…come inside and meet your daughter. Or don’t, if you don’t want to. But can we – please, I’m honestly asking – can we save being mad at each other for when she’s not around? She shouldn’t have to hear whatever you think of me.”

He stares at you for a moment and sighs, remembering that he ‘hadn’t’ given you his last name. Or – he had, but you had been convinced it was fake. And it wasn’t like Jack Daniels was a name people would honestly take seriously if inquiring about it. “I’m not mad.” Jack huffs and shakes his head. “Okay, I’m mad, but I’m more upset than anything.”

“You can be upset with me when she goes up to do her homework.” It’s the best you can offer, knowing that Mallory deserves honesty and truth as much as either you or Jack does. “I’ll take whatever you’ve got to throw at me. But…none of it is Mallory’s fault. She’s innocent.”

“Her name is Mallory?” He’s quiet, still trying to process all of this. He’s also a little hurt there’s you think he’s going to punish a child for something she had nothing to do with.

“Mallory Paige.” When you step back inside, the teenager in question is sitting on the bottom of the stairs that lead to the second floor with her cat in her arms and the bat nowhere to be found. “And her best friend there is Astro.”

Mallory is practically beside herself when you close the door, looking between you and Jack with so many questions that she doesn’t know where to start. Well – yes she does. Her mouth is just so dry that she can barely get the words out. “Is…is he…really my dad?”

“Yes, honey.” You sigh softly and nod your head, both hands shoving into your pants pockets nervously. “This is Jack.”

Jack stares at her for a long moment. So many things, different traits from you, from him, have made such a beautiful young woman. He wants to touch her, to make sure she’s real, but he’s a stranger to her. “Jack Daniels.” He tells her quietly. “You have my ears.” The twitch of his mustache is a small smile, pleased and nervous.

“And eyes. And smile.” Mallory nods, her voice as quiet as his is. “I mean…I think. At least…that’s what mom says…” She hasn’t really seen much of a smile from the man in the three minutes she’s known him, so she can’t tell.

“Yeah?” That does make Jack grin, rocking back on his heels and looking between you and Mallory. “I still say you look like your momma. Thank the good Lord. Least you don’t have my nose.”

“Why don’t you stay for dinner?” The offer is an olive branch to Jack, since you were already planning on cooking and it’s that time of day. “Maybe we can all talk while I’m cooking?”

“Only if you are okay with it.” Jack looks back over at you again, aware that you are not happy with him and his reaction to the news. He wasn’t exactly proud of it, but he also knows you don’t know the full truth of why he was single when the two of you met.

You’re not entirely sure if you are okay, but being heartsick isn’t an excuse to deprive them of knowing each other now that they have a chance. You try for a smile instead, finding it’s waterier than you’re proud of, and you pick up the bakery box from the side table where you had managed to leave it before nearly collapsing in the entry way just a few minutes ago. “Mal got an A on her first Spanish quiz of the year and we finally finished unpacking. We’re celebrating with chicken parmesan.”

“Nice.” Jack nods in approval and looks over at Mallory. “You like chicken parm? It’s one of my favorites.” He doesn’t know what to do, or what to say so he nods towards the bakery box. “That place has the best cookies and Danishes around. I brought you quite a few of them.”

“Mom makes the best.” Mallory takes the box from your hands as the three of you troop down the stairs to the kitchen. “Chicken parm, I mean. Not cookies. Mom’s cookies are like rocks.”

“Hey!” You groan, huffing a little at being ratted out so early in this conversation. “They’re not always rocks.”

“Nah.” Mallory laughs and grins at the man who is apparently her father. Now that she’s had it pointed out, she can see her ears on him, and even her crooked smile. “Sometimes we just eat the dough so you can’t ruin them.”

“I have been known to eat cookie dough myself.” Jack chuckles. “I buy those Tollhouse logs and it’s me and a spoon when I’m feeling the sweet tooth.” He bites his lip. “When’s your birthday, kiddo?”

“March 30.” Mallory sets the bakery box down on the counter when she reaches the kitchen and goes to the refrigerator to retrieve the bottle of iced tea there along with three glasses. “I, uh…I know about Mexico,” she admits quietly, looking over at you. “Mom told me some stuff.”

“She asked me a few years ago why she didn’t have a dad.” It hadn’t been the first time she had asked, but it was the first time you felt that she was old enough to hear some of the truth. “So I told her about how we dated for a little while and then I couldn’t find you to tell you that I was pregnant.” You really and truly cannot busy yourself enough right now, and you are pulling out pans and groceries like a fiend. Anything to not look at him. “I tried for a long time.” And nearly gave a lot of different men named Jack Daniels heart attacks in the process – it had been shocking enough to find out that real men even had that name that it had given you hope, but you never found your Jack.

Dated for a little while. A very innocent term for the month-long torrid affair the two of you had. A month of exploring the locale and each other, you practically living in his cabana when you felt like a third wheel with your friends. “Sorry about that.” He winces and regrets his decision to never look you up. “It can be hard to find me, unless you know the right people.” The intelligence agency he worked for made sure of it.

“Great-gran’s probably laughing.” Mallory predicts, holding out a tall glass of peach iced tea to him. “She loved weird coincidences and Shakespearean stuff.”

“Hmmm.” He doesn’t know much about coincidences, but he has to meddling friend who seems to know everything. “She was a nice lady.”

“So, Jack.” As much as she wants to just dive in, Mallory has never called anyone ‘dad’ and never thought she would. “What do you do? Please tell me it’s cool. Mom’s job is so boring.”

Jack chuckles and shakes his head, knowing that he can’t divulge too much right now. “I work for Statesman. The whiskey company.” He gives her a small shrug. “Acting CEO.”

“You run a booze company?” The teen is clearly delighted, leaning over the kitchen counter where you’ve buried your face in your cooking. “Does that mean I can drink whiskey, Mom? Since it’s like…my birthright or whatever?”

You snort, shaking your head at her. “I’ll buy you the fanciest bottle they make in six and a half years, kiddo. It can be your first legal bottle.”

Jack snorts and doesn’t say a word when Mallory pouts. He’s not going to go against what you say. He’s not crazy.

“You can have one sip if there is ever an open bottle in the house.” Caving when all she does is pout isn’t a good habit, but you don’t like to make things forbidden to her. That makes them mysterious and desirable, and she’s more likely to go behind your back to get it or end up overdoing it. “But that’s it. And we’re not buying a bottle just so you can try it.”

“Yesssss.” Mallory does a small celebration dance before trying to collect herself and look well behaved. “I just want to know,” she explains, eyes gliding back to Jack in embarrassment. “I don’t…know that much about you…”

“Ask me anything you want.” Some things couldn’t be mentioned of course, but as soon as Jack leaves your house tonight, he will be on the phone to Champ. “I’ll answer as honestly as I can.” He wants to offer to help, he’s pretty handy in a kitchen, but you seem to be trying to avoid looking at him. Busying yourself with everything and he doesn’t want to make things even more difficult.

“Do you have another family?” Mallory’s face is screwed up into an expression of determination, meant to mask the fact that what she’s asking is actually her biggest fear. The one that cruel kids taunted and tormented her with mercilessly and has made her glad to leave previous towns she had once loved or considered home. “Is that why you left Mom?”

“Mal!” There is no amount of squeezing your eyes shut or deep breathing that can undo the fact that your daughter just asked that question, and you set down the block of parmesan you were grating carefully. “Just because he said you can ask questions doesn’t mean you can be rude.”

“It’s okay.” Jack assures you, giving Mallory a bittersweet smile. “I don’t have another family.” He admits softly, licking his lips before he decides to explain. “When I met your mom, I had lost my wife and unborn son two years earlier.”

“Oh…” You can feel your shoulders round, stomach flopping and face drawn in sympathy. “I’m so sorry, Jack.” You didn’t know. How could you? The two of you had done nothing but live in moments of passion and pleasure the entire time you were together. The insulated bubble of your fantasy affair had had no room for reality.

“You didn’t know.” He jerks his shoulder up, one careless shrug although his entire stance is anything but careless. “It wasn’t something I was…able to talk about.” He admits. Hell, it was hard to talk about it now, but that was after a lot of therapy. He looks back over at Mallory. “So no, there’s no secret family.”

