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chickensarentcheap · 4 years

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Best Part of Me - Chapter 1 (Six Months Later)

HUGE THANK YOU TO @tragiclyhip FOR THE AMAZING BANNER! BEAUTIFUL AS ALWAYS <3

WARNINGS: PROFANITY, Daddy Tyler (and not in the perverted way, so if that’s what you’re looking for, move along), fluff (is that a warning? lol)

TAGGING: @c-a-v-a-l-r-y, @alievans007, @thunderintheshadows, @innerpaperexpertcloud

The school is two blocks from the centre of Cooktown; a one story U shaped building situated on a dead end with two acres of fenced in green space and a large, elaborate playground. It's four miles from home, and while normally the kids take the bus, Tyler finds himself parking downtown to avoid the crowded street and parking, then back tracking. Crowds still bother him; too many strangers, too much noise, too much activity. His hyper-vigilance still very much a nuisance; instincts and reflexes always on high alert when away from the comfort and familiarity of home. A combination of new meds have helped considerably; he is no longer as agitated, his temper doesn't flare up as easily, and his anxiety attacks were less frequent.

Keeping busy helps. There is always something to do with fifteen acres of property, five kids to help raise, and a small side business that he and Ovi started together. He doesn't have the time to be bored or to allow his mind to slip away to the 'bad place'; caught up with being domestic and the familiarity and routine that comes with it He finds that he thrives on those things. Craves them, in fact. More than he ever thought that he would. Night is when things get especially hard; when everyone else is at rest and the pain and the lingering sleep issues keep him awake. He has time to think then. An opportunity to think about the life he had before. It's not that he misses it. There's no desire to return; he doesn't miss travelling the world, spending time away from his family, hurting people, killing people. But after so many years, the job has become so ingrained in him that letting go is proving to be harder than he thought it would.

When he arrives at the school, he lets himself into the property through the back gate, taking a winding cobblestone walkway to the side of the building; where he'd meet the kids instead of them being ushered to one of the waiting buses, joining dozens of other parents that wait for the dismissal bell. Half a year later and he still finds himself scanning the crowd and the surroundings; eyes taking in everything around him, brain always at the ready to spot anything even remotely suspicious or could be considered a potential threats. Even on a school yard or at a park, he's always on alert, filled with that lingering fear and worry that there is always the chance that someone is watching or waiting to catch him off guard. So he notices -as he always does on the rare pick up day- the attention that he garners. It's always from the mothers; the running joke at home that he's the 'insanely hot dad on the playground'. He's heavier now; a total of twenty-five points since Dhaka six years ago. Ninety percent of the extra weight being solid muscle. He carries it well; mostly through the chest, arms, and shoulders. Even in a simple pair of weathered jeans and a plain grey t-shirt it's noticeable, and he sees the way a couple of mothers huddle together and begin whispering between one another, sizing him up the entire time.

Adeline begins to fuss in the baby carrier he sports. She's two weeks old; impossibly tiny -a mere five pounds, ten ounces when she was born- and so much like her mother. A head full of dark, wavy hair, enormous dark eyes and the splatter of freckles across the bridge of her nose. The 'odd duck' they often affectionately tease; the other four looking -and for the most part acting- just like him. He lifts the corner of the receiving blanket shielding her from the sun, a palm gently cupping the back of her head, his thumb repeatedly brushing against her ear; effectively lulling her back to sleep before covering her back up. The only thing visible two tiny bare feet poking out from the bottom of the blanket.

The mothers take it as a sign to make their move, and soon he has half a dozen surrounding him. All wanting to see the baby, all asking questions at once: Name. Age. What kind of sleeper? What kind of eater? How many siblings?. Each of them reacting with wide, shocked eyes when he tells them that she's the last of five. It's surreal even to him sometimes. A little over six years ago he was close to putting a gun to his head, now he's attending soccer games and dance recitals and getting up in the middle of the night to change diapers and fetch bottles.

