This story is adapted from Laramie Briscoe' Trick. I just admire Irene, I think she deserves some love. This pairing is strictly Acnorene, so if you are not comfortable with it, don't continue. By the way, Erza is about 6-years old this time. Well, this is an AU, and a bit OOC.

I do not own anything.

Their Last Hope

Irene

When my husband walked out on me over a year ago, it devastated me. When the divorce papers came, it wrecked me. When we had to sell our house, it broke me.

But then he moved in with his new flavor of the month and told our daughter his new woman wasn't into children. That pissed me off.

Now Erza feels abandoned, and I can't make it better; no matter how hard I try. I'm desperate to help her adjust to the loss of a male figure in her life. The Companion Program that matches adults up with children who have loneliness and abandonment issues is my last hope.

The counselors tell me he's doing community service hours, and I ask to sit in on his meetings with Erza. The minute I see him astride the matte black Harley, I know neither my nor Erza's life will ever be the same again.

Acnologia

Community Service. Two words I should be thankful for, but I'm not. I resent the hours away from building my business. The two previous kids I'd been paired up with didn't work out because their mothers were more interested in getting in my bed than making sure their child was taken care of. This next match with a little girl is my last hope. Unless this kid works out, I'm destined to serve time.

When they push her into the room wearing red converse with a black dress, her scarlet hair in ponytail, and studious glasses on her face, I can tell she's scared - of new people, of change, of being pushed aside. Something inside of me breaks, and I want this girl to feel wanted again.

What I'm unprepared for is meeting her mom. The second our hands touch, I see fireworks, bright lights, and a picture of the future I could one day have. The future I've never allowed myself to wish for.

Community service becomes more than a chore, more than the precious hours I have to give up. In the months that follow, I realize Erza and Irene are just like me; they've been abandoned, left behind by the world, forgotten by those who should love them.

Thanks to the one last hope in both our lives - we found the light in the darkness we'd been searching for.

1

Irene

"You're his last hope."

Layla, the director of The Companion Program lays it on thick, and I'm doing my best to be open-minded, but what she's told me is has me doubting my decisions. "He's a felon?" I rub my forehead with the heel of my hand, hoping to relieve some of the pressure that's built behind my eyes. This is a big decision.

"He was a felon," she clarifies. "This charge was elevated because of his past, but I assure you – he is a changed man."

Am I crazy for even considering this? On the one hand, I think so. But on the other, I try to see the best in everyone and I know it's possible to change. Look at what I've done for myself in the past two years. Who am I to judge? "What did he do?"

"It's a vandalism charge. That's all I'm allowed to say, but if he can't be matched with a child to perform his community service hours, he's going to go to jail. Given his previous charges, the jail time will be exacerbated." She stops, eyeing me critically. "Acnologia has done a one-eighty from where he was. He's trying to build a business, trying to re-build his life. This would completely derail any chance of it."

"I've gotten to know him," the woman gives me a sympathetic smile. "He's not a bad man. Put himself in bad situations and reacted badly? Sure. But bottom line is if she was my child, I'd trust him with her."

I look over at my daughter, Erza, and wonder if I'm doing the right thing. In my heart, I know I am. She's been devastated; we've been devastated since my husband walked out on us. The marriage wasn't perfect and of course we had issues, especially about Erza, but I'd never expected him to leave. He gave up what I thought was a good and solid marriage to move in with a woman who didn't care he had a child. Children aren't her thing and they aren't his either. That's left Erza without the guidance of a male figure and she's been withdrawn since the separation began. It only got worse as the divorce dragged on. When it was final, we were appointed a court counselor, and the counselor suggested I contact The Companion Care program which leads me to where I am now. It's left both of us vulnerable and questioning what we have to offer. Maybe if Erza gets her self-esteem back, I can get mine back too.

"You swear you'd trust your child with him?"

"I would," she tells me, reaching out to grip my hand. The contact is enough to startle me. For the months leading up to the separation, my husband and I never touched, and since then, it's been just me and her. It's foreign to feel someone else's skin against mine now. Regardless of their gender or age. When you aren't touched for long periods of time, it's a shock to the system when it's being reintroduced. What's an even bigger shock is I didn't realize until this moment how lonely I've been. Human contact shouldn't feel foreign, it's a reminder I need to get back out into the world.

"Can I be there? I don't want her to feel uncomfortable, and I'd like to know who he is myself. She and I have been a team for a while now, and I'd like for us to do this together."

She balks for the first time and it gives me pause. "I'm not sure you should be there, I don't know if he would like it or not," she breaks off with a shrug and a grimace.

It's almost a look of warning and immediately I wonder what she's hiding

"I'll allow it, but I'm going to be honest with you," she stops and sighs. "Acnologia Belserion is a gorgeous man. If I am not happily married, I would make a pass at him – age difference be damned."