“So then why did you leave?” She asks, her voice quiet and tinged with embarrassment. “Why didn’t you want to see Mom anymore?” The whole ships passing in the night explanation seemed like a bullshit adult excuse to her, but she had never thought that she would have an opportunity to actually ask him.

Jack sighs, leaning against the counter and looking at the daughter he should have known about. “Because I was afraid.” It shocks him when the truth comes out if his mouth. “I— when my wife died – it nearly killed me.” He looks down at his boot, scuffing it on the tile floor. “Your mom, I knew that she was special, but I was terrified that I would lose her somehow.” He chokes out a harsh laugh. “Hard to lose someone when you don’t have them, right?”

“I guess.” It’s hard for her to grasp, but she nods slowly before looking down at Astro between her feet and frowns. “I’m gonna feed the cat.” She announces without segue. “Don’t say anything important until I get back.” She’s gone in a flash, with Astro yowling at her heels as he chases her up to the main floor where his bowls and food are. The air in the room seems to get sucked out after her, though, and your shoulders sag at the counter while you try to figure out what the hell to even say.

“I’m sorry.” Jack props his elbows on the counter and leans over it, closing his eyes with a huge sigh of regret. “I didn’t— I wasn’t trying to attack you.” He mumbles. “I just honestly never thought I would have a kid after… and then I find out…” He breaks off the comment with a choked sound.

“I’m sorry. I tried for so long and then it seemed like you just didn’t want to be found which is so stupid and I just—” With both of you speaking at once it’s sort of a jumble of apologies, but you shake your head fiercely and wipe your hands on the nearest kitchen towel. “All she’s ever wanted is to know you. You don’t have to be any more involved than you want to be and I’m not going to ask you for money or anything, but…” You shrug your shoulders and lean across the counter so that you’re shoulder to shoulder. “It would be nice if you wanted to come around sometimes. Get to know her a little?”

“I—” Jack turns towards you, his eyes swimming with emotion. “We have a daughter.” He breathes out in awe.

“My birth control wasn’t quite as strong as we thought,” you joke, even though the water in his eyes is bringing tears to your own that make your throat stick and your shoulders feel heavy.

“Darlin’ if I had known….” His eyes close and he sighs, hanging his head. “I didn’t want to find out what you were doing.” He admits softly. “I didn’t want to see you married to some asshole with two point five perfect kids and a dog, so I never looked.”

“Just one perfect kid.” That feeling of being drawn closer to him is so familiar that you could swear it was just yesterday that you were lying in his arms on the beach in Puerto Vallarta. “And the cat. But he can be a jerk if he doesn’t get his breakfast on time.”

“Was it…hard?” He can’t imagine having to raise a child on his own. “Doing it alone? Did you have family to help you?”

“It wasn’t easy.” This close to him, it’s hard not to want to reach out and touch him. You haven’t allowed yourself to, not wanting to know if that magnetism that had existed fifteen years ago is still there. “But my family helped where they could. We lived with my parents for a long time before heading out on our own when Mal was about eight. At that point I could afford to support us on my own.” You sigh softly, watching your hand inch closer to him of its own accord. “Sometimes I wonder if anything I do is remotely right at all, but she’s turning out amazing all on her own.”

“She was going to take on a full-grown man with a baseball bat.” He chuckles before he cocks his head. “What was that about?”

“I—” If it’s possible, you deflate a little further. “She heard me crying after I shut the door,” you admit, staring down at your hands. “And she’s never taken it lightly when I get upset. I guess…” The thought would make you laugh if you weren’t nearly in tears again, and the sound you make is more like a hiccup. “I guess she’s a hell of a lot more protective than I thought. Just be glad she didn’t swing. The kid has a hell of an arm on her.”

Jack snorts and feels pride swelling in his chest at the notion that his daughter would ferociously protect her mother from anyone. “She wouldn’t have hurt me.” He promises, edging closer to you and unable to deny that he wants to touch you, pull you in and inhale you. To see if that scent that was always underlying any perfume – your scent – was still the same.

“She would have tried.” When he shifts closer, the tips of your fingers brush his arm, and you inhale sharply. Apparently, that spark hasn’t faded over time. At least not for you. And you’re not sure if that’s what you were hoping for or dreading. After all, the idea that he might still want you fifteen years later is…well, it’s wishful thinking.

“Good.” The air has shift. Thickened. If it weren’t for the fact that this is not a mission and you are not a target, he would think that someone is about to attack. Maybe they are. “Fuck.” He whispers, looking into your eyes. “I should have stayed.” He murmurs. “I shoulda told Champ to send someone else.”

“Champ?” You feel like you can barely move, fingertips touching his skin and breath mingling between you like no time has passed at all.

“My boss.” Jack straightens up, bringing you with him. “Darlin’, tell me I’m crazy.” He begs softly. “Tell me to step away, or I’m gonna kiss you.”

“I’ve never been known for my good sense when it comes to you.” The two of you are so wrapped up in your own little world as you round the edge of the counter to be closer to him, that you don’t even hear the soft creak of the stairs as Mallory stops in her tracks to give you privacy. “I just…I don’t…” Don’t isn’t very convincing when you’re practically gliding into his arms, and you force yourself to stop – closing your eyes briefly and breathing slowly before you open your eyes again to find his gaze still locked on you. “Don’t do it unless you mean it,” you ask, barely hearing your own voice. “Letting go of you once was hard enough.”

Jack sighs, heavy and deep for the pit of his soul. “I’ve always thought of you.” He confesses softly. “You – being out there, kept me sane sometimes. Thinking about that month, wondering what you had become.” He leans in and nudges his nose against yours. “You seeing anyone, darlin’?”

“No.” You haven’t for years, essentially giving up on dating when no one could ever come close to making you feel the way that Jack did. The way he still does, apparently, with your arms sliding easily around his waist. “No one ever…I-I couldn’t stop comparing them to you…which felt pretty silly until about ten seconds ago.”

“That’s good.” There’s a cockiness to his smirk as he leans in again. “Because you were always the bar no one could reach.”

If being able to touch him again took your breath away, then it’s surely a natural progression that kissing him for the first time in fifteen years makes your heart stop. That part of you that never stopped being in love with him is soaring right now as you curl your fingers into his shirt and hold his softer form flush against you. You’re both older, softer, changed in both large and small ways – but Jack tastes exactly the same as he did so many years ago. He still overwhelms and fills your senses in exactly the same way, and the reassurance that you haven’t been glorifying his memory for fifteen years is enough to have you eagerly seeking to deepen the kiss.

Kissing you was always natural. From the first time on that little dance floor, crowded and sweaty, to right now. He’s been no saint since the two of you parted ways, but there have only been two women that fit into his arms like they were made for him. Now one of them is right here. Jack groans and eagerly slides his tongue into your mouth as you open for him.

You moan softly, pouring the sound into his mouth as the two of you relearn the contours of each other’s mouths and grip the curves of each other’s bodies, lost in the moment in the middle of your kitchen. Years ago, a kiss like this would have had your back up against a wall or tree or door and your dress pulled up to your waist so Jack could push inside you as slowly or as frantically as he pleased – but it builds more slowly tonight. Reminding yourselves of exactly how good things can be.

Maybe its age that’s slowing him down, or maybe it’s that he doesn’t want this to end, but Jack doesn’t rush. Which is a good thing when he sees movement out of the corner of his vision and he pulls away hastily, remembering you do have a teenage daughter in the house.

“I…um…” With your entire face on fire and your body lit up with that desperate, aching need for pleasure for the first time in years, you’re relieved to only see Astro when you turn your head. But a creak on the stairs makes you nearly laugh; you bury your face in your hands for a moment before taking a deep breath. “Mal? You can come out of hiding.”

“I didn’t want to interrupt.” Mallory is chewing on her bottom lip when she emerges, hands stuffed into her pockets and looking sheepish. “It sounded like you guys were talking about something important…” For her entire life she’s dreamed about her dad reappearing and her parents getting back together – wanting that idyllic life of domestic harmony like other kids had and so her mom could be happy. And it sounds like she might actually get it. Or at least she’s a huge step closer than she was even an hour ago.

“Sorry, kiddo.” Jack has the decency to flush at his daughter having to deal with him kissing her mom the first time he meets her. “I didn’t mean to rush that.”