Millie is out shortly after the bell rings, chatting and laughing with classmates as she steps through the door. A My Little Pony backpack over her shoulders and Spiderman sandals on her feet; another drawing for the fridge clasped tightly in her hand. Out of the three older kids, she's the one that has adapted the best. Easily making friends, impressing the teacher with how intelligent and athletic she is, but never taking any shit from the bigger kids and the bullies on the playground. And she gives him a bright smile when she sees him, stopping momentarily to remove her shoes and stuff them in her backpack, then racing over in her bare feet.

“Hi daddy!” she chirps, and he wraps an arm around her waist and effortlessly hoists her up onto his hip. She takes his face in her hands, kissing him noisily before peeking under the receiving blanket. “Hi Addie,” she whispers, and then leans in to give her baby sister a peck on the nose. She'd been relieved when she hadn't gotten another brother. There'd been no need to trade this one in for a puppy.

“Let her sleep,” Tyler says, and places Millie on the ground. “Don't wake her up.”

She begins waving her classmates over to see her baby sister, and he finds himself crouching down to give the curious five and six year old's a look. His oldest proudly boasting about her 'brand spanking new' sibling and instructing them not to wake her up 'or else'. Tyler isn't sure what 'or else' means, but usually at home it's a warning to her brothers that she's about to kick some ass.

When he stands up, Millie's teacher is approaching. Young -late twenties to early thirties at the most- all long legs and torso and tiny waist; long blond hair always pulled back into a ponytail or tossed up into a messy bun. Always friendly. If not a little too friendly. Way too chatty and a little too 'touchy feely' as far as he's concerned. And he wonders if maybe that's just her personality; flirtatious by nature.

“Oh shit,” Millie grumbles, and rolls her eyes before giving a fake smile and an overly sweet, “Hello Miss Pence,” as her teacher arrives on the scene.

“Amelia,” she greets, and the soon to be six year old glares at her. “How nice of you to bring your dad along.”

She issues a sigh of exasperation. “I didn't bring him. He came to get us.”

“Don't be mouthy,” Tyler scolds, and she gives a pout and then wraps her arms around one of his thighs, her eyes narrowed and her brow furrowed as she stares daggers at her teacher.

“We haven't seen you in a long time,” Miss Pence gushes, and Tyler moves his arm away when she attempts to place her hand on it.

“I've been busy.”

“I've heard. Baby number five! Is this her?”

“Don't touch her,” Millie snaps. “My sister is sleeping.”

“She's sleeping,” Tyler confirms, and plucks the edge of the blanket out of the woman's hand before she can pull it back.

“And just so you know,” Millie continues. “My daddy is married. To my mom.”

“Okay...that's enough...” he gently admonishes his daughter. “Watch your tone with people. Easy now.”

“We're having problems with that,” Miss Pence sighs. “She's so smart but she gets....well, you know....so mouthy.”

“Only to people who deserve it,” Millie defends herself.

Tyler lays a hand on the back of his daughter's head, giving the teacher a polite smile. “My wife and I will take care of it.”

“If you ever want to call me so we can chat one one one about it, I can give you my...”

“My wife and I will take care of it,” he repeats, and the young blond holds her hands up in surrender and slinks away.

“What?” Millie asks innocently when he looks down at her. “I don't like her. I don't like how she looks at you, daddy.”

“Yeah? And I don't like you talking to her like you did. That's your teacher. You don't talk like that to your teacher. To anyone.”

“Well I don't like how she looks at you and I don't think mommy would like it either. And she was going to wake Addie up! What...” she places her hands on her hips and glares at him “...if she asks you out on a date?”

“I'm married. To your mom.”

“Miss Pence doesn't care.'

“Well, I do. I'm married to your mom and I'm staying married to your mom. So....”

“She probably wants to kiss you,” Millie huffs “And do other things. That make babies.”

He frowns, opening his mouth to reprimand her, only to be interrupted by the twins -already bare foot- racing towards them, accompanied by their teacher' a short, portly woman with shoulder length grey hair. A surprisingly tender and sweet woman despite her harsh appearance and constant stern expression.

