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She cries the whole way to the hospital.
It may be absolutely insane , because for fucks sake she’s having a baby and she all too much wants those in-labor drugs, but Tandy's never been able to quite trust ambulances, and she’d given up the high a while ago, nearly eight months in fact. Crying is the only way to stave off the mounting panic attack, short bursts of heaving breaths in between pain so intense she nearly didn’t hear her own screaming. Tandy’s sure that the paramedic didn’t leave his home today planning to get his hand nearly crushed by a young pregnant woman, but she honestly can’t find it in herself to care, because this shit hurt with a capital H. If she knew where he was she’d throttle him right now (but then that’s the point, isn’t it. If she hadn’t walked out - run away as always - maybe she’d have had more to go on than a goddamn article of clothing - ), but he isn’t and so she has to settle on white knuckling the grip she’s got on the middle aged man in navy beside her and yelling her way through another contraction, praying that this baby didn’t come into the world with neuroses or something because its mother couldn’t keep her shit together while delivering them.
That right there, that last thing, was unacceptable. Hurting her kid, in any way, that one of the lines she refused to cross. Tandy had had a lot of things go wrong in her childhood, and she outright would defy herself to stop from giving her kid the same fate.
It would be different for them. She swore it. (She keeps saying it because, well, call her old fashioned but she hadn’t wanted to know the gender. They might want to change it later in life anyway, so what was the harm in receiving all gender neutral baby clothes? The bedroom in the little apartment she’d found over the classic movie theater had already been painted in a dove gray that she’d felt very mature about picking out. And then was horrified immediately after about being proud of the 'maturity).
When Tandy finally makes it to the hospital, she’s cursing so colorfully that her nurses ears actually turn red. “Fucking hell, get this baby out of me,” Tandy half pleads, half demands of them, and the part of her not delusional with pain takes a moment to mourn the cute back button shirt that she’d probably get cut out of. (She wasn’t going to miss maternity clothes in the slightest) They get her into a room, her sweater is quickly snipped and leggings long shimmied out of, and her legs are in the stirrups. It’s go time. In a room with absolutely no family, and no friends, Tandy works for nearly seven hours to push her unexpected surprise with inner strength she hadn’t known she possessed. She ignores how it looks, how alone she is, the lack of a wedding ring, her youth - (she supposes twenty isn’t the youngest they’d seen, but this is far from Tandy’s plan for her own life at this age), and forces herself to do what she’d done for the last eight months, since she’d known that she wasn’t in it alone anymore; put her kid first.
Her hair sticks to her sweaty face, her mouth is so parched she thinks she near forgets what water tasted like, and Tandy won’t lie; there were a few times she thought she wasn’t going to make it and her kid was saying fuck the world, I want to stay in here a while longer. She can’t blame them. She’s seen more than enough shitty parts to be at pretty apprehensive at the world in general.
Seven hours later, there’s a messy, screaming absolutely perfect little boy delivered into Tandy’s arms and though she swears she blacked out and doesn’t remember, she bursts into tears immediately. (Crying is embarrassing, and the only reason she’s victim of it now is the pregnancy hormones wreaking havoc on her brain, of course. Read a book.) They clean him off, clean her up, and all of a sudden Tandy isn’t pregnant anymore - she’s a mom. She has a baby. More than a baby, Tandy’s got a son, and lying in that hospital bed with him at 4 in the morning with his whole tiny hand wrapped around her finger, so perfect and so tiny, she knew that there wasn’t a thing in this whole messed up world that she wouldn’t do for this. Nothing was off the table in order to keep him safe, and happy.
No matter that he wouldn’t have a relationship with either pair of his grandparents.
No matter that Tandy wasn’t exactly sure of the future.
No matter that he wouldn’t have a father.
(Everything was going to be okay. Right?
Right. It had to be. For him.)
Tyrone hadn’t expected to actually come out tonight and see someone who’d catch his eye, but holy shit she was stunning.
He didn’t know if she’d come knowing that this was a cop bar (his swearing in was in a couple days - he couldn’t wait to go from probie to rookie), but he’d seen her before any of his buddies had and hadn’t been able to drag his eyes away. Long filled tan legs, smoky makeup that made her honey brown eyes look fierce in the dim lighting of the bar. Glasses clinked, rock music tumbled out of the speakers in the corner, and through all the noise and light she somehow didn’t seem to be touched by any of it, plush looking lips wrapped around the straw of her drink as she drew her gaze throughout the bar patrons and flirted with the tender for a refill.
The coworkers who’ve been kind enough to take him under his wing laughed and joked beside him, but Tyrone is being a downright crappy form of company. He knows. He’s laughing at the right times, and he feels the condensation of his beer against his palms (it’s cold and damp and nothing, he imagines, like her skin would be) but his attention is most definitely at the bar, not on them. He doesn’t snap out of it until there’s a hand slapped down on his shoulder.
“Hey, but I mean look at him. Johnson’s not even listening to us.”