“Does…” Mallory looks between you with poorly disguised hope in her eyes, settling the question on Jack when she recognizes the look on your face as uncertainty. “Does this mean you’re getting back together?”

“I—” Jack looks back at you and then to Mallory again. “That is up to your mom.” He hums softly. “It’s been a long time since she’s had to put up with me.” Flashing a grin at the joke to dispel the tension. You might not want something with him. “She might not want ‘ole Jack.”

“Yes, she does,” Mallory insists quickly. “She—”

“Mal.” You have a feeling that if you don’t stop her, a whole lot of teenage observations will come spilling out of her mouth and you’re not sure how ready you are for any of those truths to be spoken. “Your dad and I have a lot to talk about. How about for now we just set the table and I’ll finish making dinner?” A glance at Jack gets you a nod, and you squeeze his hand gently in your own before letting go. There is a lot to talk about, but having him back beside you has always been your ultimate fantasy.

Instead of haunting you, he helps Mallory. Letting her order him around as the two of them get the table ready to eat. It’s homey and comforting, something he’s not imagined for himself in forever. Learning that his daughter has his observation skills is amusing, along with your artistic side. The flowers that had been on the entry way table magically appearing on the table in a recreated centerpiece. “So, what other questions do you have for me?” He asks her, knowing she wants to know more. He’s already soaking up information about the first fourteen years that’s he’s missed.

“I looked you up when I was feeding Astro.” She admits, holding up her cell phone as she connects her Spotify to the Bluetooth speakers she got for her last birthday to play some music during dinner. “All I could find was your company bio. Born and raised in Kentucky, worked for the company for twenty years, blah blah blah, all that kind of stuff.” Mallory tilts her head at him as she turns on a Florence and the Machine playlist – her favourite that you also love – and shrugs. “What do you do for fun?”

Jack hums, knowing that his main ‘hobby’ is work. “Rope work.” He decides that’s safe enough. “Plus a little sport shooting. I am handy with a whip, a lasso and six shooters.”

Mallory’s nose wrinkles slightly, confusion evident on her face, and she squints at him like she’s inspecting him for a lie. “Didn’t cowboys die out like a hundred years ago?”

Jack chuckles and shakes his head. “Naw, they’re still out there. Just have to know where to look.”

“It was always kind of your dad’s thing.” And despite the distractingly neat button-down shirt and typically tight jeans he’s wearing, you had noticed that he still wears cowboy boots regardless of living in New York City. “He was the only one walking the beach in boots instead of sandals.”

Jack grins at the way Mallory wrinkles her nose and reaches out to tweak it. “Soft soles.” He huffs. “Sand burned my feet.”

You soundly resist the joke about how that was the only soft part of him back then, and instead hand Jack a bowl brimming with spaghetti in garlicky tomato sauce to put on the table while you bring over the platter of chicken. “How long have you been in New York?”

“Six years.” Jack brings over the bowl and sets it down. “Champ wanted me running the New York office. Knowing I liked to play the stock games.”

“Everybody dig in.” Seeing him sitting at your dinner table like he’s always meant to be there is disorienting in the best kind of way. Like you’ve imagined him and wished him into being there for so long that it finally worked. The whole thing will be enough to make you break right down and cry tonight, but for now you’re going to savor it, and hold on to that fresh feeling of his lips against yours for as long as you can.

It’s quiet for a moment while everyone fills up their plates. Jack keeps looking between you and Mallory, wondering what it would have been like if he had kept in touch, if he had known about her. “We should do something.” He decides. “Some kind of family outing?”

“Can we?” The suggestion energizes your daughter, making her sit up straight in her seat enthusiastically as she digs into her dinner. “There’s a bunch of touristy stuff we want to do since we just got here. Yankees game, Broadway, the Met, Times Square, all the super touristy stuff.”

“Whatever you want to do.” Jack nods. “As long as your mother is okay with me playing your guide.”

“I think there’s something you should do first, though.” Mallory tells him honestly. “You and Mom should go out. Even if it’s not like…a date date. You should spend time together.”

He stares at his daughter for a moment before he chuckles and shakes his head before he looks at you. “I think she’s trying to orchestrate something, but she’s probably right.”

“I shouldn’t have let her watch Parent Trap so many times,” you huff, raising an eyebrow at Mallory as she gives you her best innocent face. “It wouldn’t kill us to have dinner.” There are certainly plenty of things to discuss that aren’t for your fourteen-year-old’s ears, especially after that kiss. “It doesn’t—don’t feel like it has to be a date. We should just take some time to catch up.” The last thing you want him to feel is pressured, no matter how much you were ready to drag him upstairs not too long ago.

“No.” Jack braces his elbows on the edge of the table, that kiss making him confident that you are still feeling the same way you did all those years ago. “I owe you fifteen years of Mother’s Day celebrations. And I want to see if we are still compatible.”

Mallory looks positively triumphant with her mouth full of pasta, and you look at Jack for a long moment before nodding. “Okay.” It’s not exactly hard to agree to, since that kiss screamed compatibility. “Mal’s old enough to stay home alone, so…yeah. I’d like that. Just – let me know when and where.”

“You could always go out tonight!” Mallory chirps. “After dinner. It’s early and this is New York.” Jack bites his lip to keep from laughing at the face of unbridled enthusiasm.

“Your dad might have other plans, honey.” After all, who knows what kind of life he’s leading these days. He had asked you if you were seeing anyone, but you hadn’t had the presence of mind to ask the same.

“I don’t.” Jack supplies quickly. “But your mom may not want to do anything tonight.” He offers, giving you an out of you want it. “It’s been a shocking day.”

“What the hell.” You laugh, shrugging at the absurdity of the entire day on whole. An extremely eventful Thursday if there ever was one. “Why not? The house will be nice and quiet while Mal does her homework.”

He hadn’t expected you to say yes, but he flashes you a grin and nods. “Well, okay darlin’. How’s a stroll through Central Park sound?” He asks. “They have a lot of musicians out in the evenings.”

“Sounds good.” Nothing formal, nothing fussy, and nothing that will be too upsetting to Mal if it doesn’t go well. That seems okay to you.

******

Jack insists on cleaning up the dishes, shooing you away to go get ready and claiming that Mallory can help him if he needs guidance on where to put things. “You know,” he keeps his eyes on the pan he is scrubbing. “You momma may not want to pursue anything with me.” He tells her. “But that don’t mean that you and I aren’t going to get to know one another.” He just doesn’t want her to push for the two of you because she wants to keep him in her life. That was guaranteed the moment he learned about her. Living next door just makes it even easier.

“She misses you.” Mallory dries the glasses and flatware carefully to put away, watching her father as he works. “I know that having me isn’t a guarantee that you’ll get married and live happily ever after. I get that.” She shrugs a little, leaning on the counter and looking up at him. “But she never asks for anything for herself, and I know she wouldn’t ask you for anything either. So…whatever happens is whatever happens. I just don’t want her to regret shit anymore.”

“Damn.” Jack shoots her a grin and looks back down at his pan. “Seems like you inherited my spirit.” He tells her. “Brash, fearsome and reason to fight when it’s something you believe in or want to protect.”

“Mom says we’re a lot alike.” She puts the clean glasses in the cupboard and offers him a small, devious grin. “At least, that’s what she said when I frustrate her by talking my way out of trouble.”

His laugh is full, from the belly and he practically crows at how pleased with herself she looks. “I could always get her madder than a hen having her eggs stolen and then soothe her ruffled feathers.”

“I don’t—” Mallory chews her lip, plopping down on the stool on the other side of the counter to look at him. There are only a few old Polaroids in a shoebox in her mom’s room that she had ever seen him in, and he looks pretty much the same. Just older and all the things that go with age. “I don’t think she ever stopped loving you,” she murmurs, eyes shifting away to look at her own hands the same way you do when you’re nervous or upset. “I mean she’s never said it or anything, but I don’t know why else she would’ve avoided dating like she did.”

Oh. Jack’s shoulders slump and he looks at the daughter the two of you created from a vacation fling. “I—I promise I won’t hurt her.” He vows softly, knowing that she cares about your happiness.

“Okay.” Mallory nods, having said all she has to say for the moment until she remembers one more thing while putting the flatware back in its drawer. “Did you…” she looks back at him apprehensively. “Ever love her?”