“We had another one of those days,” she sighs, and lays a hand on TJ's head. “Not as bad as the others, but bad enough. Threw a chair, turned over a desk. I know things have been hard on him over the past few months. But we're running out of options and the principal is running out of patience.”

He wants to say 'fuck the principal'; the kid had just turned five, and was still struggling to adapt to a new life, in a new country, thousands of miles away from the only home he'd ever known. They're all struggling. In one way or the other.

“Dylan Patterson called me stupid,” TJ explains. “Twice! So...” he shrugs. “...I got mad.”

“Mad is never a good option,” his teacher says, and lays her hands on his shoulders. “And violence is never the answer.”

Tyler smirks. He wants to ask her if she's ever heard of killing two people with one garden rake. But he decides against it.

“I heard him say it, daddy,” Tanner speaks up. “I heard him call Teej stupid.”

“You just saying that because he's your brother and you want to protect him, or...”

“No! He really said it!” Tanner insists. “I heard him. I wouldn't lie about that.”

It's true. The kid never lies. Always coming clean and fessing up for things that he does.

“Daddy,” Millie tugs at his arm, and motions for him to lean down, then presses her mouth to his ear once he does. “Dylan Patterson is a dick head. He's mean to everyone.”

He frowns. “You're sure?”

Millie nods, then bounces up and down on her heels, obviously proud of herself for solving the problem.

Tyler decides to dismiss the teacher and her concerns. For now. TJ's problems are no secret. Behavioural issues that had seemed to start out of nowhere and just escalating; a hair trigger temper that he can't seem to control and doctors seem at a loss when it comes to treating. They -parents and physicians alike- keep hoping it will pass; that being in a new house, new school, new country will just get easier on him and his problems with pass as quickly as they developed. Or that as he matures, he'll mellow out.

“Okay guys...we gotta go...” he checks backpacks; making sure they have everything they need to come home with them and there won't need to be any trips back. Lunch bags, shoes, homework. The latter seeing absurd for that kids that young. “...we gotta pick some things up for mommy.” He lays a hand on the back of Millie's head, gently moving her in front of him, the twins sidling up beside him, each grabbing a pocket on his jeans.

“I hope you and your wife will talk about this!” TJ's teacher calls after them. “We need to get a handle on this!”

He gives a polite, tight lipped smile over his shoulder, then looks down at the kids and grumbles, “Let's get the fuck out of here.”

All three kids burst into hysterical laughter.

****

They run errands in town; picking up a small load of groceries for that night's dinner and breakfast in the morning, and a special treat for mommy at her favourite store in town: a small cafe that caters in cupcakes and nothing but. Afterwards Tyler takes them to the park; a chance for them to expel any excess energy that school didn't flush out of their systems. It's empty and he's grateful for that; even the smallest of interactions at the school have him feeling anxious. All the mothers that had flocked around him, the 'too friendly teacher', having to listen to someone fake sincerity when talking about his son's issues. He prefers keeping to himself; the occasional trip into town for groceries or prescriptions or things at the hardware store more than enough to fulfill his desire to be out in the public. Craving solitude; perfectly content to just stay in his own or on his own property. He knows that isn't logical; he needs to be a functioning member of society and the only way to heal some of the past pain and trauma was to get out of his comfort zone. To challenge himself. And he hadn't even realized just how deeply his mental issues effected him until one day the mere idea of going into a grocery store was enough to bring on a panic attack; the thought of the crowd and the noise and having to actually talk to people.

It's disheartening, to say the least. When you look in the mirror and no longer recognize yourself. He'd thought that it would be different; the job and the horrors that often came with it turning him into a tougher person, not a weaker one. It doesn't matter how strong he was on the outside; on the inside he often feels weak and vulnerable and absolutely fucking hates it. Even at an empty park he can't fully relax; eyes constantly scanning the treeline instead of concentrating solely on his children, attention diverted from them with each car or pedestrian that passes by. He despises it; the seemingly constant state of alertness. By now he'd thought it would be getting better; it's been six months since he's left the job. But it only seems to be getting worse.

Still, he toughens it out; planting a smile on his face, trying his best to acknowledge every time one of the kids yells 'daddy look!', resisting the urge to constantly survey his surroundings.

