Disclaimer: I don't own Rugrats. Tough Shit; suck it up Jackie-Boy.

All right, a one shot. A Chuckie/Angelica one shot with surprisingly little Angelica. This one, despite my best efforts, is kinda serious. Very heavy, came out much more, peculiar maybe, than intended. Needed to mix it up a little bit. Stuck on Chuckie/Angelica for some reason, I'm not sure why. Oh yeah; they're cuter than hell.

P.S: Mac won't let me update my Profile, so head to myspace dot com, slash jackie underscore boy222 for a good profile.

His Daughter's Hand

Drew Pickles was nervous. Chuckie had called the other day, wishing to "seek an audience" with Drew and Charlotte. And Drew was freaking out. See, Angelica had gotten her own apartment a year or so ago, and since then he had begun to miss her, even though they always had coffee together every day, and dinner together every Friday. So even though she was never home, they still had fairly decent knowledge of their daughter's private life. Drew also knew that his daughter had continued to see Chuck Finster socially. The seriousness of their relationship was never really made clear to Drew, but his daughter always talked about "Finster," and whatever the context of the conversation, she usually said good things. And now he was coming for dinner. No Angelica, he thought, just Charlotte, he, and me. Drew wanted a drink, but successfully fought this urge. He wasn't an Alcoholic, but right now he was extraordinarily close.

Charlotte was setting the table while Drew stared blankly at the television; more specifically, "The Dirty Dozen." Lee Marvin and Charles Bronson had just entered the enemy château. Drew usually helped with dinner, so Charlotte was letting this one slide. He would never tell her so, but she knew he was bothered by tonight. Chuckie had wanted to come by to talk, or "seek an audience," as he had put it, but Charlotte had suggested he come for dinner. Truth be told, Charlotte was nervous too. Sure, they all had coffee together every afternoon for countless years, but never in an intimate-type setting. On the phone, when no one else could hear, Angelica could never quite go an entire conversation without mentioning something sweet "Finster" had done for her. Like flowers for no reason whatsoever. Or a surprise lunch when she was trapped at work. In fact, Charlotte thought to herself, her little girl had grown up; and though he was no Charles Bronson, Charles Finster was a pretty good pick.

Drew however, was not as mellow as his wife. He had always liked Chuckie. He was there twenty-four years ago when the man was born. Man. Chuckie was a man.

Drew had never had any male heirs of his own, so he always slightly envied his friends. On Father's day, all his friends would get that one card from their boys, full of baseball talk and fishing. Drew loved his daughter more than words could ever illustrate. But he didn't have a son.

So he would often observe them, and think. He often thought that if he had a son, he would want that son to be like Chuckie. Sure, he liked all the kids, But Tommy was a trifle headstrong, Phil was rowdy and messy, and Dil, well; Dil was just fuckin' weird. But Chuckie Finster was none of that. The young Finster held all those qualities Drew liked about people. Chuckie was honest, kind, and, probably the most un-full-of-shit person on Earth. He was just a naturally good individual. He would never lie, he always did what he was asked, and though he perpetually saw the "Touch of Gray" in every silver lining, he never let his pessimism make him miserable. The only time Chuckie ever did something un-Chuckie like is when he was under the guidance of Tommy or Angelica.

In fact, Chuckie had always done every single foolish thing Angelica had asked him, and he held not an ounce of bitterness. For twenty-four years Chuckie Finster had done every stupid and dangerous thing Angelica asked him. Was Chuckie as blind as Charlie Brown, constantly trying to kick the football? Did he really think, for all these years, Angelica had is best interest at heart? Or did he always do those foolhardy things simply because he loved Angelica? Then an awful thought hit him. Chuckie wanted to break up with Angelica. That was the only possible explanation available. Chuckie was through with the constant abuse and he wanted out. Could Drew blame him? He looked at his wife who was finishing off the pasta. Could he blame Finster? Not really. Angelica was, High Maintenance, for lack of something better, as was Charlotte. And it required the utmost fortitude to deal with the constant yelling. The benefits are great, but it's a hard job.

Then it hit him. If Chuckie leaves, there will be no dealing with Angelica. Chuckie always kept her mellow. She could be a witch, but he made her a happy witch. And if the Cowardly Lion Kept the Wicked Witch happy, who was Drew to argue. When the two of them were in the same room together, you could feel the positive energy their love created in each other. When the two of them were together she was so radiant, she could just about glow-in-the-damn-dark. He made her a better person. If he dumped her, the fallout would last for months. God he wanted that drink. The craving for liquor was starting to remind him of "The Shining," and Drew was ready to go visit Lloyd.