“I did.” He murmurs softly. “It’s why I couldn’t be with her. At least why I thought I couldn’t.” His grief over his wife had twisted him and warped his thoughts on love for awhile. “There have been two women I’ve loved, and your mother is one of them.”

******

It took you a solid twenty minutes of staring in your bedroom mirror panicking over not having anything nice enough to wear out on a maybe-but-maybe-not date with the man who fathered your child. You manage to calm yourself down enough to transfer your energy to a pep talk – reminding yourself that you’re just going for a walk and the whole point of this is just to casually spend time together so just put on some damn jeans and a clean blouse and fucking breathe. Is this the first night you’ve refreshed your makeup after work instead of wiping it off in exhaustion? Yes. But you’ll be damned if you don’t go on this totally casually absolutely not-a-big-deal walk and not look nice for the man you – begrudgingly admit to yourself – have been in love with for fifteen years. You just can’t let yourself get your hopes up. Even as good as that kiss was.

Heading back downstairs, you check yourself in the hallway mirror one more time and stop to give Astro a snuggle when you grab your favourite cardigan off the coat hook by the front door. “Knock knock.” Deciding to announce yourself when you get to the bottom of the stairs in case Mallory and Jack are talking about something one of them might consider personal, you pause in the kitchen doorway before turning the corner. “How’s clean up coming?”

Jack is wiping his hands on the dish rag as he turns around. “Done.” He manages before he purses his lips together and lets out a low whistle. “Darlin’, maybe I need to go freshen up to be worthy of walking you around.” He praises as he sets down the towel and takes a step towards you.

“It’s just jeans and a clean shirt, Jack.” Still, that doesn’t stop the warmth from rising in your cheeks, pleased at the praise without letting yourself visibly preen. Not in front of Mal.

He grins, rocking closer and catching a subtle whiff of perfume. “Everything looks good on you, remember?”

“Yeah, yeah.” You roll your eyes at him like you don’t distinctly remember that he used to end that phrase with things like ’especially me’ or ’even nothing’, or look smug about it after painting your skin with his cum. “I remember.”

“You kids have fun, now.” Mallory grins, echoing what you always say to her when you would drop her off at a friend’s house. “Doors will stay locked, no tv until my homework is done, lights out by 11:30, I know the drill.” She practically shoves the two of you toward the kitchen door looking as pleased with herself as humanly possible. “You two stay out as looooong as you want.”

“Why do I have a feeling your daughter wants you on this date more than you want to be on it?” Jack asks as the two of you find yourselves on the stoop.

“That’s not true.” Outside, out of view of your daughter, you feel like you can breathe a little more easily. If only because the baggage you carry is full of things that you try never to shoulder her with. “I’m just…I’ve had a lot of dreams that start with you walking back into our lives and I don’t want to pressure you into anything. That’s all.” Taking a deep breath, you nudge him slightly as you head for the few stairs that will bring you to the sidewalk. “I know she has her hopes up. But you’ve had a lot dropped on you today even before our teenage daughter decided to play matchmaker.” Holding your hand out to him as though it’s proof that you want to be there, you offer him a smile. “For me? I just can’t believe you’re actually here.”

Jack takes your hand, feeling the weight of your fingers resting against his and the warmth of your skin. “I regretted it.” He admits quietly. “Not getting your information, or leaving you a way to get ahold of me if you wanted.” He shakes his head. “I know I didn’t tell you about my wife, I couldn’t.”

“I feel like I should have worked harder to find you, but I tried everything I could think of.” The two of you start down the street together, easily finding that stride together like it hasn’t been more than a decade since you walked hand in hand. “Things would have been so different.”

Jack grunts, fully aware that without a Top Secret clearance, you wouldn’t have been able to find him. “Darlin’, there’s a reason why you weren’t able to find me.” He ventures, squeezing your hand. He knows Champ might be sore at him, but you are the mother of his child. His family legacy. You would find out when he dies, and family who are together get to know.

“What do you mean?” There aren’t many people out right now, or at least a lot fewer than you would have expected for the time of night, and you and Jack stride slowly down the block together even with confusion written on your face.

“Statesman isn’t just a whiskey company, darlin’.” Jack explains. “Beyond the bourbon, we’re an independent intelligence agency.” He looks over to see you frowning even harder in confusion. “I’m a spy, sweetheart.”

Stopping dead in your tracks, it takes every ounce of restraint you have not to just wrench your hand out of his and do something rash like scream. “Jack, if you don’t want to be in our lives, just say so,” you tell him, carefully removing your fingers from their place threaded through his. It feels like you’ve swallowed concrete, the sinking disappointment in your belly pulling you away from him a little more every second. “You don’t have to lie.”

“I’m not lying.” Jack huffs, reaching for you but dropping his hand when you jerk out if his reach. “I’m – hand to God, I am an intelligence officer. Was one when we met.”

“Spies don’t work for distilleries; they work for the government and you are the least likely military man I’ve ever met in my life.” The boiling frustration pouring off of you pushes tears to the surface as you wrap your arms around yourself and shake your head emphatically. “How in the hell am I supposed to believe you, Jack?” It’s like a comic book, too far beyond belief to even entertain. “Is Jack even your name? Or was I right that Jack Daniels was an alias the whole time?” It’s a silly name and you’ve always thought so. Thought he was hiding something. But you went and fell in love with him anyway like a fool.

His lips push into a frown, and he shakes his head. “Come on.” He turns around and starts walking back the same direction you just traveled from. “I’ll prove it since you can’t take my word for it.” He tells himself as he walks with large, determined strides that anyone would have that reaction. Although he had hoped you would ask questions rather than just disbelieve him.

“I guess I’m following you.” Muttering to yourself as you watch him start to walk away, you’re torn between the absolute heartbreak of finally thinking that he truly wants nothing to do with you and being concerned that he might not be well. The percentage possibility that he’s telling the truth is so slim that you immediately push it from your mind. Despite clearly not believing him, you hustle behind the man you were supposed to be taking a nice stroll with until he’s climbing the stairs to his own brownstone right next to yours.

From the outside, Jack’s brownstone looks normal. He opens the outer door and moves over to the wall next to the door. Turning around and making sure you are paying attention before he leans down to peer into the small round orb that looks like a digital thermostat on the wall. Initiating the retinal scan.

“The hell…?” Sheer curiosity has you stepping closer, looking at the panel that he’s staring into but looks like something out of a James Bond movie.

The interior door to the house clicks open and Jack shoves it open so you can walk in. “It’s in my library.” He tells you, leading the way through the wax rubbed paneled hallway and through the original pocket doors into the cozy room.

His house is built exactly the same way as yours, the whole block having been built at the same time well over a hundred years ago, but his library is much grander. Yours is low key at the moment, and is mostly a place for you to read or Mallory to play her guitar. “What is?” You ask, not seeing anything suspicious or out of place in the comfortable space.

When he had moved into the brownstone, he had told the techs that he wanted all the Statesman upgrades to blend into the natural feel of the house. Beyond the retinal scanner, they had done a damn good job. Jack walks over to a bookshelf and presses a button that is hidden in the ornate carving.

A whole panel of the wall starts to move, sinking inward slightly before shifting and sliding to the left so that part of his bookcase gives way to a… “Do you seriously have a wall of weapons?” There are guns of various calibers hanging alongside what looks to be a lasso and a whip like he mentioned earlier. Jesus Christ, you had always just thought he was really into growing up on a ranch…

Jack picks up what looks like just a whip handle, short and practically useless to the common person. “Back up.” He warns you, pressing the well-worn button on the handle as the electrified whip extends and flickers to life, deadly and beautiful.

“The hell?” Stepping back wasn’t quite enough, and you stumble backward a large step more before you steady yourself on a nearby chair. “Is that…electric?” You ask, eyes wide with awe and somehow more confusion.

Jack keeps his eyes on his weapon, knowing it can slice anything in half and he doesn’t want to accidentally hurt you. The vase, however, he never really liked it. He swings the whip over his head and flicks his wrist, sending the electrified cord out to wrap around the neck of the vase and flowers, neatly slicing them off and letting them topple to the floor. Straightening up when he’s done, he presses the button again and the whip retracts. “It is.” He finally answers, turning back to you.