He's sitting on one of the park benches -baby laying along his as he feeds her from a bottle he'd brought with him from the car- when his namesake saunters over, yawning loudly as he plops down beside. Lying down on his side with his legs tucked into his core, head resting on Tyler's thigh; reaching out to take hold of the bottle, so his dad can drape his arm over him.

“What's up?” Tyler asks, as he rubs his son's shoulder. “Tired?”

TJ shrugs.

“You wanna talk about what's going on at school? Because what the fuck, mate?”

TJ looks up at him, grinning.

“Don't tell your mom I say that word around you guys, okay?”

“Okay,” TJ agrees, and once against rests his cheek on Tyler's leg.

“You can't do sh...things...like that at school. You can't do them anywhere. Not even at home. I know you get pissed off but you can't freak out like that. Throw chairs and desks and sh...stuff...like that. You just can't. You hear me?”

“I can't help it,” his son says. “I really can't.”

“What do you mean you can't? You know what you're doing, yeah? Well if you know what you're doing, you can help it. You've got to calm down. Take a breath when you feel like that. Ask the teacher to leave the room. We talked about this. More than once.”

“I can't help it,” TJ insists. “It just happens. I just get so mad. I get so mad and I just do things.”

“What makes you mad?”

“I don't know. Lots of stuff. When there's too much noise and I can't hear the teacher. When someone chews their food too loud. When someone says mean things. Not just me but to other people. Makes me want to punch them right in the face!”

“Well let's not go around punching people in the face, okay? You need to learn to calm yourself down. You can't act like that. Not at school, not at home, not anywhere. Do you see me throwing stuff around when I get mad?”

“No. You just yell a lot. And really loud too.”

“Okay, well that's not exactly the best way to handle things either,” Tyler admits. “I shouldn't yell like that. Especially not at your mom. And especially not at you guys. It's scary, yeah? When I yell?”

“A little,” TJ says. “It's a little scary.”

It hurts his heart to hear that; he remembers being a scared little boy hiding in his bedroom closet as his father went on rampages. But he never stopped at just yelling; he took things that extra step, using his fists and his feet and anything he could get his hands on to terrorize Tyler's mother. And eventually Tyler himself. And he swore he'd never be like that. That he would never, ever cause that same kind of torment.

“I hate my brain,” his son laments. “I hate how it works. It doesn't work right.”

Tyler sighs. He can understand that feeling; his own brain is a fucking disaster. He can't help but wonder if maybe some of this is his fault. If maybe he's always been messed up but it didn't surface until he was older. If maybe Austin's cancer and his abandonment of him had been what kick started the whole thing. And if maybe he's the reason why TJ is the way he is. That he's passed down some damaged gene that is causing his namesake the issues he's going through.

There it is. Guilt. It always finds him. Regardless of the situation.

“You'll fix it, right daddy?” TJ asks, those blue eyes full of tears as he looks up at him. “My brain? You'll fix it right?”

Tyler gives him a reassuring smile and leans down to press a kiss to his son's forehead. “I'll do my best, mate.”

****

She's in the kitchen when they arrive home, engaged in a heated discussion with someone over the phone. Leaning stomach first against the island, cordless phone pressed to her ear, a pad of paper in front of her, alternating between twirling a pen between her fingers and angrily tapping it against the granite. Declan on the floor between her feet; busily -and happily- emptying out the entire contents of the pots and pans cupboard. And she glances up as they all enter, giving a small, weary smile before turning her attention back to the phone call at hand.

He sets the baby carrier on the floor and tends to the kids' usual after school routines. It's something so simple and seemingly mundane, yet he likes the simplicity of it. The same thing, every day. Nothing unexpected. He'd spent too many years dealing with that kind of bullshit; things going wrong, having to think quick in order to keep himself (and sometimes others) alive, always having to 'expect the unexpected'. Now even the simplest of things gives him a sense of stability and calm. Even if it is unpacking school bags and cleaning out lunch pails, getting the kids to take their homework outside onto the back porch, and setting them up with the snacks that Esme has already laid out on their favourite coloured plates.