His watch read 7:28 when the knock on the door came to his attention. Two minutes early. That was Chuckie defined, Drew thought as he rose to get the door. Drew opened the door.

Chuckie stood in the doorframe looking at his feet. Drew never really noticed what an adult Chuckie had become. He was quite tall, and though he was not as thin as he had been, he still could stand to gain a couple of pounds, which seemed to fit. Chuckie was currently working at a very aristocratic-type architect firm, and most architects Drew had met were either sickly thin or slightly overweight. He had on a gray suite with a blue shirt and a silver and black striped silk tie. Chuckie's face had the slightest overcast of stubble about it, his glasses, a tortoise-shell brown, framed his large eyes. His eyes; the picture of absolute terror.

"Hello Chuckie, dinner will be ready in a few moments." Drew politely greeted his guest, doing all his best to cover the pure fear in his voice. Drew showed Chuckie into the living room. "The Dirty Dozen" was over, and the opening credits of "A Fistful Of Dollars" were rolling on screen. Drew really wanted to keep the television on, for two reasons. One, he loved this movie, and two, with Clint Eastwood blowing people away, there was no need to talk to Finster.

But the silence, it was starting to get to him. He was really starting to get nervous.

"Ya'know Chuckie, this is the movie that saved westerns. American audiences were tired of the 'good guy in a white hat saves town' plot they had seen a million times. An Italian named Sergio Leone decided to remake a Japanese samurai film, "Yojimbo," into a western. The excess violence and callousness of the 'good guy' really grabbed Americans."

Chuckie had found this comment interesting. Not only did he learn something interesting about a movie, but it also brought to Chuckie's attention just how nervous Drew really was.

Whenever Drew and Chuckie met, they would ask of how each other's had been, then how each other's family was doing, and any remaining conversation time could be spent catch up on bullshit. The comment Drew made was perfect in the fact that any further conversation possible could only continue in the direction of bullshit, and Chuckie and Drew could both avoid discussing any personal information. Which meant he did not want to divulge how he was, and he did not wish to know how Chuckie was. Which meant Drew was either scared or angry, and Chuckie couldn't decide which would be worse.

Charlotte called the two men to dinner after about fifteen minutes of Clint. The dining room was a red number with a long oak table and some framed watercolors on the walls. The tablecloth was ivory in color, and the chandelier gave the room a warm feeling. Drew was seated at the head of the long table. Charlotte was to his right, our left, and Chuckie sat opposite, at Drew's left.Behind Charlotte, the liquor cabinet, a nice Stickly piece. In fact, all of Drew's Dining room furniture was Stickly, a status symbol, if you will. Above Drew, a reproduction print of The Starry Night by Van Gogh hung, more of the nice upper class status Drew worked so hard to uphold. The dinner, which was a glorious pasta with home made garlic bread, was eaten in relative silence; before, of course, Charlotte felt the need to break the ice.

"So Chuckie, what brings you here?" The tension in Charlotte's voice was slight, but noticeable.

"Well," Chuckie cleared his throat, "okay Chuckie; bite the bullet."

Drew and Charlotte sat upright, and both their minds were racing.

Charlotte mind was going all over the map; what was going on, what was up, the anxiety was killing her.

Drew's mind was more focused, but racing nonetheless. 'I need a drink I need a drink I need a drink I need a drink…"

While Charlotte and the Little Engine that Needed Booze braced for whatever was to come next, they could see Chuckie was pouring sweat. This was not unusual, but the fact Angelica wasn't there for either group to deflect to made it slightly worse

"Mister and Misses Pickles, I love your Daughter very much. More than words can say. More than words could ever say. And I am so afraid of ever ruining what we have, but…"

"I want to ask for your daughters hand in marriage."

Drew and Charlotte sat stunned. Nobody said a word. It was eternity until Charlotte broke the silence.

"Really?"

Chuckie stared at Charlotte with a look of disbelief.

"I mean, you're so happy Chuckie. Why would you want to screw that up with marriage?" Charlotte had not meant for that to come out sounding like it did, but she was too confused to care.

"Mr. Pickles?" Chuckie looked at Drew with a nervous glance.

Drew had gone bye-bye.

It had been at least fifteen minutes since he had spoken a word, and ten since Chuckie had asked to marry his daughter. That urge to drink that he had been battling all day had finally won.

Chuckie and Charlotte were both startled when Drew jumped up. He walked over to the Liquor cabinet in the middle of the room, and stared through the glass.