He comes back to himself, the smooth texture of the padded booth pressing against the white sweater pushed to his elbows, the half empty beer bottles ringed round the table. There’s Peter Parker, lanky with frothy hair, the detectives crooked grin and easy posture the second thing you noticed after the extraordinary kindness in his eyes. Frank Castle, older than most of them by ten years but somehow the de facto dad of the group, grizzled and all curled lip, silver black scruff and scarred knuckles. There are running bets on what keeps him and his willowy, strawberry blonde, reporter wife together. His soon to be partner, Brigid’s the one who clapped him on the back, slick magenta smile and a New York accent stronger than any of them.
“Sorry, guys. I’m a bit distracted.”
“Don’t worry. All of us saw tan, blonde and leggy being the only thing you give two seconds of attention you.” Frank said in voice raspy from years of smoking (he’d been clean for five years, thanks to Karen), taking a sip of the only whiskey among them.
Tyrone gave her another look. Flaxen gold waves, a strapless black silk dress that cuts entirely, enticingly high on crossed legs, heeled boots and a dark lipstick that he’d love to know the real hue of. His type was usually less prickly looking, softer, girl next door type, but he couldn’t remember being so into someone before, especially when he hadn’t even talked to her first. He and Evita had been together for two years and still, that hadn't felt like this.
“Alright, I’ll go talk to her.”
They cheer him on, all but Frank drum rolling the table, and he couldn’t help the sheepish grin that crossed his lips. (They’re kind of losers, but he’s really starting to like them. Maybe this New York station, so far away from his New Orleans home, wouldn’t be so bad). He slid onto the stool beside her and ordered another beer. “Hey.”
“Hey back.” The small smile that curved on her painted dark lips had no right to make heat begin to be banked in his gut, but he’s never been quite able to control his body.
“Buy you another drink?”
The blonde recrosses her legs and turns to face him, irises glinting in the muted light. “Oh no. You’re going to have to work harder than that.”
Tandy’s baby gets his first full night of sleep while she’s watching Friends on what she’s positive is like, two volume (thank God for subtitles), and from then on anytime he’s being too fussy, the tinny laugh track from over twenty years ago puts him out like a light. Tandy couldn't care less what show he chose to be his sleep song, because holy shit she is tired. She feels like she’s gotten about ten hours of sleep in the last month.
(She thinks that maybe having a theater underneath their feet helps with that.)
(At least her baby likes it. His mom, on the other hand, is still getting used to it.)
Melissa hadn’t kicked her out when she’d found out, but that was saying very little. She simply hadn’t been given the chance to force Tandy to leave, because around the time that she started to show more than any fabric could hide, she’d left the house herself. It wasn’t her first time ditching home, but it was the first that she knew she irrevocably was not going to come back. It was Greg to whom she headed, her only nice stepfather in the string of terrible men her mother got involved with. He used to be a lawyer, though it wasn’t like the blonde much needed one - if the father didn’t know, there wasn’t exactly going to be a custody battle. It was the fact that after years of being disappointed by everyone around her, aside from his relationship with Melissa beginning while he was still married, Greg was one of the best adults she knew. Probably the best, after all had been said in done.
Anyways, at the time, Tandy’s period, the one thing she’d been able to depend on like clockwork since her scientist father fucked off Midwest and her mother had spiralled something serious, had been due to come the week after she’d met the charming cop in the bar.
(She could still picture him in her head, if she closed her eyes. A slightly cleft chin, sensuous full lips, a gaze so deep you wondered what spun behind it. Cream sweater, dark jeans, a thin chain at his neck that didn’t shine as bright as his laugh.
Stupid Tandy, couldn’t get out of his place fast enough - )
Either way, when it should’ve been day two and her panties weren’t in danger of a thorough washing, she’d known what it was. Served her right, almost, for trusting those calloused hands and earnest words to not get her in trouble, just this once. She never didn’t use condoms, but after a few hours laughing and teasing with cop boy, some sort of spell had come over Tandy’s mind, she swore. (Not that he was a sorcerer, or something dumb like that, but he’d woven his own type of magic. She’d been helpless to resist from the moment he’d flashed that dumb, enchanting, boyish grin at her.). When she’d peed on that taunting stick and confirmed what she already knew, she had to change her life around. She didn’t have to have him - she knew that - but Tandy’s often wondered how different her life would be if she’d been born to parents who could unconditionally love her past their own issues. Tandy had issues aplenty, but she wasn’t going to let them take away from her babies life.
So she got clean. Completely clean, though after he reached a year old and had a sitter, when she ventured out of her house for something other than work she did not deny herself a stiff drink. Tandy got a job, teaching a ballet class for kids ten and younger. It was steady, and though she’d missed a few days in the beginning there, trying to get her footing.
Tandy had been selfish forever. She still was, in a lot of ways, but she was selfish about getting her and her son through the next day, and selfish about making sure he was happy. She bussed kisses on his mocha cheeks and called him her mini partner in crime and fell in love with her boy.
(How could she not, with those same deep eyes looking back at her that had swayed her in the first place?)
“Holy shit, cop boy.”