“Jesus!” Instinctively jumping backward to be even further away from the weapon, you can feel all the blood drain from your face and your jaw drops open in shock. “What—how did—I don’t—” A coherent thought doesn’t seem to be able to form for an exhaustive amount of time and you stand there, dumbfounded, for longer than you’re proud of. “You’re—you’re serious, aren’t you?”

Jack sets the whip down and nods, aware that there is probably a good chance that you will flee. Perhaps keep him away from Mallory. “I wasn’t lying to you, darlin’. I’ve never lied to you. Maybe kept things to myself – like why I was in Mexico – but I never lied.”

“Wh—why were you in Mexico?” It’s overwhelming, and confusing, but your gut is somehow sure that he’s telling you the truth – which might only be adding to the feeling of confusion, you can’t tell yet. “You just said you were on vacation…?”

“I was in a sense.” Jack nods, relaxing slightly now that you are asking questions. The reluctant belief in your eyes making him shuffle slightly closer to you. “I had just finished my first mission. Those bruises you saw weren’t from a bar fight in Jamaica – well, not just a bar fight.” He admits. “I was in Mexico to recuperate and lay low. And celebrate mission success.”

“So you—” Shaking your head only seems to rattle your thoughts more, and you look between him and the secret wall panel of weapons (is that really just a thought you just had?) apprehensively. “You’re like…James Bond with a Stetson?” The phrase is so ridiculous that it almost makes you laugh, but all that comes out is a breathy huff. “Just…going around the world on secret spy missions and sleeping with random women and pretending to sell whiskey?”

“No, I do sell whiskey.” Jack flashes you a grin and lifts his hand to rub through his hatless hair. “Have you seen our stock? As the senior agent, I’m not seducing as much as I might have when I was younger. And I go out on missions only when the young bucks can’t get it done alone.”

You have far, far too many questions all swimming around in your head right now, but the way he’s looking at you is so earnest that you swallow – hard – and look back over at him. “So, what…I couldn’t find you because Jack Daniels is your code name or something?”

“No.” Jack shakes his head and grins at you. “Jack Daniels really is my name.” He tells you. “It’s more that Ginger keeps records of me classified.” He chuckles. “My code name is Whiskey.”

“Of course it is.” With both of your hands waving in the air, you flop backward into the chair you were just leaning on. “I—this is…it’s kind of insane,” you admit, trying to wrap your head around the completely far-fetched idea.

“I’ll admit that.” Jack places the whip back into the panel and slides it closed. “But that’s why you couldn’t find me.” He murmurs softly. “If you decide you don’t want to have anything to do with it, that’s fine.” He would be heartbroken, but that’s not a new sensation.

“If all this were true—” The hurt look on his face makes you pause, and you pinch the bridge of your nose tightly between two fingers. “Let’s say this is all true,” you rephrase. “Wouldn’t you get in a ton of trouble for telling me?”

“Maybe.” Jack can still see that you don’t want to believe him. “Let’s find out.” He opens up a drawer in his desk and tosses you a pair of reading glasses, keeping one for himself. “Put those on, darlin’.”

Sure. A pair of glasses will tell him if he’s in trouble with his super spy bosses. Makes sense. You’re just about willing to admit that your weary heart can’t take a bunch of elaborate lies, but that insistent nagging in your gut tells you to put the damn glasses on and just find out. The image in them is almost instant, as he puts his own pair on and taps the tip of the frames like he’s pushing an On button or something.

“Jack! Burnin’ that midnight oil there?” An older man, broad like Jack but with perhaps ten or fifteen years on him and possessed of a thicker accent, appears in front of your eyes with a cigar in his mouth and a surprised smile on his face that quickly drops into concern. “Jack…” He clears his throat purposefully. “Now, I don’t mind there bein’ a beautiful woman in my office, but I prefer it when they’re by my own invitation.”

“Sorry Champ.” Jack motions towards you and introduces you. “There’s been a development here in New York.”

“Oh?” Champ raises a brow and sets down the cigar, then turns to reach for a bottle of Statesman Reserve. “What seems to be the problem? Nothings coming from the White House.”

Jack shakes his head. “No. This is more of a personal thing.” He explains. “Aww hell, there’s no good way to explain this, Champ. This lady is the mother of my fourteen-year-old daughter that I just learned about.”

Champ pauses, the bottle in his hand poised to pour, and he carefully sets it back down on the desk in front of him. “Ma’am,” he nods to you before looking back at Jack with a sigh. “When I told you to take a little R&R after the Jamaica job, this ain’t really what I meant, son.”

“I know.” Jack barely manages to keep from rolling his eyes, but he does huff. “However, now that I am aware of this, we need to initiate ‘Family Protocol’ for them.” He reminds his boss.

“Ginger’s already got everything set up, she’s just waiting on my go ahead.” Champ admits, leaning forward at his desk. “Ma’am, I understand this must come as a bit of a shock to you, but rest assured you’re in good hands, alright? Ol’ Jack’s the best in the business and we’ll take good care of you.”

“Uh…” The best you can do is nod, bewildered, and reach for Jack’s hand to cling to. As insane as this is, he’s still your port in the storm. “I—okay.”

“Wait…” Jack’s nostrils flair. “How does Ginger already have everything set up?” He demands, fully aware that those kinds of things take time.

“About a week ago, your DNA got pinged in our system—”

“The ancestry kits.” You interrupt, now wide eyed over something completely different. “A couple of weeks ago Mal and I each did one of those ancestry kits where you spit in a tube and the company analyzes your DNA…she hated not being able to fill out those school projects they have the kids do about family history and I—I thought—it could help us find out about where your family came from.”

“And you didn’t think it would be a good idea to let me know?” Jack asks, incredulous that Champ and Ginger would keep this from him.

“I was havin’ Ginger put together a file for you.” Champ admits, picking up the bottle again to pour himself a drink. “Same as we have done for any other agent.” It had happened a few times over the years, but never like this. The existence of those dang DNA tests was turning out to be interesting for the intelligence community. “But that file can be sealed now, since y’all found each other.” His eyes trace between you and Jack for a moment as he takes a sip of his drink. “Why don’t you bring your lady friend and your daughter down to Kentucky on the jet this weekend and we’ll get them squared away. Some of the New York techs can update their home security while you’re here.”

He’s still slightly upset, knowing that Champ knew first-hand about Jack’s past and how it shaped him. Although he can’t be too upset about him withholding information until it was deemed safe. It was the nature of the game he played. Turning to you, he wants to know what you think. “Darlin’?” He asks softly. “It’s your decision.”

“What are ’Family Protocols’?” It was the phrase that Jack had used, but you have no idea what it means and frankly it sounds more threatening than protective to your ears. “And why do we need to update our security? We’re not in danger…are we?”

“No.” Jack shakes his head. “No more than the average person. It’s why Statesman keeps our identities locked down so tight. Even the president doesn’t know who we are.” He doesn’t want to scare you, but he wants you to know the truth. “However, we take our families very seriously, so you are protected as if you were. Kind of like being the First Family, without the Secret Service taking you shopping.”

“This is…” You can’t help but shake your head, brows knitted together as you try to absorb the inherent truth of the situation. Jack didn’t make himself invisible to you for fifteen years – he was that way to everyone. He had kept his life to himself years ago to protect you. To keep you safe from his big, wild world of spies and secrets. “This is a lot,” you murmur finally, squeezing his hand tightly. “But it would be…it would be stupid not to do it, right? Like if someone did figure out Mallory was your daughter and something did happen, then she could be protected?”

“Listen, even if you want nothing to do with this, Mallory will be protected.” He promises fervently. He won’t let his second child down like he did his first. He knows rationally that he couldn’t have prevented the events that took them from him, but he can’t help but wonder if being an agent at the time wouldn’t have helped. “I promise you, Statesman won’t let anything happen to her. Even if you aren’t aware we are around.”

“At the risk of being…sentimental in front of your boss?” Nodding in the older man’s direction, you never talk or your eyes off Jack. “I spent fifteen years with you on my mind every single day, Jack Daniels. I’m not bowing out just because things get weird.” The conversation about what the two of you are to each other still needs to happen, but it’s suddenly feeling even more important than it did when you were only talking about your daughter’s happiness and not her safety.