…

…

"Hi Lloyd, a little slow tonight, huh?" Drew chuckled slightly to himself.

Charlotte was physically scared, and more so concerned for her husband's state of mind. She could of course relate, the sudden idea of their daughter being married was a huge shock to their systems. They had never spoken of the possibility that someone would actually want to marry their daughter, and certainly if they had discussed it, they would never have guessed Chuckie. Apparently, he dug their daughter a lot more than they could have guessed. I mean, they had been dating since, was it middle school or high school? Damn, they had been dating a long time. Charlotte could not believe it had been this many years of the two of them together. Now that she reflected on this, marriage seemed oh so obvious. It then occurred to her Drew was still behind her, starring at the liquor cabinet.

If you were paying attention, you could hear Drew's mind slowly snap.

While Charlotte and Chuckie watched Drew nervously, Drew himself stood motionless for a while, then he erraticly cocked his head to the side. In his mind, he knew he did not have the key to the liquor cabinet, but he did not have time to get it, for that would take far too long. Think Drew.

He calmly took off his tie, which a deep green silk, and wrapped it around his right hand.

Chuckie yelped as the glass before him shattered. Drew let go of his tie and replaced his empty hand with his bottle of Wild Turkey Rare Breed. Mechanically, he went to the head of the table, stood at his spot and sat the bottle of bourbon at his place.

"Would you like a drink Chuckie?"

"No thank you sir, I'm-"

"Do you want a drink, Chuckie?" his voice had taken a stern, forceful-type cast.

"Yes sir, thank you."

Drew disappeared to the kitchen, leaving Charlotte and Chuckie alone. Charlotte needed to speak.

"So, uh, I guess congratulations are in order." Charlotte's confusion had quickly turned to a deadly powerful joy. Her daughter was going to marry the perfect man, a man Charlotte herself loved like a son, a man she knew would treat Angelica like the queen she is. Chuckie would always have Angelica's best interest at heart. It then occurred to Charlotte that Chuckie was trying to speak, and he was blushing.

"Well, I haven't asked her yet. I really-" Chuckie was cut off by Drew yelling.

"Chuckie, come and join me." Drew's tone sounded casual, and that worried Chuckie.

Chuckie stood and walked into the living room. Drew was seated on the sofa, upon the coffee table sat two drinks and a cedar box. "Alabama Song" by The Doors was playing on the fancy stereo system, itself another status symbol. Drew himself looked rather at ease, with the exception of the bloodstained gauze around his hand.

"Have a seat Chuckie. Let's talk."

Chuckie nervously sat at the opposite end of the sofa, unsure of what was going on. Drew reached for the cedar box and slowly opened it, pulling out two cigars. He pulled a cutter out of his pocked, snipped the end off of one, and handed it to Chuckie. He then snipped the end off the other and placed it in his mouth.

"This," Drew began, "is a Montecristo No. 2, and they are exceptionally fine cigars. Not the finest mind you, but fine, nonetheless." He removed the cigar from his mouth, examined the end to ensure its dampness, placed it back in his mouth, and pulled out a box of matches.

"So," he continued, pausing to strike his match, "you want to marry Angelica?" Drew slowly drew the smoke into his mouth, letting the flavors dance around his mouth. A few moments later he blew the smoke into the air, grabbed his bourbon and ice, and looked at Chuckie.

Chuckie nervously put the cigar in his mouth. Drew struck another match, waited for the sulfur to burn away and held it to Chuckie's cigar.

"Now, don't inhale, slowly take the smoke into your mouth, hold it in, then, blow the smoke out."

The many subtleties in the flavor were lost on Chuckie, and he would later describe it as "a very interesting sensation." He exhausted the smoke from his mouth, and took a sip of bourbon. The tobacco had effectively sat all his taste buds on edge, bringing out the flavors of the drink.

"Yes, I wish to marry your Daughter, and I just, you know, wanted your blessing."

Drew sat, thinking. He could just see it in his head, walking his daughter down the aisle, her in a glorious gown, the wedding, the reception, grandchildren…

…

That is when the last card dropped.

If Chuckie and Angelica got married, they would eventually have, you know, intercourse.

That little son of a bitch wanted to engage in sexual congress with his daughter!

Drew was about to throw his glass of Wild Turkey at that sniveling bastard when another, much more unsettling thought had entered his mind.

There was the very real possibility that they, his daughter and Finster, had already engaged in coitus. Had he and Charlotte waited till marriage, of course not! He was seeing blood now. This man next to him was noting more than a lustful evil little mendacious suckfish, stealing his little girl.