“That’s cop man to you.” Tyrone grunted a bit in her ear, one arm hooked around her knee as he pumped into her once, twice, his necklaces that tickled her skin warmed by their bodies on each other. At some point they’d moved from the bar to his place, and Tandy hadn't really been expecting to find much when she'd ventured out tonight, fizzy on drinks and the curve of his smile, but holy shit he truly was a good lover.
Attentive, intuitive, watching her face for what the slide of his fingers and the heat of his mouth did to her skin. He'd already made her come twice before they got to the main attraction, and Tandy was quite sure by the end of the third one she wouldn’t be able to remember her name. She was very positive she didn’t remember his.
She was also very positive her makeup had gotten smudging around her eyes and her lipstick had long since been kissed off, but she couldn’t find it in herself to care when the cop man pressed a kiss beneath her ear and continued his movements.
“Where did you come from?” She asked him, pupils wide in honey eyes, too focused on the heat of him and the way he was making her feel to let her cynicism fly loose.
He laughed, and Tandy can’t help but feel sorry about the fact that despite this being the best one night stand of her life, she’ll still be gone in the morning.
“New Orleans.” He told her, and then there isn’t a lot of talking afterwards. For the first time in years, Tandy stays to cuddle a little bit afterwards, unwillingly enjoying the dark arm slung across her stomach and the light puff of warm air at the back of her neck, but before dawn breaks she still slid out of his bed and collected her things, piled on the floor. She does, for once, look back - back at the toned form, the police badge on the side table, sculpted cheekbones and long lashes earnest even in sleep, and wonders if she’ll ever see him again.
It isn’t until she’s halfway home that she realizes that she stole his hoodie. When Tandy pressed it to her face it still smelled like the night they’d shared, and she’s too distracted by that to think of the fact that no one had to throw anything in the trash after they were done.
She misses her period two weeks later.
It’s complete coincidence that they even see each other again. It’s fate or destiny, or maybe something divine, because she never meant to settle in New York and had given up hope long ago that she’d see him again.
Her little man is nearing his second birthday, and when she scoops him up from daycare she’s still in her teacher outfit, leotard and a flowy skirt, a loose grey sweater that Tandy wraps her arms around her baby in. “Mama!” he chortles happily, patting her cheek. “Miss you.” He is shea butter skin and tight black curls, big warm eyes fringed with dark lashes and her button nose, and she’d would burn the world twice over for him.
(It never escapes her how different how life would have turned out without him. How she could be the opposite of what she is not - unhappy, unstable, clawing for the next day and not sure that she wanted it. Tandy doubts that what the police motto was meant for, but he had protected and served. A lot more than he’d bargained for.)
“Missed you too, slugger.” Tandy teases, feeling more whole with his weight on her hip. He tucks his head on her shoulder and holds tight to her neck, tired as he always is after a full day of interacting with others. and she falls in love with him for about the seventeenth trillionth time. Everytime she thinks she can’t adore him even more, he proves her wrong. Soft breaths touch her neck as she signs him out, juggling his bag and her car keys, and she pays no attention to the door opening behind her. To the deep voice that claims he’s there to pick up Danielle Cage, and the flashes of blue at the edge of her vision. Her boy, not quite asleep, sits up a bit, gasping happily.
“Mama! Policeman!”
“Mhm.” She answers a bit distractedly, because wow her signature can get a bit slanted and yes, she had to update her phone number too, but then her attention is free and she turns and freezes on the spot.
There are the almost too perfect cheekbones. The soulful eyes, the long lashes, broad shoulders clad in deep blue hues and a name that still skitters from her grasp, impossible and never remembered.
(This can’t be happening. She knows she should be happy because she thought this was what she wanted, that he’d deserved, at least, to know and maybe they’d get lucky and his family was less fucked up than hers, but now that the moment is here panic is the only thing racing in her mind. What if he tried to take him away? Would he even know he was his?)
From what she remembered, he wasn’t a detective, but even with substances dancing in her brain Tandy had never pegged him for slow.
“Do I know you?” He asks, furrowed brow as he completely ignores the receptionist lady who’d gone to get his kid. (His KID. Fuck. Was his last name Cage? Was it bad of her to think that if he had one kid already, maybe that would keep him from wanting hers to?)
She doesn’t know how to feel about the fact that his voice still sends a funny thrill through her insides. It’s been almost three years, for chrissakes. Tandy’s got to be over him by now.
(It was one night. But it was also so much more than that, and she’d replayed it so many times in her head Tandy could almost bring those sights and feelings to the front of her mind right here.)
“Once. A long time ago.”
He shakes his head, slowly. Their eyes are still locked and she is powerless to look away. “No. Not so long ago. A...bar, wasn’t it? Right before I was sworn in. You were wearing black.”
Mother now or not, Tandy is still Tandy and she snorts. “You can’t possibly remember all of your one night stands.”
