SIXTEEN: Facing The Music [FLASHBACK]

Bruce's hands were sweaty on the wheel – cold and clammy as the car slowly moved down the street that Charity called home. Letting go of the wheel with his right hand, he wiped it on his jeans and reached out to take her hand, wishing they'd taken his bike only because he wouldn't be dripping nervous sweat if they had. They knew Victor was going to be home, knew that the man had spent the last few days speaking to the Irish cousins – Maureen had told him about the long conversation she'd had with Charity's father. Now that the secret was about to be out in the open, he'd expected to feel relieved. No more sneaking around. No more secret messages passed through codes sent to his pager and late nights standing outside the bar at the payphone on the corner, freezing his ass off to talk to her when they weren't able to get together. Instead he felt a whole new level of dread thinking of the judgement that would no doubt be passed down on them. He'd just turned twenty-five. She was still in high school. He wasn't quite old enough to be her father, but it was close enough to conjure Jerry Lee Lewis and Woody Allen comparisons all the same. The last thing he wanted was for Charity to become the black sheep of her family, forever outcast because of the choices they'd made.

He took his foot off the gas completely when he saw the truck parked across the road in the abandoned lot that used to be a taxi dispatch center – the company had gone under a long time ago and like a lot of places in the city, remained abandoned. They rolled to a stop in front of the house and he threw her old Cutlass into park, cutting the engine immediately. "Well," he sighed, glancing over at her. It had been an emotional rollercoaster of a day and she looked absolutely wiped. "Yeh ready for this?"

Charity stared at the house she had spent the majority of her life living in. Knowing this may be the last time she ever stepped foot in it or saw her dad made her want to break down crying. "Not really, but it's gotta happen sooner or later."

He got out and tossed the keys to her as soon as her door closed, looking over at the house. The porch light was on and he could only assume that Vic was watching, probably loading the shotgun at that very moment. He shuddered at the thought, willing to face the music. "The sooner we put this behind us, the better." He said it more for her benefit, realizing he wasn't really sure if he believed that or if he was even ready to be the only one in her corner. "Am here, love. All in tae see it through. No matter what happens. No matter what Vicky-"

The clearing of a throat made him stop short and he immediately stepped in front of Charity, looking up to see Victor Donimari, Charity's father standing on the porch with his arms folded.

It was hard to read the expression on her father's face. He didn't make any attempt to greet them. Instead he watched them and the protective way Bruce stood in front of his daughter. "Well," Vic said in a gravelly voice, "might as well get this shitshow on the road." He walked inside but left the door open behind him.

Charity exhaled and held onto Bruce's hand. "Come on," she said softly, leading him into the house. Vic was seated at their dining table with an open bottle of beer in front of him. Charity wanted to walk over and hug him, to beg for forgiveness, but she stayed back.

"So, it's you." He pointed the bottle in Bruce's direction. "Tell me something, McLeod, did you decide to knock her up when you met back at the diner? Or was that something you decided later on?" His tone was even as he narrowed his eyes and looked at the younger man. "I'm gonna need the facts."

Bruce bit back the sarcastic retort that was on the tip of his tongue, shaking his head slowly. The last thing he wanted to do was get into a huge row with the man in front of his daughter. He knew what Vic must think of him, how this would look to an outsider. "The facts?" The Scot chuckled, folding his arms across his chest. He didn't bother to sit down. Didn't want to make it seem like he was being submissive. His guts felt sour and he could feel the hairs standing up on the back of his neck as though a fight was looming. Taking a deep breath, he shook his head.

"Aye. Suppose I owe yeh that. So... no pussy-footin' around. We're in love, Vicky – been seein' her for over a year now. Dunno how much more cut an' dried yeh want it." He dragged in a slow breath, trying to keep his anger in check, "an' as much as yeh wanna think I went after her like some fuckin' predator..." he shook his head, trailing off.

"She's seventeen; not even out of high school yet. Jesus Christ!" Vic tipped the bottle back to his lips and took a long swig. "I really fucking hope you have a plan, kid." Exhaling, he set the bottle down on the table and slowly cracked his knuckles, the meaning crystal clear. He was almost radiating anger.

Bruce stood his ground, meeting Vic's cold glare. He knew the difference in their ages – seven years, six months, three days. He knew that when he'd been Charity's age, she'd still been playing with Barbies. He kept his mouth shut, waiting it out.

"So, Bruce, what is it you want from me? Obviously not permission to date my daughter as you already did that." The man got out of his chair and kept his eyes focused on the man his daughter was in love with. "So, what is it now?"

He stepped away from Charity's side, pulling a folded piece of paper from the back pocket of his jeans. He unfolded it slowly, stepping closer to the table to set it down – it was a copy of the ultrasound image from earlier in the day. Silence stretched out and Bruce laid his hand on the table, leaning towards Vic. "I don't want nothin'. She does."

The tension of the whole situation was making Charity's stomach hurt. This mixed in with the nausea she was always feeling got to be too much. "I'll be back." She threw her hand over her mouth and ran out of the room, before either men could say anything. They then heard the bathroom door slam shut.

