2. Do heroin under the aurora borealis :3c
Haha finally — I love this one! It’s a Mob / Good Girls AU! Title is stolen from Broad City, it’s one of Alana’s bucket list items.
SO, Bitty is a former baker who is very unhappily married and living the suburban life with two children when he finds out his husband has been philandering and has completely blown the family’s savings trying to make himself look successful; most of the money Bitty brought to the relationship himself because he sold his bakery so they could adopt and his husband could start a new business.
While Bitty is trying to figure out how he’s going to leave his husband and get back what’s his, decides to stage a robbery, only to attract the attention of a much larger criminal group that has also been slighted by Bitty’s erstwhile husband. Enter tall, dark, and brooding enforcer Jack, tasked with shaking down Bitty, who starts to become very fond of this baker-turned-househusband-turned-petty-criminal and his two young daughters.
Obviously, things escalate when Bitty’s husband turns up dead.
Eric winces against the light, but when his eyes adjust he finds an older man with a full head of greying brown hair sitting across from him at a large dining table, calmly eating, unbothered by the armed men flanking him. No one speaks, so Eric doesn’t either. Not that he could if he wanted, he’s terrified of what’s coming, mind reeling with the possibilities of what may be about happen to him. His children. Oh, god, the children.
The man doesn’t look up, just lifts his knife from the steak he’s cutting and gestures at Eric in a motion he takes to mean, ‘get on with it’.
“Um, so, yes, I took the money,” Eric swallows, voice as far from steady as humanly possible. “Your money? I think? I’m paying it back, and I’m sorry, but my husband, he —“
The man makes a soft, warning sound, his almost-sad eyes flicking up, judging, and Eric loses his voice again as a guard behind him moves to rest a photo on the table. It’s a photo of Eric at the park, Elise and Marie playing close by. The sound that escapes Eric’s throat is involuntary.
The man shakes his head again before dabbing a spot of steak sauce from his lip with a cloth napkin; the man who set down the photo leans in and taps it again twice. Eric blinks the sudden tears from his eyes and looks back at the photo, the other children on the playground, and realizes Jack in background, inconspicuous but clearly keeping an eye on the children.
“Him?” Eric whispers, and the man’s gaze focuses on him, critical, assessing. “I don’t know who he is, he just picks up the drops.” The man’s lips quirk up at the corner, almost a smile, but far too shark like to be without a deeper meaning. A different fear settles low in his stomach as Eric realizes the man he’s sitting across from might not be part of Jack’s organization. This might be something worse — something he’s only seen on television.
“Name?” The man asks, voice tinged with a familiar accent.
“I don’t know,” Eric lies, realizing he might have just failed an important test. “I just give him the money.”
The man rests his silverware down and sucks his teeth, expression steely. Two firm hands settle on Eric’s shoulders, pulling him roughly up out of his seat.
“Name.” The man asks again, sliding his chair back, buttoning his suit jacket as he stands; familiar, again, in a manner Eric is too terrified to place.
“I don’t know.” Eric repeats.
The man steps into Eric’s personal space, looking down as he’s got an easy five inches on him. “I ask again. Name.” Eric can smell garlic on his breath.
“I don’t know,” Eric pleads, turning his gaze down to the unfinished wood floor, wondering how difficult it’ll be to get his blood stains out. “I’m sorry. I don’t know.”
A firm hand grabs Eric’s chin, forcing his eyes back up, and the man is smiling now. His intimidating aura replaced with something that Eric doesn’t understand and absolutely doesn’t trust.
“That was good,” the man praises, looking back to the guards, who are nodding appreciatively. “Wasn’t it good? He’s a natural.”
“What is this?” Eric whispers, terrified.
“An experiment,” the man smiles. “You can call me Bob.”
“Bob?”
“Jack takes after his mother but you can’t tell me we don’t look a little alike,” Bob insists, gesturing for Eric to sit back down. The man who had brought out the photo of Eric’s children sets down a plate, revealing an otherwise appetizing looking spread of salmon with grilled white asparagus and red potatoes.
“You’re Jack’s . . . you’re his . . . “ Eric swallows, throat tight. “I . . . what?”
The plate is quickly removed. A bottle of gatorade appears beside Eric’s shaking hand in short order.
“Electrolytes.” Bob offers. “Drink that. It’ll help with the shakes. I’d apologize for the theatrics but it isn’t every day your only son tells you he’s having an affair with a man who owes you quite a bit of money.”
“My husband stole from you,” Bitty corrects quickly. “I’ve just been trying to fix it.”
“Your husband.”
“God willing, my ex, soon enough,” Eric takes a long drag from the bottle. “My goal was to survive all of this first. Sir.”
“Understandable.”