“I don’t. And I don’t normally have them.” His gaze burns, and it goes from the bundle in her arms to her, and back again. The divot in his brow goes deeper and real fear starts to work its way from her toes to her head. She’s no stranger to funny looks - you can’t have a biracial kid and not experience the sting of people dismissing you as the mother, the taunts of other mothers telling you you’ll never be able to give your child everything they need, and the burn of anger from every last one of those hurtful words. She tries not to be as violent anymore as she was when she was younger (being a good mom included not throwing yourself bodily at disrespectful assholes to teach them a lesson so you could go home to your kid instead), but she’d flung choice words at people before. Karolina, one of the women in her young-moms group, had told her it was like she was flinging the harsh light of savagery at people like her words were knives, and it was inspiring. She didn’t know about that, but she counted it as a point of pride anyway.
(Either way. Tandy really didn’t want to have to throw them at him)
“Tyrone Johnson?”
Tyrone. So that’s what his name was. A cute little girl, hair done in twists and who looked to be a year or so older than Tandy’s boy, runs from the receptionist’s hand and runs at Tandy’s (unknowing) baby daddy. He doesn’t miss a beat swinging her onto his shoulders, but his gaze is still on her when Danielle leans elbows on his short fro and calls him Uncle Ty.
Jealousy for her boy strikes fast and heated in Tandy’s gut and she’s ashamed of it. No need to be mad at him. It was her fault that her boy didn’t have a person to do something like that with. For a hot moment she’d had Liam, sure, but he was an ex from her old life that had had no business getting back in it, and he couldn’t deal with the whole single-mom thing. She’d never regret kicking him out of her life.
“Hey, Dani girl. Your dad had to stay late, so I’m giving you a ride home.”
“Where are her parents?” It’s kind of inane for Tandy to ask, because the answer doesn’t matter, but she’s desperate to keep him away from asking about her own child.
“Her dad’s my police captain and works a bit too long for his own good, but her mom’s already clocked out and is going to meet us there. She works with us too, in the sex crimes division of our precinct. Jessica and Luke.”
Tandy wonders what kind of a workplace that must be, being able to see your significant other at work at home, when she doesn’t even have one to think of. With first names, she thinks she can place exactly who Tyrone is talking about. Captain Luke, often swooned over by the front desk when she’s checking her boy in, a Man in every sense of the word, ebony skin and muscles you had not one doubt were built with bricks. Devastatingly handsome, polite, and deep voiced. And Jessica, porcelain skin and pouty lips, dark eyes done with the world and raven hair spilling over a slim build. Tandy had overheard her cuss out someone in the parking lot for nearly grazing her classic black charger and had made it a point to park far away every time since then.
She wonders if she’d trust their judgement. (They did send them to pick up their kid after all).
She wonders what they’d think about her.
“How old is your son?” Tyrone asks, and suddenly the lump in Tandy’s throat gets even more uncomfortable.
She swallows too thickly for her own liking before answering, and though lies come easily to her lips with everyone else, she can’t bring herself to do it now. “Almost two.”
Tyrone’s eyes slide a shade darker, if that’s possible, and she is incredibly grateful for the armful of sleepy baby that’s grounding her, because she feels an awful lot like her heart with pound out of her chest and far away. “Where’s his dad?”
Right in front of me.
This time, she doesn’t answer. “He’s mine.” Is all Tandy gets out hoarsely, and her honey brown eyes narrow with the fierceness of a lion. Tyrone doesn’t stop staring, and she wishes that he’d look literally anywhere else. It feels too much like he’s looking right through her.
Danielle on his shoulders giving a slight squeal of happiness, he strides to the desk and rips a piece of paper off the bottom of the sheet. He takes a pen from his front pocket and scribbles something on it she’s too far away to see before turning back to her, adjusting his palms on Danielle’s knees. “I have to get her home…but call me. Please.” There’s a note of pleading in his voice that betrays what Tandy knows must be going on behind those fathomless eyes, and she doesn’t know where the courage comes from that fuels her jerky head nod. “Have a good night, little man.” Is the last thing he says, rich and sweet, before he’s leaving out the doors and Tandy is baffled by the fact that everything still looks the same when her world had just gotten rocked all the way down to her feet.
“Policeman,” her boy states happily, content in his mother’s arms and without a care in the world, but it takes a few more minutes for Tandy’s feet to start working again.
(She absolutely does not check out his butt when he leaves.
That’s what got her into this mess in the first place .)
Tyrone’s mind is buzzing so much on the drive to Luke and Jess’s place that if you asked, he could not for the life of him tell you what had happened in the conversation he and Dani had on the way there. It’s physically impossible for his face to slide white as a sheet but when he lets Dani race ahead of them to their front door, it’s enough for his Captain to take notice.
“Tyrone. You want to come in?”
Jessica, the strongest woman Tyrone’s ever laid eyes on packed into a slight frame you’d never expect, says it much frankly than he does, even with Dani on her hip. “You look like you’ve seen some shit, Ty. Wanna talk? To Luke, not to me, because I won’t be any help.”
Luke glared at his wife even while he motioned Tyrone through the front door, but there isn’t an ounce of real heat in it. Tyrone learned a long time ago that as much surface ‘fighting’ and bickering the two had, their relationship was one of the strongest he’d ever seen. Danielle could’ve done a lot worse without them for parents. “Language, Jessica. Big ears,” he rumbles with a motion of his clean shaven head to Danielle, and Jessica rolls her eyes.
