I've been wanting to write something Lucian for awhile now, but an idea hasn't hit me quite like this one. You can thank Lyndsey (author of Stepmother at 17) because she helped me with the plot. I kind of want to make this more than just a oneshot, but I'd love to see what you guys want me to do.

Please keep in mind that this is in no way real or legitimate. The events in this story are fictional and made up by me. I am not affiliated with Ian or Lucy, nor do I know anyone who is. I wrote this for my enjoyment and the enjoyment of others. If Lucian isn't your thing, please don't read or leave hurtful comments. Thank you!

Often times, the best laid plans run awry. Even schemes that someone or a few people conclude as foolproof maybe be faltering or have several gaps in its consistency. Picking up a beer from its place on the coffee table in front of him, Ian Harding took a swig of the fresh tasting liquid. The ring on the dark wood stared up at him, but he couldn't bring himself to wipe it away and not pay diligent attention to the flat screen television set in front of him.

'This isn't how it's supposed to happen,' Ian thought to himself as he took another sip. He placed the bottle down in the exact same place with the water ring as his marking spot. The suede couch underneath him had become worn in the enduring years that he'd had it, but it had always been something of a 'sacred ground' when it came to his current dilemma. The bright, bold letters of whatever Hollywood entertainment show came onto the screen followed by her face.

It was the smile that was unmistakably Lucy. No one could have the bright, uplifting grin. Even at seven months pregnant did she look just as radiant. Being with child was something that cleared agreed with her and Ian couldn't protest the fact much. He studies the way her hands folded protectively over her bump as they always did. But having known Lucy so well, Ian could see the calculating going on inside her head as how to broach the fire of questions she would be asked in the matter of minutes.

Pleasantries, much like ones Ian had received in similar interviews, were exchanged before the heavy duty questioning came along.

"So you've been taking an extra long hiatus?"

"Yeah," she replied, moving her hand over her swollen stomach. "We've got until the baby is born and then I have three months maternity leave."

The conversation continued as they always did. Lucy and the person sitting in the plush chair opposite her would talk about her favorite places to get baby clothes, what food she intended on feeding the baby, what names she was considered for both boy and girl since she wanted the gender to be a surprise. But the father of her impending child was never mentioned.

That's how it always went and had been going for the past seven months. And it was eating Ian up alive.

He turned off the television after the interview and ran a tense hand through his rather unruly hair. A slow shudder of breath escaped his lips – Ian's one attempt to shoulder any frustration that was coming his way before the inevitable knock on the door arrived in thirty minutes. Over the course of seven months, he'd gotten particularly skilled at holding his chagrin. An interview would air and Ian would down a glass of water to mask the look of discontent on his face, especially if she was in the room.

And that was exactly what he did before his thirty minutes of quiet and encasement were up. Gulp after gulp, the dark haired man hoped that the cool sensation of water from the tap would wash away all feelings of annoyance, but it was becoming harder and harder to bear.

It wasn't to be misconstrued that he was angry at Lucy. For Ian Harding, it was absolutely impossible to be angry with Lucy Hale. She only had to give him a knee-weakening smile and he would be putty in her hands. His buddies around set and off said he was incredibly "whipped". But, he was angry with the situation and the various circumstances that came along with it.

Instead of washing away his troubles, the water seemed to boil over in the turbulence that was Ian's emotions. By the time the knock sounded, he still hadn't quelled his irritation. It was obvious when he pulled open the door to reveal a certain brunette with a swollen stomach. Even so, the concerned look on Lucy's face let Ian know that she still cared – that this plan of theirs hadn't been some dig towards him in the end.

"Are you okay?" No hello, no greeting was needed. They'd moved past formalities months ago when things had somehow fallen into place. Lucy had knocked on his door about eight months earlier and pressed her lips to his. The rest was absolute history. Carefully, she reached up and brushed a piece of his hair away from his forehead. Ian's tense facial features relaxed slightly under her touch and his inevitable self explosion was kept at bay.

"Peachy," he replied through a tight smile. However, Lucy didn't seem to be buying it. It was the same expression Ian always gave after she did interviews in concern to their baby. Still, she shrugged and moved inside with a bunch of bags that seemed to dwarf her small, but pregnant body. Ian could bring it out on his terms at his own time – he always did. Lucy was never worried about secrets between them. Though the stress of keeping the secret of him being the father to the yearning public had begun to weigh in for the past few months, their relationship was still strong. Things were always fine until she gave interviews to the press.

She gave him a knowing look before setting her bags down. Lucy leaned up, placing a hand against Ian's chest. In perfect timing, the two of them craned their heads down to give one another a chaste kiss. Neither of them were in the temperament to give something passion filled. Lucy hated when Ian was frustrated or upset and the feeling was very much reciprocated from his end. But she could see how much it hurt him to be degraded from father to faithful friend helping her through a troubled time. Their foolproof plan in the beginning was hurting him and them more than either of them had figured.