“This sounds like a mighty fine time for me to say Goodnight.” Champ interjects with a clearing of his throat. “Jack, you tell Ginger when you’re coming, and I’ll have the ranch house made up.” He looks towards you with a polite nod. “Ma’am.” He taps his glasses and his image disappears.

“So…” Flustered and still a little overwhelmed, you take your glasses off and carefully hand them back to Jack. “Your boss seems…nice? Polite, at least.”

“He’s a good man.” Jack admits. “He’s the one that recruited me to Statesman.”

“Our walk got derailed.” You blow out a breath, knowing that that is your fault. “But I think…I think this is more important.”

“I understand that it’s a lot, sweetheart.” Jack acknowledges, moving over to you and rubbing your shoulders soothingly. “We can take the walk now, or we can have a drink and talk.”

“I think it’s only fair that I try that whiskey you sell.” Reaching up for him, your thumb smoothes over his stubbled cheek like you’re trying to reassure him and not yourself. “Central Park will be there the next time we want to take a walk. We should talk about things. I mean…you just found out you have a daughter and I just found you, so…there’s a lot to unpack.”

“Yes it is.” Making his way over to the bar cart gives him something to do. Keeps him from grabbing you and kissing you again. Talking needs to happen. “You really have thought about me since then?” He asks, picking up a bottle of Reserve.

The urge to chuckle is one you can stifle, and you walk across the room to the sofa beside his elaborate bar. “Of course I have.” You tell him honestly. “You—you changed my life, Jack. Even if you hadn’t given me Mallory, you still would have changed everything for me.”

“Cursing me for leaving you alone isn’t the same as wanting me there.” He smirks as he pours you both a double and brings the glasses and the bottle over to the couch.

“There was more wanting than cursing.” The glass he hands you is heavy, the liquor inside a rich and syrupy deep brown. “Although I probably would have said some pretty unkind things to you during the actual labor so maybe it’s better that you missed that part.”

Jack chuckles and sits down beside you. “Every woman has the right to curse the person who did that to her as much as she wants.” He reasons before he holds his glass out to you. “To being neighbors.”

“Neighbors.” The glasses make a pretty clinking sound and the warm, smoky sweet burn of your first sip of Statesman makes you hum pleasantly. “I have all kinds of photo albums and home videos. You can took a look whenever you want.”

“I will.” Jack wants that more than anything. “I want to see whatever you’ve got. I’ve always wanted kids…before.” He admits quietly. “Wanted five or six of them.”

“I always thought I’d have two or three.” Though obviously neither of you had ever anticipated having them together. “Mal used to ask me for a little sister for Christmas every year…” You shrug a little, staring into your glass. “You don’t have to tell me what happened to your wife, but I—if you want to talk about it, I’m all ears.”

“No.” Jack sighs softly. “You deserve to hear about it. Despite what you think, I was in the military.” He tells you. “My wife, she was eight months pregnant with our baby boy and she went to the convenience store to get me another pack of cigarettes. I was about to go out into the field for the weekend and wanted to make sure I had enough.” Bitter guilt rises in the back of his throat thinking about how he was packing for a fucking field op while his wife and child lay dying. “She— two fucking meth head out freaks came in to rob the place.” His voice wavers and he coughs. “She was caught up in the crossfire.”

“Oh, Jack…” You set your glass down on the nearest table and reach for him instead. “I’m so sorry.” Losing him to the wild and unknown world was hard enough. You can’t even imagine the heartbreak of knowing there was no chance you could ever have him back again. “And I…I didn’t mean to offend you. I just meant – the only military men I’ve known were uptight. Sticklers. And you were…you were so free when I knew you. But I guess…I guess we actually have a lot to learn about each other.”

“I was kind of a rule breaker in the military.” He admits with a grin. “It was join Statesman or going to the brig.”

“That sounds more like the man I knew.” It makes you smile, despite the ache on his behalf for the loss of his wife and first child. Losing Mallory would completely destroy you.

“I— when we met, I was sure that no one would ever touch my heart again.” He takes another sip of his whiskey. “And when you did, you scared the shit out of me.”

“If it’s any consolation, you surprised me, too.” Picking up your glass again seems to be the best way to keep yourself from holding onto him like a lifeline so you cradle it in both hands and look down into the amber liquid so you don’t have to see if he reacts badly to what you’re about to say. “I didn’t exactly think that I was going to meet the only man I’d ever love at 21.”

“Did you try to move on, darlin’?” He asks quietly. “Surely there someone that had captured your interest?”

“I tried.” You nod but hesitate to look up at him, afraid of being overly emotional while you talk. “But nothing really came of any of it. Finding a man my own age was out because none of them wanted to be fathers so young, and after I while I realized that none…none of them compared to you anyway. And Mal doesn’t deserve to have some half-assed excuse for a stepfather just because I miss sharing a bed with someone. I love her too much to bring anyone into her life that isn’t worthy of her.”

“That’s good.” Jack can’t fault you for your view. “I haven’t found anyone either. One-night stands are as close to a connection as I’ve made in the past fifteen years.”

“Well.” When you shrug again it is accompanied by a lopsided smile. “You had your secret life to protect. Can’t fault you for being picky about who you share it with.”

“It wasn’t because of that.” He murmurs softly. “It was because of someone else.”

“You…met someone else?” It shouldn’t surprise you. And it shouldn’t hurt as badly as it does. But you can feel every single one of those long-seen hopes breaking in half as you take a long drink of that whiskey he’s now known for.

Jack looks at you for a moment before he snorts and shakes his head. “Sweetheart…” he shuffles closer. “I was talking about you.”

“You—?” Shock paints your face yet again, and your head shoots up to find him looking down at you so softly that you could just break right down and cry. It makes your voice soft and your shoulders round, and your eyebrows raise up in bewildered surprise. “You really loved me that much?”

His hand comes up to stroke your cheek, wanting nothing more than to lean in and kiss away your surprise, but he doesn’t. Instead he looks into your eyes and nods seriously. “Darlin’ I left my heart with you in Mexico. You— you made me realize I could love again, and you swiped it right up and took it with you when we went our own way.”

“I took a little bit more of you with me than just that,” you remind him, shifting slightly so you can thread your fingers through his other hand. “But you…I guess you never knew that you carried my heart all these years, like I didn’t know I carried yours.” It’s sobering, an irony of the glass you have in your hand, and you move that much closer to him on the couch. “We were so caught up in having the best temporary moments together that we didn’t consider letting it be more.”

“I don’t know if I woulda been good for you until I got my head on straight.” Jacks admits, knowing he had to work through some issues to admit his feelings for you back then.

“Seems an awful lot like a second chance.” You’re almost afraid to say it, but the echo of that kiss in your kitchen and the shy graze of his calloused fingertips on your cheek give you so much hope that you’re bursting with it.

“It seems like.” He hums, enjoying the way your eyes flutter slightly. “It would be a shame to waste it, wouldn’t it?” He asks, his thumb rubbing over your bottom lip before he leans in and kisses you again.

It would be a damn shame to waste it, you could not agree more. You’re so eager not to waste it that you barely get your glass onto the nearest table, abandoning it entirely to run your fingers through Jack’s thick hair and pull him closer.

There is a groan that rumbles from his mouth, into yours. Passionate and lusty while his own hand fumbles to deposit the nearly empty glass so he can wrap his hand around your back and tug you back towards him. It's what he's wanted for so long. Needed for so long and it's finally here.

You’re not sure which one of you loses balance first, but the result of desperately clinging to each other and refusing to let go lies in Jack toppling backward and taking you with him. It is by no means the first time you have ended up sprawled out across his chest in a fit of passion, but it has been long enough since the last time that it makes both of you smile into the kiss. You might have laughed if you weren’t so hungry to swallow every other sound he feeds you.

Jack grunts, grinning against your lips and he takes advantage by sliding his hand down to cup your ass. Rocking you on the steadily hardening bulge in the front of his jeans.

Whimpering in response, you plant your knees easily on either side of his trim hips to steady yourself and let all your sounds of approval drip into his mouth. It’s been years since you so much as kissed someone, let alone was in such a compromising position with anyone, but you soak it up with glee – because it’s him.