“Big whoop. She’s heard worse. Sit Johnson down and have him spill what's on his mind. I’ll take Dani to go, I don’t know, color or something.” Dani claps, only caring about the coloring, and the two disappear up the stairs.
Luke ushers him into their living room, seats him on the couch, and sits across from him, hands laced and elbows resting on his knees. Even in his home he cuts an imposing figure, but Tyrone’s never felt fear when it came to him. Admiration, of course. Loads of it. A little bit of hero worship, if he was being entirely honest, and the closest thing he had to a dad while Ty’s own father was still settled in the bayou. Sure, Luke was his Captain, but he was also the person Tyrone trusted for advice more than anyone else in the world, even if Bridget would smack him in personal offense for saying that.
“Alright, son. What is it.”
He tries to settle down the thoughts racing through his head but the series of snapshots refuses to slow down. A fuzzy image of a light laughter, sparkling hues ringed in smudgy darkness and a woman who’d he’d clicked so well with despite her sharper edges that he’d hoped she’d stay the night. A hoodie he hadn’t seen in about three years, and what he’d seen today. She was still stunning, after all this time, Tandy. Dark gold hair, shorter than when he’d seen it last, curling slightly and brushing her shoulders, wide, fierce, guarded eyes. A figure with some meat on her bones, the way Tyrone liked it, and a button nose. Velvet looking pink lips, and a little boy in her arms.
A little boy that looked altogether too eerily like him.
He runs his hands over his head while the words spill for him and his leg won’t stop jittering, but he gets it all out in a cohesive enough way that he’s proud of. “I had a one night stand about three years ago, right before I was sworn in. There was this woman that I slept with...she was a little wild, but incredible, and once you get past all the walls she had up was just...great. Someone I wanted to get to know. She left before the morning came, and I haven’t seen her since” (though he’d thought about her, oh had he) “and I saw her again today. At the daycare.” Ty’s foot knee bounces an unsteady rhythm over the edge of the Cage’s couch and he’s got to remind himself to keep the steady in and out of his breathing when he gets through the next words. “She’s got a kid. A little boy, and he’s...darker than her, and he looks like me when I was younger. And he’s the right age. You could ask how I could be sure, but my mom just sent me some photos while she was moving - it’s not important, but I can’t get them out of my head, and looking at him just made me feel like I was looking at me .” He raises his gaze to Luke’s and there’s terror in them, but wonder too. “I asked where his dad was and she wouldn’t tell me. There wasn’t a lot I could do, so I left my number and just; fuck, Luke. I think he’s mine.”
His captain sits for a moment, digesting that, a small puff of disbelief makes its way out of his mouth, paired with a slight shake of the head. His bulging muscles stretch the limits of the mustard dark T-shirt he wears when Luke settles a bit more in his seat, all of his thoughts straightened out before he responds to Tyrone. “Okay, then. So you saw an ex flame, with a kid that looks like you, and he’s around the age he’d have to be if you were the father. You could be a dad. But you can’t do much more unless she calls, right?”
“ If she calls,” Tyrone reminds him, because part of him is terrified to (and the other part wants it so bad ) but it’s gotta be said.
“Of course. If. ” Luke quiets for a minute, and then rubs a big hand over his dark goatee, calm gaze still steady on a not-very-fucking-calm Ty. “There are two roads this could take. One, obviously, it isn’t your kid. She won’t call, and she doesn’t want you to think he’s yours because he isn’t. Two, he is. And you’re no longer just you, you have a son, a son you haven’t been aware of and has been growing up without you for the past two or so years. What are you going to do if he is yours?”
The only thing splashed across Tyrone’s face is panic for the half a second after those words leave Luke’s lips, but as thrown as he is by this whole development there isn’t a question of it in his mind.
(His kid . He could have a son . Physically, Tyrone knows it’s impossible, but just the chance of that happening has his heart growing about three sizes in his chest to make room for this little human that is part him, part crazy white woman, and he hungers for the truth. Because if he is , then. Everything’s changed.)
Right as Tyrone opens his mouth to say this, however, his phone rings, and he’s no longer living in a world of hypotheticals. His eyes widen, because, after all is said and done?
Fuck .
Telling this man she hadn’t seen in three years they had to talk and deciding on a meeting place is about the hardest and bravest thing Tandy’s had to do in her life yet, it seems.
(She often forgets just how difficult giving birth to her boy could be, because every single time she looks at his face it pales in comparison to her love for him, so like, don’t sue her. Also, repression is one of her many twisted talents, along with wrestling her boy into baths he didn’t want to take, and stealing wallets from unsuspecting assholes who tried to pinch her ass on the bus. Tandy was only mostly reformed, after all. Have to keep the skills sharp.)
Selfishly, terribly, she almost hadn’t called. Having a father in your life wasn’t always the best thing for you, Tandy knew from fucked up experience (Nathan Bowen, rot in hell), and they’d been doing fine on their own so far right? She didn’t need anyone. But then she’d looked her son, her boy, the best and most wonderful thing in her life that she’d vowed to bring happiness to, and realized that it was one thing to not be able to give your child a father. And another to keep him from it.