Lucy shook her head as she pulled away. "No you're not," she stated, leaning back from her tiptoes. If she hadn't been as pregnant as she was, she would've been wearing heels.

"Of course I'm not, Lucy," Ian stated coldly. "Can you remember the last time I've been okay after you've given an interview?"

"The first one," she replied in almost a whisper. "Ian, if I had known this plan would hurt you, hurt us so badly towards the end, I would've never…"

"You would've," Ian shot back. His voice was silvery and metallic. It took him a few minutes and the shocked look that crossed Lucy's face to understand the words that had slipped from his mouth – the words that he hadn't meant, but had come out anyways in the midst of his anger.

Hell hath no fury like a seven months pregnant woman with raging hormones. With his fists balled up at her sides, Lucy looked up at Ian with hurt and tear filled eyes. She barely came up to his chin, but her being was far bigger than the small stature of 5"2.

"You think I'm ashamed of us?"

"Lucy…that's not what I meant," Ian started to say, but was immediately cut off by his enraged and very pregnant girlfriend.

"I've never been more proud of a relationship, Ian. We might have gotten together unconventionally, but nothing about us has ever been cookie cutter normal. But it's what makes us, us. It's not like no one knows about us – it's just the public. That's how you wanted it in the first place."

Ian gritted his pristinely white teeth. She was right – he was the one that had wanted to stay private in the first place. But he wasn't the one who'd come up with the plan to not reveal to the press who the father was until a month or so after the birth of the baby. That had been something conjured up by Lucy's publicist and their approval had been nothing but forced.

"I'm not saying that I think you're ashamed of us, but I can't…I can't do this anymore."

Lucy could feel her stomach plummet and her face fall. The look alone was enough to break Ian's heart. It hit him that he shouldn't have been putting her through such stress, but the damage had been done. If he could take it back, he would. He would shoulder the pain if it meant not having to see that look cross Lucy's face.

"Can't do what? Can't do us?"

"Lucy, that's not—"

"Its fine, Ian. You don't have to do us anymore. I wouldn't put you through the burden and the pain."

He tried to protest once more, but she was too stubborn to listen. He tried to burst into their bedroom and maybe even throw the suitcases she was packing out the window into a pile of mud, but Lucy had locked the doors. He slipped a piece of paper under the door that spoke his volumes of sorry, but she'd only taken it as a worse sign. He knocked on the door and pleaded with her, but Lucy wasn't having it. He had tried to fight – tried to fix his wrongs from moments before and tell her that half the things he had said he didn't mean, but she had made up her mind.

It was evident when Lucy emerged from the bedroom a half hour later with several packed suitcases and bags that carried things for the baby. Ian gulped back a sharp pain in his throat. He hadn't imagined this transpiring because of a simple interview. Wordlessly, he helped her down to the car and loaded things in.

Before she could settle herself into the driver's seat, Lucy took hold of Ian's hand. Her thumb smoothed over the back of it and he tried to hold on. His bottom lip began to quiver – and he never usually cried. She already was, large droplets dripping down her cheek. Ian's fingers sought out Lucy's as a silent plea one last time.

"I want you to be a part of mine and the baby's life – but only when you're ready. And when you see that I will never be ashamed of calling you mine."

Minutes later, Lucy was gone and Ian was standing dejectedly at the bottom of his driveway. Salty pools of tears rested on his skin and trailed down from his eyes until her car turned the corner and went unseen.

On April 17th, his daughter had been born. Ian had done his best to keep his distance, but per his (and Lucy's, although Ian wasn't aware she'd asked) request, both her mother and friend Claire had kept him in the know. Lucy had named her Delilah Grace – something they'd both agreed on during numerous talks in bed when things had been bright and rosy. One of Ian's fondest memories was her waking him up with the baby name book splayed in front of his face. The name Delilah was being pointed to by Lucy's red painted fingernail.

That's the name, Lucy had whispered to him before kissing a spot behind his ear. They had been searching for something that was distinctly them as well as matching with the middle named they had picked out earlier.

Delilah Grace Harding had come to be only two months ago. Only one tearful phone call between him and Lucy existed between their daughter's birth and now – one where he called after getting an SOS text from Claire only to be told he had a baby girl who was given the same last name as him. He'd choked speaking over the phone to Lucy, knowing she'd done that as an easy way to announce to the world who the father was. Conversation between them was short and sporadic, but torn up and gut wrenching 'I love yous' still sounded at the end. His parents and sister had gone to meet the newest edition of the family, but Ian still hadn't. He was ready to meet Delilah, but not ready to face Lucy.