Bruce waited a second, lowering his voice. "She wants tae come home. She needs her Da – her family." He realized he wasn't answering the question at all. Vic hadn't asked why they were there. He was asking something else entirely. Sighing, Bruce took a slow step forward, bringing himself closer to Vic. "Shoulda asked, aye. That was on me an' I'll accept the blame there. Almost a year, Vicky. That's how long it was before I laid hands on her... much as yeh wanna think otherwise. I ken-" he stopped himself, trying to keep from lapsing into slang that would only confuse. Around the cousins, back at the bar, it was fine. Here, he needed to make sure he came across clearly.

"I know yeh talked with Maureen an' Danny. No secrets, aye? Yeh already know my intentions were true." At the snort of disdainful laughter from Vic, he shook his head, "askin' what I want? A blessing, Vicky. Plan tae marry her, even if yeh're against it."

Vic had brought a hand to his chin and rubbed it. "Yeah, I talked to your cousins and they vouched for you. Spoke to a few others who said you haven't had any girls on the side." He took a step in Bruce's direction. "And you want my blessing." After a few moments' hesitation, he brought his right fist back and clocked Bruce square in the jaw.

It was at this moment, after rinsing her mouth out and brushing her teeth, she came back, just in time to see her boyfriend get cold-cocked. "Dad, what the hell?!" Charity yelled as she went behind Bruce and put a hand on his shoulder.

Vic didn't answer his daughter; his focus stayed on Bruce. "You still want this?"

The Scot stood there, stoic even as he opened and closed his mouth a few times, making sure his jaw wasn't dislocated. "It's fine, Cherry," he said softly, his eyes never leaving Vic's. "Sure yeh don't wanna go an' get a bat, work me over good? An eye for an eye, Vicky... remember what the good book says." He couldn't keep the sarcastic words from slipping out even though he kept his tone mild. The two men stared at each other for what felt like forever.

Charity didn't know whether she should get between them or not. The tension was making her stomach hurt more.

Bruce broke the silence, his voice strained. "Aye. Still want it." He lifted his hand to lay it over Charity's, giving it a gentle squeeze. "So, what's it gonna cost?"

"You already paid." Vic said as he extended his hand that wasn't used to punch his future son-in-law. "I'm giving it to you." Walking over to the fridge, Vic pulled another beer out as well as an ice pack from the freezer. Taking both over to Bruce, he offered them up. "Don't fuck it up."

"Don't plan on it." Bruce lifted the bottle to his lips, taking a long pull with a strange sort of relief. He let out a shaky breath, turning to hand the ice pack to Charity as if he didn't want to appear weak by pressing it to his throbbing face. At least if she did, he could pretend it was her wish rather than his own. "Already fucked up enough where she's concerned."

He wasn't sure if Charity had told her father about the fight they'd had. He wasn't about to bring it up if she hadn't.

"You really should have ice." Without waiting for a protest, she gently placed the ice pack against his jaw.

Watching the whole scene play out caused Vic to chuckle to himself. "Okay, so here's the deal – I'm not going to stop you from moving in together. I am going to put the offer out that you just move in here. It's not much space, but I'm gone more than I'm here. You'd have privacy and more space. " Vic knew where Bruce lived and he didn't want his daughter living there, especially being pregnant. If moving into his apartment was what she wanted, he wouldn't stop her. He just wouldn't endorse it, either.

"Am savin' for a place," Bruce replied, his eyes on Charity, "bigger an' nicer. With a yard not full of broken glass or used needles. Have enough for the down payment." It was complete and utter bullshit. He had maybe three thousand scraped together in his savings account. The last thing he wanted to do was live under the same roof as her father. That would be like hell on Earth.

"Well alright." Vic was disappointed, but really hadn't expected Bruce to take him up on the offer. "I gotta get a few things done before I leave tonight." Walking over to his daughter, he pulled her into a hug. "I'm going to take your Cutlass and leave you guys my truck. When you're done with it just swap it out at the yard."

And with that Vic walked out of the house, leaving them alone.

Immediately, Bruce set the bottle down on the table and pulled Charity into his arms. A sigh of relief passed his lips as he let his posture sag. "Well," he muttered, "that went a sight better than I expected."

"Yeah, it went really well, except for your jaw." She frowned as she gently kissed it. "Do you need to go see a doctor?"

He chuckled at her concern, letting a smile tug at the corners of his lips that matched the twinkle in his eyes. "Nae, love. It's fine. Am right as rain." He pulled her into his embrace, kissing her gently. "See? Am fine."

His smile made her smile and finally the knowledge that her father did accept this caused a sigh to escape her lips. "Why don't you relax for a bit and I'll start packing?" It was starting to settle in that she wouldn't be living in this house any longer. "We could order pizza or something."

"I'll help," he replied, "sooner we get outta here, the better." He hadn't meant it to be rude, but he'd had to say it.

"Yeah, sure." Charity felt that familiar prickle of tears in her eyes as she tried to blink them away. "I don't have much that I need to take." Giving him a smile, she walked into her bedroom and began getting her stuff together. As happy as she was that she was starting a life with Bruce, there was sadness that she was leaving her dad. Despite the rough spot they'd suffered for the past few days, he was a good man who had always done right by her. It was hard to leave that sense of security, but with Bruce there were all sorts of new things to experience.

He stood in the doorway, watching her go through her things. The sadness he could see in her expression and the way she went through each thing as though choosing what she'd be seeing for the last time was foreign to him – he couldn't remember even having anything to take when he'd left Glasgow as a child other than the pendant that hung on a necklace around his neck. He had hope, though. Hope that he could build something with her that would be worth holding onto.