So Tandy calls.
She chooses an old Lutheran church, because neutral meeting spot and all, and is grateful for the fact that it seems nearly empty on the fine Monday the next day. She tries to draw strength from the light streaming through gorgeous stained glass windows, and brings a few of her boys stuffed animals. He’s got an imagination that Tandy’s life had killed long ago for herself, and it makes her soul swell to see him still pure and hopeful. She’ll do anything to keep that as long as she can for him, at least while he’s still a kid.
Tyrone’s not in uniform when he slides into the pew next to her, her boy busy having whole conversations with his fluffy black cat and white giraffe, and there are a ton of emotions swirling in her gaze when she looks at him, some she’s sure are being reflected right back. No longer struck by the terror of having her secret found out (the cat was out of the bag in every way but said, if they were being honest), and Tandy gives herself a moment to appreciate how pretty the man who’d help her make her boy was. There was that slight cleft in the chin, sensual lips deeply hued pink on the bottom when he swept his tongue along it, dark skin draping a slightly built form. He wasn’t bulky with muscle, but you couldn’t deny the swell of it underneath his black t-shirt and dark red bomber jacket, one arm against the back of the pew on the other side of her. The ridges of his badged stuck out in relief in his jeans pocket, and for a split second she wondered if he could arrest her from keeping her boy from him.
( Their boy, if she was being completely honest. God it was weird to say that.)
Tandy herself had chosen white for the meeting, not for it’s ‘virginal’ attributes but just because for whatever reason it was her comfort color. Her favorite and most beloved pair of light wash mom jeans encase her legs, and a snowy tank was on her top, lavender sweater crumpled on the pew beside her. Before Tyrone can say anything, it’s Tandy’s mouth that opens, a flow of truths that she wishes weren’t, but have to be said.
“I found out about two weeks afterwards. I couldn’t remember your name, first or last, or much of what you’d said, other than that you were almost a cop, but after walking into three stations with nothing to go on but your sweatshirt I kind of gave up. I wanted to find you, but other things took priority. And then they kept taking priority, and the longer the time passed, the more I forced myself to accept the fact that we’d probably never find you, because getting myself and my life together was way more important than hunting you down. So I had him. And I’ve been raising him pretty well on my own, I think, when all's said and done, so you don’t have to be a part of this if you don’t want to. I don’t want a single goddamn person in my son’s life that doesn’t want to be there.” The sudden sharpness in her tone is half protection for herself, and half in anger towards the person who hadn’t wanted to be there (Melissa Bowen, she's talking about you), and generally in defense of whatever he might say. “I hadn’t gotten the chance to sleep with someone else before I’d realized, so before you say anything, you can deny it if you want, but he’s yours. It took the two of us to make him, and there he sits. So there’s the information. Do with it what you want.”
Tandy had lost the courage to keep looking in his face about halfway through her little speech, and it’s her son that her gaze is trained upon when she shuts up, drawing strength from his illegally adorable smile while he squeezes the life out of his toys. No matter what happens, he’s her son. He’s hers. And she’ll fight like hell to keep him with her and happy, no matter what Tyrone tries to say. She remembers the most horrible thought she’d had occur to her, in those long nights with her boy when Tandy had to remind herself why it was better to not remember him, and her gaze swings to Tyrone’s once more, fury sparking in them. “If you try and take him from me I will literally burn your house down . I don’t care if you’re a cop, so if you’re thinking about that you can kindly go fuck yourse -”
“Tandy. Give me a second to talk, okay? I’m not going to try to take him from you. So calm down.” That’s a lot of information, and Tyrone’s mind is kind of reeling - when he’d gotten his first collar, how many months along had she been? What was the pregnancy like, the birth? Where were they staying? Did he ask about him? Why did he wish so much that she hadn’t stopped looking? - but he means it. He’s not going to try to separate his son (his son!!! the world looks different now, he’s got to admit) from his mother, not when he’s clearly thrived with her. “What’s his name?”
She softens visibly, something he’d seen only the day before whenever her son was involved, and smiles. It’s so blindlingly pretty Tyrone is struck dumb for a moment at the sight of it, like clear light cutting through a very dark and stormy cloud. “Theo, but I just call him Teddy.” Her very own divine gift, with all the good and bad that came with it . “His last name is currently Bowen, but if you want to change it to yours I’m okay with that. There wasn’t just I could do without a name to go off of.” Tandy hesitates, and her hand curls into a tiny fist atop her leg. Their son’s voice was the only background for a very long minute. “So...what do you want?”
This, Tyrone knows the answer to. Deeply and utterly. “To be a part of his life. To be a part of your life. He doesn’t have to know I’m his dad right away.”
Shutters fall over Tandy’s face and far away memories of that guardedness come back to Tyrone’s mind. “Father. You’re his father. Being his dad is a different thing.” He regards her, because there is pain in that distinction that she doesn’t even try to hide from her voice and he is painfully curious and concerned about why, but that’s a question for another day.