Ian was constantly being sent pictures or given update on both Lucy and Delilah from her mother. He got videos and saved whatever photos Lucy uploaded to her Instagram or tweeted. He watched the small Keeks she posted to show her fan-base their daughter's progress on loops, sometimes even falling asleep to them. Some nights he barely slept. A photo of Lucy holding a day old Delilah was his phone and computer background. It rested on his nightstand so that it was the first thing he saw when he woke and the last thing his eyes rested upon before falling asleep. The baby's eyes were open and alert and a small smattering of dark curls topped her head while Lucy looked on with a glowing smile.

She – they, were Ian's anything and everything. Even if they were just out of his reach.

It was exactly two months and two days after Delilah had been born that Ian decided it was time – time for him to grow up; time for him to put the hurt of interviews and the dejected, childish feeling of her leaving behind. He was a father now – he wanted to be a father now. Now a man shoved away in the comforts of his apartment while his quasi-girlfriend and child lived on. Lived on when the tangibility of another man slinking into their lives and taking his place was possible.

Letting it all slip away wasn't an option.

It didn't take long for him to find the tiny white onesie he'd picked up months prior – prior to everything falling apart. The box was still wrapped pristinely with a silver ribbon adorning the top. Ian had been afraid to touch it, afraid that if he did, every carefully built up wall would come down. Instead, he found a newfound determination to make things right. Grabbing a pen, he quickly inscribed 'Delilah' in his signature, scraggly handwriting and tucked the package under his arm before grabbing his keys. Lucy had been staying at her old apartment – a location that was across town, but somewhere that Ian didn't need directions to get to.

The car ride was silent on his part, minus a few dings from his phone. Claire was blowing up his text messages, but Ian wouldn't dare pick it up – road safety was most important. Especially with the way he was speeding to get to Lucy. There was something about the whole situation that felt uplifting and that's when it hit him.

He was going to meet his daughter.

A silent tear dripped down Ian's face, followed by an onslaught as he pulled into the drive of Lucy's apartment complex twenty minutes later. His car sat parked in a visitor spot for another ten as he processed the information. Up in the apartment building that sat in front of him like a castle was the woman he loved and their baby – their baby that had the same pearly blue eyes that he did. He could imagine that looking into them would be like looking into a mirror. Maybe taking a nap or playing in a baby play pen was Delilah, blissfully unaware as to who he was or her parent's situation. Lucy was up there, perhaps writing music or reading a book or playing with Delilah herself, not expecting him – maybe even not expecting him to show up any time soon.

What if she'd told Delilah that her father was a no good actor who didn't care? Ian sucked back the lump in his throat.

Like hell – he did care. Ian cared immensely to the point where both Lucy and Delilah were his world without even having to see them.

He didn't need to think about the what ifs and the possibilities. They weren't reality, but Ian sitting in his car was. With gentle hands, he picked up the silver ribbon adorned package and went inside. The doorman let him go up with a look of recognition as well as one of puzzlement. The elevator music was tinny and grated on Ian's ears usually if he was paying attention – he was only looking for the ding of the elevator so he knew he was on her floor. It couldn't have come soon enough.

Stepping out, Ian made his way towards Lucy's door, his heart stopping in the process. Her door was swung open and standing with her hip leaning against the doorframe was Lucy. Her hair was a bit lighter than it had been when he'd last seen her. Her body was trim, devoid of any baby weight. Her skin was flawless and on her lips rested that radiant smile. Her eyes were bright, but he could make out the glassiness behind them.

And in her arms was the kicker – Delilah. The baby rested snuggly against her mother's side, eyes wide, alert, and looking straight at Ian. He almost fell to his knees as tears began to fall down his cheeks with every step he took to get closer. She was beautiful, as beautiful as her mother with the perfect balance of features that belonged to both of them. Delilah was how he had pictured their baby and there she was, living and breathing. Not behind a phone screen or a picture frame.

"I saw your car pull into the parking lot," Lucy said blatantly. "You came." Her voice broke on the last few words, a tear streaking down her cheek. "I knew you would."

"I couldn't…" Ian took a deep breath, wiping the back of his hand against his face where a few stray tears rested. "I couldn't keep away anymore. I want to be her father. I want to be a part of your lives. There isn't a day that goes by when you both aren't in mine."

Lucy nodded, a few more tears spilling over. The smile on her face only grew bigger which made Ian feel as if he had done something right. He had been ready to come back. "So you know I'm never going to be ashamed of having you?"

"I figured that the minute you gave her my last name. I've just…just been too stubborn."

"But that's the past."

"It's the past."

A moment went by and Ian's eyes flitted to Delilah who continued to keep her eyes trained on him. "Would you like to meet your daughter," Lucy asked, to which Ian nodded eagerly. She gingerly placed the baby in his arms before giving a warning that she might cry – Delilah didn't fair with new people quite well. Except she didn't cry. She reached a small, baby hand out towards him. Ian's throat constricted and he smiled.

"Hi, Delilah. It's Daddy."