Chapter Text
Slipping through my fingers all the time
I try to capture every minute
The feeling in it
Slipping through my fingers all the time
Do I really see what's in her mind?
Each time I think I'm close to knowing
She keeps on growing
Slipping through my fingers all the time
- Slipping Through My Fingers - ABBA
***
Hurricane Agatha was a godsend. A pure and complete miracle. John Booker Routledge would forever be in her glorious debt.
Without her the DCS would be knocking down the Chateau's ratty ass door, dragging him out to foster care, and his half-sister back to her birth mother.
Not to be dramatic or anything, but John B was pretty sure he'd rather die than go to foster care.
Because,
a) He could take care of himself.
b) He'd probably never see the Pogues again.
c) His dad wasn't fucking dead.
Besides, he would never let Lu go back to her mother. Ever.