Suddenly it’s fifteen years ago. Both of you greedy and unable to get enough of each other. Keeping his lips on yours while he’s kicking at his boots, trying to toe them off so he can move on to removing other clothing. Unless you want him too, he’s not stopping.

Needy moans and sighs fill the room, elevating the sound of pants and labored breathing to a favourite symphony. His boots and your shoes hit the floor gracelessly, letting your balance shift once more to focus on unbuttoning his shirt even though your hands are clumsy and eager.

“Jesus.” Once the two of you come up for air, it’s a race to see who can get more buttons undone, or ripped. Jack doesn’t give a shit. The sacrifice of a shirt is a small price to pay for being able to touch you. Reaching between you when you get it opened, he flicks the button of your jeans open and drags down your zipper.

“Should’ve— fuck— worn a dress,” you grumble, hating the few seconds that you have to lift off of him to actually pull your clothing off. Your favourite shirt and most flattering jeans hit the floor with an unceremonious thunk, and you wish like hell that you had thought to put on cuter underwear for a split second before getting self-conscious. This isn’t the same body he knew – you’ve changed since pregnancy and childbirth, filled out with age. There is always a chance, however slim, that he might not be attracted to you as much as he used to be.

“Fucking hell.” Jack moans as he grabs onto your hips, larger and softer than they were before. Matured. He loves it. “Still fucking gorgeous.” He thought you were a knockout fifteen years ago, but you are even more beautiful now. Maybe it’s because you’re the mother of his child, or still hold his heart, but you are everything he wants in a woman.

That answers that, you think with a grin, as Jack practically pulls you back into his lap. “Jeans,” you mumble against his lips, your fingers already working to pull his belt buckle open. The man has never owned a single pair of jeans that wasn’t a damn second skin – not then and not now – and you love it.

Jack growls when you start to push and tug his jeans down. "Fuck, I'll do it, take off your fucking shirt." He begs, gently pushing you off of him so he can leap up off the couch and start to peel the jeans down his thighs.

You have never minded taking orders when they’re that eager, and twenty seconds later you’re standing completely naked next to the couch as he finishes kicking off his jeans and pulling off the undershirt that he was wearing under his plaid. He’s softer now, a slight belly where there used to be flat abs, and his thighs thicker with that little bit of inevitable padding that has kept strong muscles safe over the years. The body of a god right up to the cowboy pornstache and it makes you grin wickedly. “Lie back, baby,” you insist, moving to get back on the sofa and straddle his waist again.

He fucking loved, loved, when you rode him. Always teasing that he was your broncin' buck and you were trying to break him in. Laying down and reaching for you, noticing your breasts have changed and loving that fact. Giving him the daughter that is next door changed your body and when he gets the chance, he's going to kiss and praise each change individually. "Jesus, I don't remember the last time I've been this hard." He groans, cock twitching against his stomach.

“Probably the last time I was this wet.” Rolling your hips forward in his lap drags your dripping cunt along the underside of his cock and makes you both moan. “Fuck, Jack.” Actually having him beneath you again and not just imagining him with your fingers between your thighs is a head rush of the highest order, making you wish you could still swivel your hips like you used to, to just slide him right inside you.

"Yeah?" Jack grunts, tensing his stomach muscles and making his cock lift a few inches off his belly. "You like the feel of that cock against your pussy, sweetheart?" He moans himself when you grind down against him a little harder. "You— you should feel it inside you again, just to be sure you like it."

Steadying yourself with one hand on the back of the sofa, your other wraps around his thick length eagerly, guiding the tip of his cock to your entrance when you lift your hips. It’s all a series of relatively small movements, but sinking down on him – slowly, because shit you forgot how thick he is – is that perfect, sinful version of heaven you’ve been missing for years and years. The way your pussy has to stretch to accommodate him makes you cry out in pleasure, head dropping back while all your focus jumps to the twitching cock inside you.

Hissing between his clenched teeth, Jack tries to stay still. To not buck up and bury himself deep as your tight walls slide over him. He's already about to bust and he will curse himself blue if he disappoints you like that. Needing to make sure that you cum at least twice before he lets go himself. Especially since he hadn't eaten that pretty little cunt like he should have. After, he'll do that after. Right now, his hands are clawing at your hips and his feet are pushing against the end of the sofa so hard the damn thing creaks in protest.

There is no wasted time here, no pause to absorb or adjust, just the greedy rhythm of rise and fall as you set a slow pace riding him. He looks exquisite underneath you – like some kind of pornographic Renaissance painting – and you let yourself fall forward to press another earnest, sloppy kiss to his lips.

Jack pants against your lips, eyes fixed on you as you bounce on his cock. His hands helping you rise and sink down on him. Encouraging you to ride him at your pace but also encouraging you when your pace falters.

“M-missed you so fucking much.” It falls from your lips without thinking, the roar of your pounding blood too much to blot out the rambling of your heart. “Always l-loved you.”

"God, I love you." He breathes out, feeling like he's drowning at how harshly he's breathing and still cannot get air. He loves it. Winding his arms around you like steel bands and dragging you down to his chest while he starts to thrust up into you.

Fingertips grasping his chest for purchase mean your nails scrape over his nipples, making him gasp and you grin. He always liked just a touch of pain with his pleasure, the roughness being a gorgeous byproduct of how needy you both always were for each other.

“Fuck!” Jack bucks his hips up, dragging you down to bite on your bottom lip and grind up into you. Sex with you was always unrestrained and it seems like nothing has changed. Sure the parts are aged, but the two of you seem to work like a well-oiled machine together. The memories come back in a flood with every touch – what he liked best and the things you had discovered together. Your skin burns under his attention, his tongue tracing searing circles on your neck and chest and large hands imprinting themselves on your sides as he clutches you against him.

Groaning against your skin, he reacquaints himself with your taste. There’s nothing like it, intoxicating and completely you. “Good girl.” He pants. “You’re just as sweet as the first time I had you.”

You keen at the praise, never having been shy about loving it from him, and grind yourself down on his cock with a gasp. The extra friction of coarse hair at the base of his shaft on your sensitive clit makes you buck and whine, as your thighs starting to shake and the tightening coil in your belly heralds an orgasm like you haven’t felt in years.

“That’s it. That’s it.” Jack growls, watching you fall apart in awe. You’ve always been breathtaking when you cum, but this time is punching him in the gut. Making him lunge up and capture your lips with his own, swallowing your cries for himself.

Shaking in his arms isn’t a new sensation for you, but it’s like you’re feeling it for the first time all over again. Sobbing his own name into that kiss is like a prayer, and you feel for a moment like you’re floating on the most wonderful cloud in the world as he fucks you slowly through the aftershocks.

Jack hums, slowly lowering himself back down to the couch and sighing, stroking your back gently as you pant on his chest. “Like riding the best bike.”

“Not done yet,” you hum, regaining the rise and fall rhythm after the moment you need to catch your breath.

Jack chuckles and slides his hand down to grip your ass. “What if I told you I came?” He asks playfully.

“No you didn’t.” Your chuckle is throaty and deep. “You’re still hard, and you didn’t do the thing with your eyebrows.” The thing happens every time, or at least it used to, and the way his forehead would knit together in intense concentration only for his eyebrows to raise up fully in relaxation afterward became one of your favorite little quirks of his.

He chuckles again, shaking his head as he wonders how you know him so well. "Guilty." He strokes your back and hums. "I just don't want you too sore, darlin'."

“If you really don’t want to fill me up, I guess I understand.” Rolling your hips in a figure right in his lap draws a sharp gasp from him and you grin. “But I’ll be glad to be sore from taking you.”

“Sweetheart, you’re gonna kill me.” He groans and grins at you. “Make me cum.” He orders, slapping your hip playfully.

“You’d love to go out with your cock wet.” Nipping at his bottom lip, you only pull away so you can sit up in his lap. It gives him the best view of your tits as you ramp up your pace, bouncing on his cock with renewed vigor.

“Only if it’s your juices on my cock.” He huffs, reaching up and cupping one of your tits. “Fuck baby.” He watches you with wonder. “You’re gonna make me cum.”

It’s a race now, fingertips finding your clit and rubbing fierce circles over the swollen nub to see if you can find a second peak along with him. “Come on, baby.” There’s no better feeling than this one, right here, and you keep your eyes steady on him despite how badly they want to flutter shut. “Cum in me. F—fuck! Fill me up, Jack.”