“Okay. Father. We can’t get back the time that’s been lost. I have no interest in dwelling on it, because what’s done is done. We can’t get it back. I’m only concerned about the future. Are you okay with that?”
There are still walls up in her eyes, but her slow nod is a victory to Tyrone, no matter what anyone wants to say.
“Can I go say hi?”
Tandy looks, looks hard, but her hackles aren’t rising when she looks at him. No alarm bells are ringing, and the things she saw all that time ago still shine in his eyes, maybe more that she has yet to discover, and she can’t believe her luck that when she got pregnant it wasn’t some good-time-only dude bro and instead was a conscientious, (from what she’d seen), kind hearted man that’s sincerity nearly shone through his freaking pores.
(This is her life, however, and she’s on the lookout for whatever pitfalls would lie in wake. She doesn’t just get good things like this to happen. It’s impossible. Not for Tandy. But until then, there isn’t much she can do but hesitantly place a kernel of trust.)
“Let me bring him to you instead.”
She collects Theo, stuffed animals hanging from chubby hands, and settles him in her lap back next to Tyrone. Recognition lights in their sons eyes and he points at him, looking a little insulted. “Policeman? No blue?”
“Not today, little man. But I do have this.” Tyrone fishes out the badge she’d peeped earlier from his pocket and presents it to Teddy, the young boy dropping both toys in for the new shiny with a degree of reverence. “I’m Tyrone, but you can call me Ty if you want. I’m really, really glad I’m getting to meet you.”
Tyrone nearly beams at him, teeth pressed into his bottom lip, face open and undoubtedly pleased, and Tandy can’t help but be baffled at this turn of events, because could she ever see herself here? At twenty three, with a baby and a so far nice baby daddy? Not on drugs? With a stable life trajectory? Four years ago, she would have laughed in your face with a big fat hell no.
(She plunges herself into deep denial about how affected she is by the sight of Tyrone shaking Teddy’s hand with mock and real seriousness, because for a brief moment she almost wants to cry again.)
Well. We’ll see how this goes.
And it does just that, go, in stops and starts and long ways and and in short.
She isn’t comfortable with a huge amount of face time with her son and Tyrone in the beginning, but they exchange numbers and she doesn’t think she’s messaged another human being this much in her life . He always asks before showing up at her cramped and always slightly messy apartment, and doesn’t fight her hovering, mistrustful supervision for the early visits. Teddy calls him Ty, nothing else, and soon so does she, and quicker than she realizes she’s leaving the two alone together for longer and longer intervals. The other ladies in her young-moms group, Nico and Karolina with their baby girl, Gert with her twins, Evita and her boy, tease her for the smiles she keeps getting at his text messages, and she isn’t sure if she’s woozy or this man is courting her and their child.
(Tandy tries really hard to keep Tyrone at arms length, but all that fails a couple of months in.
He doesn’t look like he’s going anywhere , and it’s such a rare thing that the part of her that expects her to wake up one morning with him gone grows smaller and smaller each day.)
As far as Tyrone went, he hadn’t expected something this world shaking to steady him, but it had, and he never wanted to go back to the way it was before. His son had captured his heart as immediately as his mother had captured his attention those years ago, and he thinks about him all the time. At work, on patrol, when he was at home. It itched under his skin, his need to go see Teddy and Tandy as much as he could, but it’s only self restraint that keeps him following her rules. Her trust is something much too fragile and important for him to ever risk breaking. Luke keeps his secret for him, but when he’s graduated to hanging out with Teddy and Tandy two nights a week he breaks the news to his squad.
Peter, already the dad of a five year old with altogether smarter than the whole team forensic scientist wife Gwen, crows in joyfulness and excitedly informs him he’s going to get him up to speed on Dad Jokes as quickly as humanly possible. Bridget bangs him on the back so hard he almost chokes but it’s meant to be in congratulations and he appreciates the nearly bone crushing hug that follows. Frank just kind of grunts, but there’s something suspiciously like a smile lurking on his craggy face and the deep nod he gives him feels sort of like the closest thing he’d give to a fist bump. The crudely wrapped “#1 Dad” mug that appears on his desk the next day looks suspiciously like something Frank’s wife Karen would’ve picked up, but the wrap job was all Castle. Matt, their newest transfer from Hell’s Kitchen, grins through red glasses and promises to send up some prayers for him next time he goes to church.
Jessica informs him that she hates herself for demanding it, but if when he and Tandy are more stable Dani and Teddy don’t have a playdate she’ll rip his arms off herself. It’s paired with the biggest grin Tyrone’s ever seen on her face though, and when the squad takes him out to celebrate she makes the loudest toasts.
Luke is the quietest with his support, and Tyrone honestly wouldn’t have it any other way. “Welcome to the club. I know you’ll do great.” Is all he said with a hard squeeze to his shoulder, and Ty would be lying if he said he hadn’t ridden that high all the way to Tandy’s house later that same week. He hadn’t fully expressed to her how much he looked up to his Captain but when he told her, the look in her eyes told him she understood.
