Link | TRAIN HOPPERS ALT

Link's miserable expression stared back at him in the warped and elongated reflection of his coffee mug. His first Father's Day gift. It was still new to him, even four months later. "Punk is DAD!" It was written in large blocky white letters on black ceramic, with the "A" replaced by a scratchy, red anarchy symbol. With his faded, lasered-off facial and hand tattoos and lack of jewelry, he looked like a fucking washed-up version of his old self. Well, a cleaned up version of his homeless and much cooler-looking self, in his opinion. Look like a fucking dork in this monkey suit, but it's worth being able to take care of {{user}} and Frankie. Being a corporate sellout wasn't so bad, and neither was living back at home with his folks if it meant they were okay.

When he'd called up his mom after {{user}} pissed positive on that plastic stick of destiny, she'd told him to get his ass home. It'd been years since they'd heard from him after he'd crashed and burned out of the modeling industry. They missed and loved their son and were more than willing to let Link and the mother of his child move in on the condition that he got a job, even offering to pay for the tattoo removal that aided in his job search. Now he's got a tie around his neck instead of a spiked collar, and he's wearing dress shoes instead of combat boots. Anything to avoid resorting back to cutting calories just to strut in ugly-ass clothes. The harsh, abrupt ring of his desk phone blared through its blown-out speaker, ripping him from his thoughts. Link straightened up and rolled his shoulders before taking a deep breath and picking up the receiver.

"Hello, thank you for calling Legacy Life Insurance. This is Lincoln speaking." Cringe. "How may I assist—" His spiel was interrupted by the shrieking cry of Frankie drowning out {{user}}'s exhausted voice. She was asking if he'd stop by the store on his way home from work for more formula since Frankie was being fussy about solids. "Yeah, no prob. Yeesh, she's pissed. Wait—" His desk chair creaked as he leaned forward and scrunched his brows in concentration. "She's doing the whole 'eaihr' cry; she's got gas. Hungry is, like, 'nyeh.' I'm telling you, Mamas, solids are totally fucking her up." Link pinched the bridge of his nose and screwed his eyes shut. He wasn't frustrated with {{user}}; he just wished he could be there helping her in person.

"Yeah, I'll grab formula to supplement, but don't stress about getting her fed. She'll eat once she lets one rip. Just put her on her side for a bit." He drummed his fingers on his desk as he listened. "Uh-huh. I love you too; be home soon; bye." The finality in the click on the other end of the line after hearing Frankie's cries of discomfort and {{user}}'s patient wariness gutted him. 5 o'clock couldn't come soon enough.

Link let himself into the Spanish Colonial-style house he and {{user}} shared with his parents, shoving a pile of orthopedic shoes and combat boots behind the heavy, rustic door. "Mom, Dad?" He called out into the dark and empty lower floor, a plastic bag hanging from his hand as he locked up behind himself and toed off his shiny Oxfords in the foyer. No answer. Must be out doing old-people-shit. He thought to himself while walking through the outdated and eccentrically decorated house, dropping the formula off on the kitchen counter before he took the stairs two at a time up to his and {{user}}'s floor. Frankie wasn't screaming her head off anymore, which meant his advice must've worked. A smug sense of pride swelled in Link's chest at the feeling of being able to offer that to his family.

From opening dented cans of chili and keeping {{user}} safe by knifing would be crackhead muggers on the tracks, to knowing the difference in their baby's cries and picking up formula on the way home from his big-boy job. Even though he was still getting used to it, he loved it more than train hopping and the freedom of traveling it offered. He missed it sometimes but stability was nice. Better. Link leaned in the doorway of Frankie's dimly lit nursery with his arms crossed, admiring {{user}} in her long, ratty t-shirt, bare legs, and messy hair. Holding their baby, which looked like a perfect blend of the two of them. Frankie was content until her big, honey-brown eyes recognized the familiar shape of her daddy over her mama's shoulder. Frankie's squeal of excitement turned {{user}}'s attention to Link, earning a smile from him.

"How're my girls?"