I laugh despite myself.

"The other two kids we've paired him with have been a problem because their mothers have made it difficult for him. They made inappropriate advances and he didn't reciprocate. Oddly enough, they complained and he felt like he could no longer remain with their children."

Oh, I understand now. I hold my hands up. "That won't be a problem with me. I'm a single mom who works a full-time job, has an online Etsy store that occupies hours of my time, and takes care of her child. I'm not looking for a relationship, now or even five years from now. I'm just trying to live my life, take care of my daughter, and put food on our table."

As God as my witness those words are true. I'm still trying to get over the anger, despair, and grief I feel having lost my eight-year marriage. That's not to say I'm not open to something happening somewhere down the line, but I'll never chase it.

"Okay Irene, we'll set up the meeting. I believe we can expect good results."

I stand, holding out my hand to the director. I can feel hope and optimism for the first time since my ex-husband left. Maybe this man can help me reach my daughter, maybe he can help her understand not all men leave. Maybe if she believes, then so can I.

Acnologia

"How is this one going to be different than the rest?"

I kick my long legs out in front of me, trying not to make too much noise as the steel-toes of my boots meet the metal of the desk in front of me. Regardless of what other people think about me, I would prefer to blend into the background. I don't really want to make a spectacle of myself. I've been told the way I carry myself doesn't allow me to blend into the background, but I am who I am and I refuse to let people screw me around.

Silver, my probation officer, God bless his soul is flipping through some paperwork trying to find me a match. I think he wants to keep me out of jail as much I don't want to go back there. "They swear this woman isn't interested in finding a man, and it seems the little girl needs someone who can help her. The name's Erza."

"What's wrong with her?" I lean forward, keeping my arms tucked tightly across my chest, hands in my armpits. As a kid, I had a bad habit of talking with my hands.

He's going over the info sheet. "Looks like the dad slash husband walked out on them, and he isn't interested in being a father to Erza anymore. She's withdrawn and the mother is worried. Irene, the mother, has requested to be there for at least the first few sessions."

Any mother who gave a damn about her kid would, but that makes me nervous. "I can't fault her for wanting to be there, but damn, what if she turns into another one? I can't go to jail. The fucking shop is booked solid for the next three months. I've finally got all my shit figured out."

"I know, and don't think I'm not sympathetic to your plight, man."

"Oh kiss my ass."

Silver glares. "There does need to be some semblance of professionalism here, no matter how much I like you and feel as if you're doing great things."

Fuck me. I roll my neck, already feeling a tension headache starting to form. I've already wasted too much time today. "Just set it up and let me know what time I need to be there."

It's time to pay my debt to society. To try and right the wrongs I caused as an angry young adult who had nobody to shape me into the man I have become. The vandalism charge? That's bullshit and a story for another day. I pull my phone out of the pocket of my well-worn jeans. Shit it's already two pm. I'm gonna be at the shop late tonight.

"Tomorrow, nine am. They want to get this show on the road, and the quicker you start, the quicker your hours will accumulate."

Whatever. "See ya in two weeks," I tell him, referencing my next parole check in.

I have work to do, and it looks like I have a little girl to meet tomorrow. As I step out into the bright sunshine, I put on my aviators and hope like hell traffic isn't bad as I make my way back across the bridge to my side of town. The side where I'm comfortable – where people have rough edges and good hearts. My edges have sometimes been razor sharp and it's time to dull them – anger and resentment have gotten me nowhere but serving almost a thousand hours of community service.

Growing up sucks, especially when you realize all the bad shit you've done to yourself, to spite yourself. I've never shied away from taking responsibility and I'll take this the way I have everything else, but damn if it's not coming at the worst possible time for me personally.

I start my bike and ease into afternoon traffic. Time to get to work.

A loud noise wakes me from a sleep so deep I'm pretty fucking sure I was dead. It's this annoying beep – constant and getting louder by the second. I reach out, slapping my hand against my cell phone, but it keeps going off. Why did I set the alarm? I wrack my brain, trying to figure out why in the hell I had to get up so early today. I was in the shop until almost four in the morning, but I made sure to set my alarm. Why? The reason is right there, on the periphery of my memory, knocking on the door, but it's not clicking. What the fuck did I have to do today?

Suddenly I sit up, knowing exactly where I should be today, what I should be doing. The sinking feeling is already taking up residence in my stomach.

"Son of a fucking bitch," I grab the phone, squinting to see what time it is. Eight fifty-five. "Shit!"

It's inevitable I'm going to be late as hell for my first day. What a way to make a good impression. Quickly I put on the nearest clothes, a jacket, tied my shoulder-length dark blue hair into a man bun, and head out. Effort counts, right? Because I'm about to put forth the most effort I ever have. This shit has to work.

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