Things progress most like this until Teddy’s second birthday, when Tandy is bewildered by the monumental task of a party that has doubled in size from the past year and a dad that simply hadn’t existed beforehand. She hates planning these sorts of things, she informs him one night over the Chinese she’s brought home, viciously stabbing at an eggroll. They’re on her couch, and Teddy is watching TV in front of them, Tyrone sitting up straight and Tandy with her back to the arm. Her feet touch his leg but neither of them say a thing about it. All she really wants, Tandy tells him, is something small. With the three of them. Teddy, though, loves a party.
He takes most of the duties over for her (his mom had made a sport of it, nearly, back in the day - it was much easier to plan for a two year olds party than an evening at home soiree), but he schedules it for a day before Teddy’s actual birthday.
It’s a proper party, and they hold it at his place because his townhouse actually has a yard and Tandy’s apartment doesn’t even have one. There are green and blue balloons, a superhero cake, and a whole host of people in Tyrone’s life that meet Tandy for the first time, and vice versa. As much as Tyrone had been let into Teddy’s life, he hadn’t been let into Tandy’s, and he works hard at keeping his frustration about that to himself. Be happy with what you have, and all that.
Turns out Gert’s firefighter husband, Chase, had had quite a few brushes with the 616, and fell in camaraderie with them immediately. Bridget was endlessly fascinated with the puppy like, blind faith-and-trust husband Colleen had (Danny was an enigma to them all), and Frank lost no time melting in the face of Nico and Karolina’s altogether too precious little angel. Jessica takes an immediate shine to Tandy, sensing another tough soul, and it’s when the party is winding down and Peter is helping him clean up that his friend whispers something to Tyrone.
“Buddy ol pal,” and at this, Peter drapes an arm conspiratorially around Tyrone’s shoulders, eyebrows raised. “I don’t know if you know this, but you are head over heels for that girl over there.”
Tyrone has to laugh, because what a ridiculous fucking thing to say, and he shoves off the arm. Where’s Gwen when you need her? She needed to get her husband in check? A quick check sees her deep in conversation with Karen Castle and he regrets instantly being caught alone with Peter, especially when he was spouting nonsense such as this. “Please. You couldn’t be more wrong.”
“Tyrone. My friend. It is written, all over your face.” Peter says seriously, and its enough to make Tyrone take a second look. The man’s brown eyes are sincere behind his glasses, and he knows enough about his friends ability to see through the bullshit that his stomach lurches.
“Can’t be. As much as I’m a part of Teddy’s life, Tandy still refuses to let me in.” His gaze darts to her, and the sight of her mid laughter, Teddy’s hand pressing cake into her face, just about does his knees in. Tyrone wants to take a picture of it and keep it in his wallet forever. He wants to - fuck. He can’t blush, but bashfulness steals over his features so frankly that Peter’s seriousness cracks and he just chuckles, returning to clearing the plates.
“Alright. You just keep telling yourself that.”
The next day, he makes a tiny (albeit), lump cake to bring to Teddy’s actual birthday. Tandy’s touched, though she tries her hardest not to show it, and the three of them blow out the two candles together. Teddy wears himself out with all the cool presents he’d gotten the day before, and they both tuck him in. He kisses her for the first time outside of Teddy’s new bedroom door.
He thinks he’d been leading up to it, they both had, the brush of each others hands, the flirty text messages, but he’s seen her hesitation from minute one and had been biding his time since then. Tandy was complicated, at the very least, but she was also worth getting involved with complicated for, and when he backs her into the wall right across from where their son is knocked out cold and touches his lips to hers, one hand cradling her cheek, he regrets the time they’d missed all over again.
Tandy is scared, scared left, right, north, everywhere but South, because she cannot fuck up a thing this good for her son and Tyrone is too much good for her to get her hands on and ruin, but her resistance crumbles the moment he makes his move. Seeing that it’s a mutual thing for him, that he’s felt what she’s been attempting to valiantly to ignore these long months, lets her lean in, clutch at where his t-shirt met his jeans and press into his mouth, and she only pulls back for a moment to whisper “We’ve got to be careful. Promise me we’ll be careful.” And what’s she’s requested is murmured against her lips almost a moment later before they comfortably lose themselves into each other.
It’s not perfect , because there are times that they argue (such as when Tyrone wants Tandy and Teddy to move into his apartment, when Tandy finds out Tyrone’s mom tried to encourage him to seek full custody, when she spends so long refusing to talk about her own family), but they fight, and they stomp away, and breathe, and them come back to work through it, and it’s a little off kilter but it’s them and they know by now that they are stronger together than they’ve ever been apart. He loves her a bit before she admits that she loves him, and eventually, Teddy barely remembers a time when his dad wasn’t in his life. A set of rings appear on Tandy and Tyrone’s fingers, and Teddy grows, and they’re a unit, and a family, and everything is as it could be in the best ways.
(She’d do it all again. Every second of it. Because it led her to this, and this, Tandy’s family, is the absolute best thing in the world.
And you can quote her on that.)