Then he looked at Chuckie. He was sitting quite nervously, looking at Drew. Drew remembered that look. That was the look he had given Charlotte's father when they themselves announced their engagement. Why had he been angry towards Chuckie, all Chuckie wanted to do was spend the rest of his life with someone who made him happy. Then Drew began thinking about all those little moments in marriage that made Charlotte and him so very happy. First home, first anniversary, warm conversations at breakfast, Chuckie and Angelica would have all that happiness, for many years to come.

And though it was none of his fuckin' business, he was fairly positive Chuckie was chaste, he was too timid to be anything but.

Drew took another long drag of his cigar, and "Sultans of Swing" came floating through the speakers. He looked over his glasses at Chuckie, so scared. He supposed he better say something. But Chuckie beat him to it.

"Mr. Pickles, are, are you okay?" Chuckie looked, worried of course. He was staring at Drew like he had something on his face. Come to think of it, Drew's face did feel, odd, sore somehow, and his eyes hurt. Then it occurred to him. He was crying. Chuckie was watching him cry.

The last time Drew had cried was about a week after his father's funeral. Lou had died peacefully in his sleep, and he and Stu were going through some old boxes, sorting photos, that sort of thing. They had just finished packing away the last boxes when Drew just, just started crying. Stu, of course, then began sobbing, and the two of them had sat in front of their storage shed, crying and sobbing like infants. Then it had been business as usual, and they only talked of their father with joy. That was two years ago.

Now here Drew sat, looking at this man he had watched grow for so long, wishing him nothing but the best all these years, and he was crying.

He knew, of course, why he was crying. This was the single happiest moment of his life, and the saddest. His little girl would no longer be his little girl just; she'd be Mrs. Angelica Finster. And Drew took a slight comfort in that. He would treat her right.

"Chuckie," Drew cleared his throat, and Chuckie jumped up like a frog on a hotplate. "Frog on a hotplate," that was one of Lou's sayings, and Drew smiled at this. "Chuckie, if anyone wants to marry Angelica, I'm glad it's you."

"Really?" Chuckie was feeling fantastically better, though part of that may have been the bourbon.

"Yeah, Chuckie. I really don't think anyone else could really stand her." Drew began to chuckle slightly, letting Chuckie know it was safe.

They spent the rest of that evening discussing everything possible. Where the couple would live (Chuckie informed Drew that he had made a down payment on a house two houses down), Wedding Dates (Drew informed Chuckie not to try to pick, because between Charlotte, Angelica, and Kira; Chuckie would get little actual say in the planning. Which, Drew pointed out, was great, because this allowed you to be the comfort-type role to your fiancée), and Baseball (Milwaukee Brewers).

Charlotte joined them soon after, taking the farthest seat away, on Drew's side, to distance her from the cigar smoke. Charlotte then began to make up for lost time, saying anything even remotely related to marriage. As she went on, Drew looked at Chuckie, raised an eyebrow, and raised his glass to Chuckie, who returned the toast, creating a pleasing "clink."

Chuckie got up to leave at eleven-thirty two, thanked them for a wonderful evening, and proceeded to walk home. Drew and Charlotte walked into their empty home, walked to the living room, then sat down at the sofa, exhausted. Drew looked over to his bride.

"You okay, honey?"

"Drew; we're old, aren't we?"

"Yeah, I guess we are."

She looked over to him and sighed, "We had a good run though, didn't we?"

"The best."

…

She looked down at her watch. Then she smiled at her husband.

"So, what do you say we finish off that bourbon, go upstairs, and fool around?"

"There's no need to finish of the bourbon, you're so beautiful." He put on his best grin, the truthfulness in his voice warming her heart.

She smiled. "I know that, but you're so old." She began to laugh.

"Old huh," he leaned over to his wife and began tickling her. "I'll show you old."

She put her finger to his lips. "Go brush your teeth first, you reek of tobacco." She got up, and slowly sauntered upstairs.

Drew got up, turned off the radio, and walked upstairs. His thoughts were on Chuckie, how nervous he was, how excited he must be, and how Drew hoped everything would work out, as he knew it would. When he finished brushing, he put Chuckie out of mind, for the night anyway, and walked towards his room where his gorgeous wife was waiting.

---Wow, I don't know what you call that kind of story. Anywho, it's over and I can go back to my other story. This one was kind of special to me, the first plot I had. I just never took the time to write it. Thanks, faithful reader, and take care. Happy Thanksgiving. God Bless,

-----Jackie-Boy,

-----------------------John M. Jr.