Chapter Text
The subway doors beeped in warning and Charlie decided to make a run for it, his son in tow behind him as he huffed and puffed, forcing the kid to meet his long sprinting strides.
He had to wrestle through the closing doors last second, but they managed to get in. It got them a few sour looks from strangers on the train, but thankfully it wasn’t too packed. It might as well have been their lucky day, because as Charlie wiped at his forehead and pushed his fingers through his hair, the people next to them stood and walked away, leaving two of the infamous orange seats empty. He maneuvered fast, guiding the kid’s shoulders down on one seat and plopping himself down on the other. The bliss lasted only a few seconds, until he risked a glance at the obnoxiously expensive watch on his wrist. They were going to be fucking late.
“Dad, look!”
Charlie’s heavy eyes turned to the side. “What?”, he sighed, sounding deflated, defeated.
“She’s got tattoos in her hands!” His son murmured way too loudly, pointing at the person sitting next to him.
“Henry,” He scoffed, “Don’t be rude, you’re bothering the lady.”
Then Charlie’s eyes ventured higher, ready to throw an apologetic look at the owner of said hands. What happened instead caught him so off guard it left him speechless; dumbstruck, trampled by a sheer force of nature. He was staring at a rare, almost violent beauty, his eyes darkening and flickering with alert. She was show stopping, that much was obvious. He knew he should be saying something, anything, but his tongue felt like rubber against his teeth. It didn’t matter because she spoke first, flaunting an exotic, perfectly aloof british accent.
“First, I’m not a lady,” she emphasized, “and second, let the kid live, for Christ’s sake.” She snarled as she turned to Henry, putting her hands out on display. She turned them over too, revealing equally decorated palms, fading black lines arranged in artsy, trashy patterns.
What had she meant? Did she want to be referred to as a girl, or…? She seemed young enough, her angel face and baby blue eyes certainly contributing to the impression. But she didn’t come across as anything but a woman to him, an experienced fucking one too. Maybe it was the tattoos, but she also had this… vibe, this old soul kind of thing going. Her body was the next alarmingly rousing thing for him. He had to bite down on his lip as his gut swirled dangerously, quickly looking away.
“Sorry” He rasped, voice more than a few octaves lower. He rearranged the backpack, briefcase and lunch box he was carrying on his lap, crossing his arms in front of his chest.
He kept his eyes low and away from her.
“I don’t wanna go to rehearsal…” Henry whined once he was done fussing over the girl’s hands. Charlie was mortified, but they were getting off soon, and the torture would be over.
“Two more stops honey, you know we gotta go—”
“No offense,” The woman drawled, cutting in, “but you shouldn’t be forcing him to do shit he doesn’t want. He’ll end up hating the clarinet, or dancing, or whatever the fuck you’ve signed him up for.”
Charlie couldn’t believe his ears. He kneaded his forehead, sucking in a deep breath. “I need a fucking nanny…” he whispered angrily, breaking the no-cursing rule he’d set for himself around Henry. She’d just given him an extensive lesson anyway.
“Classic. You people have children then all you want to do is get them out of your hair. It’s pathetic.” She remarked with disdain.
Her rudeness and wildly incorrect assumptions were getting him real worked up, along with the intoxicating energy that was rolling off of her, keeping him at the edge of his seat. He’d just tell her to politely fuck off, to mind her own business, and that would be it, he’d never see her again. Charlie steeled himself to answer as calmly as possible.
“It’s me who has rehearsal. I’m a theater director if you must know; His mom lives in L.A. and I have no one—I mean—nowhere to leave him, okay? He can do whatever he wants when we get there, I’m not that kind of parent!”
Why was he justifying himself so much? Once he was able to speak to her, the words poured out of his mouth like a broken faucet.
“Alright, alright, Jesus Christ!” She side eyed him, and it was her turn to seem agitated. She fished in her purse for a pack of cigarettes, getting one out and ready in her hand, that started bouncing along with her knee as she scanned the train stop indicator.
A long minute passed just like that, both breathing in a charged, thick silence that somehow dulled the tedious rattle and chatter around them. As they approached the next station, the girl got something else out of her bag. After a moment of hesitation, she pushed on Charlie’s shoulder, deeming it the nearest most solid object. She scribbled something against his back on a piece of paper as Charlie’s blood rushed through his veins.
The train came to a stop and she handed him the note as she stood, with a quick “I babysat some kids once”, “Bye Henry!” and she was out.
Charlie gaped at the little paper, just a phone number and a name: J. Johansson.
He only tore his eyes from it to seek hers one last time, catching them through the window for an instant before she disappeared among the gray crowds.
He internally snorted as the train started to move again, bringing him back to reality. What the fuck did she think? The cigarette, the swearing, her impulsive, most likely unstable personality… She was a walking red flag. Those were his most rational thoughts, though they were also the quietest. Another part of his brain was screaming at him, already fantasizing about all the ways she’d be perfect for the job.
It would be a lie to say he didn’t start to consider it right about that time.
He could absolutely use the help; he was exhausted all the time, and as much as he hated to admit it, the few days he’d been juggling work with being a single dad were already taking a toll on him. His life was so hectic he hadn’t had the time to arrange, or even think about the need to hire a babysitter before Henry arrived. And this seemed so convenient, so… right in his face, that yeah. He found himself really, seriously, considering her offer; getting a proper headache over it. In fact, they missed their stop, and for Charlie, that was the last fucking straw.
They got out at the next station, deciding it’d be faster to just walk to the studio.
“Hey, Henry?” Charlie asked, grabbing his hand as they climbed up the stairs, “Did you also think the tattoo lady was cool?”