“They put me on fucking hold,” she whispers to Tyler as he steps back into the kitchen, laying a hand on her hip and pressing a kiss to the side of her head in greeting. “Twice! Fucking twice! You should talk to these assholes.”

“You're way scarier than I am,” he teases, and crouches down to clean up the mess that Declan has made; it's the OCD tendencies that have cropped up with the PTSD; a need for cleanliness and organization, which are extremely hard things to achieve with five kids in the house.

“They're such dicks,” Esme grumbles, and then giggles and directs a kick in his direction when he presses a kiss to the back of her neck, the scruff of his beard scraping against the sensitive skin. “Do you mind?” she squeals and wriggles away when she feels the scratch against the back of her other knee. “And would you get your son out of there? He's been a little shit since we woke up. Getting into everything. Dumping the dog food, dumping the water bowl, getting into the toilet.”

“He's a ginger, what did you expect?” he scoops Declan up off the floor, a hand on the back of that strawberry blond head as he presses a kiss to the toddler's cheek. “Aren't they all trouble?”

“Well if you hadn't have left me alone with the cable man, he would have been yours,” she retorts, and then gives him a wink and a playful slap to the stomach.

“Who are you talking to anyway?” Tyler asks, as he slips Declan into his high chair, tightly securing the straps. The kid is fearless and way too smart for his own good; able to get himself out of even the toughest of situations. Tall and solid. Impossibly strong for someone so young.

“Well I'm not actually talking to anyone right now. But it's the school board. About your son.”

“Yeah....apparently he had 'one of those days',” he makes air quotes around the last four words, then grabs a bottle of water and a cup of juice out of the fridge; handing the latter to Declan.

“He's been having one of those days three times a week for six months,” Esme sighs, and begins tapping the pen even harder against the counter top. 'And you're telling me that they can't help him? Like that's their bloody job. Hi...yes...hello...” she rolls her eyes as someone finally comes back on the line, her voice sugary sweet but her facial expression clearing indicating she's ready to commit a homicide.

He unbuckles the baby from the carrier and lays her along his forearm, body swaying back and forth ever so slightly as he stands at the sliding glass door watching the three oldest as they huddle together; more chatting and giggling than doing actual homework. He can vividly remember each one when they were as young as the one currently in his arms. It seems like a lifetime ago; bringing Millie home from the hospital, to that little apartment just outside of Sydney, scared shitless about being a father again. He'd never thought he'd get another shot at it; his first time around had ended horribly and he didn't think he deserved another chance at being a dad. He didn't sleep for months after she came home, terrified that something would happen to her if he dare closed his eyes. Obsessively checking on her every on the hour to make sure she was still breathing.

It had gotten a little easier with the twins; he wasn't as anxious and paranoid once Tanner was well enough to be released from the special care nursery. And by the time Declan arrived, he;d hit his stride; much more comfortable with being a dad to a newborn, not panicking if the baby slept through the night, no longer having nightmares of something bad happening to them.

Addie is different though. Impossibly tiny; much more fragile and vulnerable than any of her siblings had seemed. She looks up at him as he holds her, those huge dark eyes locked on his, as if burrowing into his very soul. And he adjusts his hold on her; placing her against his chest, a forearm under her bum, a palm on the back of her head. Pressing a kiss to her cheek and closing his eyes ; enjoying that small moment between him and his daughter. His last child. The smell that clings to her clothes and hair, the feel of her soft breath against him, and how those tiny fists clutch at his t-shirt and she nestles her face into his shoulder.

“I understand that the school is getting frustrated,” Esme says behind him, and he turns to watch her, amused by the way she multitasks; easily moving between activities, never losing her stride. The phone held to her ear with her shoulder, pulling things out of the fridge for dinner, grabbing Declan goldfish crackers for a snack, snagging a bottle of water for herself. “But believe me, no one is as frustrated as we are,” she continues. “We've been waiting four months to get into a developmental pediatrician closer to home and we are not taking our five year old all the way to Sydney to see some biased hack that the board has in its back pocket.”