His hips are bucking up off the sofa, his arms the only thing keeping you anchored and not flying off his cock. Whining at how good you feel around him. When he cums, blood rushes into his ears and his shout is loud and pleasure filled.

You collapse easily into his chest, panting for breath in the wake of that rushed second orgasm that just barely followed his. The combination of your own cum with his paints your pussy just as assuredly as sweat has beaded on his chest, but you lean up to kiss the space between his eyebrows with a grin. That ecstatic expression on his face when his eyebrows raise will never get old.

Humming, he purses his lips at you until you kiss him. Relaxing into the sofa now that both of you are satisfied. “Still batting a thousand.” He jokes, remembering the small teasing way you had set up a scoring system on sex.

Huffing playfully, you can’t help but grin at him. “Does it help or hurt your average that you actually fucked me so hard that you bypassed my birth control?”

“I think that counts as a grand slam.” He jokes, sliding his hands up and down your back slowly as the two of you relax. “Technically speaking, I did exactly what the act is supposed to do.”

“Technically.” You can’t really disagree with that, so you just snuggle happily into his arms and giggle slightly to yourself. “Way better than a walk.”

“Yes it was.” He agrees with a smirk, leaning up to kiss the top of your head. “Although, we do still need to talk.” It’s a hell of an ice breaker though, considering his cock is still inside you.

“I guess.” The exaggerated roll of your eyes is only to make him smile, and you draw yourself away from him reluctantly. “Give me just a minute to use the bathroom and then we can pretend to be rational adults?”

“It should be in the same location as yours.” He agrees, sitting up as you stand. “No weird tech watching you in there.” He promises with a wink. “Just old-fashioned leering on my part.”

“You’re allowed.” You promise him, striding off to his downstairs bathroom to clean yourself up and steal a moment of composure. However this conversation goes, it’s sure to be emotional.

While you're gone, Jack tugs on his boxer briefs and pours the two of you another round of whiskey. He hadn't expected the sex, even though it was great. He had truly meant for the two of you talk. He picks up your clothes and folds them neatly to set on a chair for you to dress or not, and turns on the gas fireplace. He misses the wood burning fireplace in Kentucky but can't fault the convenience of this.

When you return just a few minutes later, a self-consciousness has set in that has stolen the sway from your hips and made you grateful that Jack had stacked your clothes because it makes it a hell of a lot faster to pull them on. Not that that reunion wasn’t amazing – but you were supposed to be talking.

As disappointed as he is that you are dressing, he understands it. After you button the last button, he saunters over to you and hands you the whiskey glass. “So, what do you want, darlin’?” He asks softly. “Perfect world.”

“Perfect world?” You sip the amber liquid with a sigh – Statesman is actually incredibly tasty – and let your eyes shut for just a moment on the fantasy. The one you’ve had thousands of times over the years. “You.” You murmur, buying yourself a moment with another small sip. “Us. Our family together.”

“Okay.” He’s a little relieved that you are making it so easy for him. “I want to make sure that we make the right choices, and our daughter is priority.” He doesn’t want to fuck up or make some kind of mistake with her. “Let me know what kind of role you want me to have.”

“I want you to be as involved as you want to be.” It seems like a pithy answer, but it’s honest. You don’t have any idea how demanding his life is, or what his completely insane job might necessitate. “In a perfect world – the fantasy one – we would decide we can’t live without each other and we’d get married, and you’d be there for everything. But your life is…it’s more complicated than that. And I don’t know what is realistic to ask of you.”

Jack nods, understanding what you are saying. “I think that marriage would be the goal for us.” He says honestly. “But I do want you to see if you can handle the life I live. Date me and see if I match the memory in your pretty head.”

“I might not match what you remember, either.” Or, your worst fear, he may decide he doesn’t want to be a father after all. Actually make the conscious decision to leave you and Mallory. “Dating seems like the smart plan.”

He smiles and shakes his head. “Changed some, maybe less partying and semipublic sex, but I doubt you are much different that the girl I fell in love with.”

“Definitely less public sex.” There’s no debating that, and you practically snort into your drink as you shake your head. “My life is Mallory now. I go to the office, and I have Mal. That’s it.”

He nods, knowing that his own life is just work. “When I’m not on assignment, I’m normally just in the office every day.”

“But when you are…” Your eyes tick up to his. “You’re in danger.”

“Sometimes.” He admits but shoots you a grin. “But I’m real good at my job, darlin’.”

“So what happens when you go on a mission?” It’s the thing you can’t really wrap your head around, for obvious reasons. “I’m assuming it’s not all…shoot ups and seductions like in the movies?” At least you hope not.

Jack snorts and shakes his head. “A lot of times it’s boring intel gathering.” He explains. “And to be honest, the seduction gets old after a while. Some of these women look like little girls!” He huffs. “I’m getting old, starting to leave that to Tequila. He’s still a young buck.”

“Tequila?” The code name makes you laugh, snorting softly at how silly it sounds to your untrained ear. “Are you all named after liquor?”

“Champ is short for Champagne.” He tells you with a grin. “But don’t let him hear you callin’ him that.”

“He didn’t strike me as a champagne guy, but that was just a first impression.” Sitting back down on the couch, you draw your legs up beside you and wrap both hands around your glass with a tentative expression on your face. “So…you wouldn’t be getting shot at or sleeping with other women every time?”

“If we are together, I won’t be sleeping with anyone but you.” Jack assures you. “I’m too old to play games. Never was a man who liked a cheat.”

“Okay.” You reach for his hand, squeezing it tightly. “I…I wouldn’t have stopped you from doing your job. But it would have made me uncomfortable.”

He understands, if the roles were reversed, he would feel the same. “So we date, and we make sure that we are giving our daughter a healthy relationship to look up to.” Jack chuckles. “It’s a damn good thing you live next door.”

“We’re honest with each other and we communicate.” Never in your life have you sat and methodically plotted out your relationship like this, but maybe that was okay. Maybe doing something different was key. After all, none of those other relationships had stuck, had they? There must have been a reason. “All she’s ever wanted is to have her dad in her life. She’s going to be thrilled.”

“Darlin’, you’ve—” Jack chokes up slightly and slides closer to you. Setting his glass down so he can cup your cheek. His eyes are slightly watery but he doesn’t give a damn. “You’ve given me the best gift I could have ever imagine.” He chokes out softly. “You’re back in my life and you’ve given me a daughter, a family.”

“I hope you’re ready for baseball games and Taylor Swift concerts.” Smiling against his hand is the easiest feeling in the world, lighting you up from the inside out. “And Disney and horror movies in equal measure.”

“I’m ready for it all.” Jack grins. “Statesman has season tickets to the Yankees.”

"If you weren't already her dad, that would make you her favourite person." Setting your glass down again, you can allow yourself the luxury of sinking into his arms and inhaling the comforting smell of his cologne and whatever makes up him – along with the smell of sex that always seems to accompany you. Especially back then. "I love you, Jack." You murmur, roping your arms around him. "Always have."

“I love you too, darlin’.” Jack presses his lips to your forehead and sighs softly. “I love you so much, and I promises you – now that I’ve got you back in my arms again – I’m never lettin’ you go.”

______

Master Tags: @pixiedurango @chattychell @winter-fox-queen @lady-himbo @artsymaddie @princess76179 @paintballkid711 @missminkylove @pedrosbrat @ew-erin @sarahjkl82-blog @sharkbait77 @justanotherblonde23 @lv7867 @recklesswit @mylittlesenaar @f0rever15elf @gallowsjoker @steeevienicks @athalien @sherala007 @skvatnavle @thatpinkshirt @jaime1110 @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @goodgriefitsawildworld @greeneyedblondie44 @katheriner1999 @littlemousedroid @churchill356 @ajathegreats-blog @hardc0rehaylz @beardsanddetectives @kirsteng42 @ladykatakuri

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#Pedro Pascal #Pedro Pascal character fanfiction #Pedro Pascal fanfic #Jack Daniels #Jack Whiskey Daniels #Agent Whiskey #Jack Daniels x reader #Jack Daniels x you #Jack Daniels x female reader #dad jack #dad!jack

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