Tyler grins as he listens to her; feisty, tenacious. Two of the things that he'd initially attracted to. She'd walked into his place in the outback as if she'd owned it, not the slightest bit put off by his dismissive demeanour or the sight of the bottles of medication and booze. A five foot nothing spitfire that weighed a buck twenty soaking wet and handled herself with a confidence most men twice her size didn't possessed. She'd been unlike any woman he'd ever known before. A challenge that needed be solved. Sometimes she still is. Even six years later.

And she's still as beautiful. Even in a simple pair of black leggings and one of his t-shirts, hair pulled back in a simple ponytail. She's heavier now; breasts larger, hips wider. But she's had five babies. His babies. And that fact makes her even more beautiful in his eyes.

“Listen,” she huffs in exasperation. “You are not going like it if my husband starts handling all this. Because he doesn't have a filter and he won't be as polite as I'm being. So if you'd rather deal with him, that's fine. But the last time didn't go so well for you, did it.”

He smirks and sips his water.

“In fact, he's right here if you want to talk to him. I'm sure he could manage to get through to you. Because you aren't listening to a damn thing I'm saying.” She frowns, then removes the phone from her ear and stares at it. “They hung up on me. Those fuckers.”

Tyler grins. “You just had to drop the big and bad husband card on them, didn't you. You just had to make them shit their pants.”

“Assholes,” she grumbles, and tosses the phone down onto the counter. “I'm tired of dealing with their shit. You deal with it from now on. They'll listen to you.”

“They're not listening to me. They're scared of me. There's a difference.”

“Well scare them then. First they treat our kid like complete and utter shit, then they hang up on me?”

“Want me go down there and kick some ass?”

“I'd say yes if I knew it would do something other than getting you arrested. Ughhh....” she places her hands on his hips and rests her forehead against his chest. “So frustrating! This is bullshit having to deal with this. Why can't they just help him?”

“Too much work, I guess. Too many kids need help and there's not enough people to help them.”

“Now is not the time to be diplomatic, Tyler,” she sighs, then looks up at him. “Hi, by the way.”

He presses a chaste kiss to her lips. “Hi.”

“How was she?” she places a hand on the baby's back, rubbing softly.

“Perfect. She was an angel.”

“So was Lucifer.”

“Are you seriously comparing my daughter to the devil?”

“Oh so she's just your daughter now, is she?”

“When you talk shit about her like that she is,” he teases.

“I thought Millie had you wrapped around her finger. This is even worse.”

“She's the last one. Last time we get something like this. I figured I have to enjoy every second of it.” There would be no more. Their home and their hearts full. And it was medically impossible, unless his surgeon had entirely fucked up the procedure.

“You really are very good at the big, strong man with a baby thing,” she muses. “It's a very attractive look on you. Especially now that you look like a sexy lumberjack.”

He smirks. “You and this sexy lumberjack shit.”

“It's true! It's exactly what you look like now.” Almost a full thirty pounds heavier than when they'd first met; thighs thicker and more powerful, wider through the chest and shoulders. His hair short and unruly; the quintessential 'bed head' look. His beard fuller yet not untamed. “I like it,” she says. “It suits you. And you were okay? While you were out?”

Tyler nods.

“I was surprised when I woke up and saw your text. That's brave of you. All those thirsty moms on the school yard. They haven't seen you in a while. I'm surprised you made it home. That no one scooped you up and took you home with them.”

“Were you hoping someone would or...”

“Baby, I'd miss you way too much. Who else would get the spiders and the snakes out of the house?”

“So that's why you keep me around.”

“Well there's other things too. I mean, you are pretty nice to look at it. Every woman deserves her own eye candy. And you're very easy to wake up to in the morning.”

He drops a kiss on the top of her head. “You're kinda okay, I guess.”

“Kinda okay,” she laughs, and then smacks him on the ass before heading back to start dinner. “You'd miss me if I was gone.”

Tyler nods in agreement. She has no idea just how much.

#tyler rake #tyler rake fan fiction #tyler rake fan fic #best part of me #extraction #chris hemsworth character

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