A/N: My dear readers! Thanks again to you all for your interest in Ink & Glory! I'm having a lot of fun writing it. First thing's first. A couple shout-outs to Oragne Spartans and KaiIvanovai for their kind words. Onto other business; I was concerned about the length of this chapter. Realizing that I was going a bit overboard on some of the detail, I've split the idea for this installment. So it'll still appear slow, but the added detail enhances the story as a whole. But in any case, happy reading!

IV

Restless. Mind wracked with bad memories. Ray spent years trying to do better for himself – for his daughter. This was more than a wrench thrown into his life. He groaned quietly and leaned back into the worn-out couch. The tattoo artist stared at the ceiling blankly. How many times had Ray looked at the widening crack above and promised himself he would fix it? Too many… How many times did he say he'd never fall into another mental trap? You can't blame yourself for this one, Ray. If he could, he would pile his problems alongside the bills; one pile of everything was bound to fall sooner, easier, and would probably make a bigger mess of disorganized chaos.

He wanted to be angry. Ray wanted to be furious at that redheaded bastard, as well as himself. The neko-jin could do everything in his power to avoid that nightmare from his past, but that wouldn't be enough; not only did he have to protect himself, but Gemma, too. If Ray had a dime for every moment he felt like a bad father, he'd be a rich man. He found it to be an impossible task to forgive himself for unconsciously letting his little girl to be exposed to such horrors. The artist was proud of her strength and courage, but sometimes he wondered if he should have done a better job at making sure she was okay, even though the very last thing Gemma would remember that jerk by happened a long, five years ago. Ray's worst fear was that she was scarred for life and that the trauma would affect her life decisions later on; there was no fixing that.

"Tala…you should be the least of my worries." The name on his tongue tasted like bile.

He was a pale-skinned, ice-eyed Russian that served as a vessel for evil; his career contradicted his true interests. Tala had Ray fooled from the start – had the golden-eyed man eating out of the palm of his hand. Ray's stomach twisted every time he thought about the worst mistake he ever made – agreeing to enter a relationship with Tala. Those were memories he forced himself to forget, but they ruined any potential relationships for him after that. He stood up and swiped his pack of cigarettes off the coffee table, headed for the small balcony at the back of the apartment. When the sliding door barely budged, Ray grunted; it was yet another thing he promised to fix. Too early for this shit… He gripped the handle on the metal frame firmly. One quick yank ought to… Not realizing how stuck the door really wasn't, Ray pulled the flimsy thing right off its track. "Son of a bitch."

Ray shook his head and stepped outside. Quickly, the issue made its way to the "I really don't give a fuck right now" pile of matters in his head. He wasn't required to be at the restaurant until nine that morning, leaving plenty of time to settle his thoughts…and fix the door. The man flipped open the top of the pack in his hand, drawing out a small, black Bic lighter and cigarette; the pack was already halfway gone after only one day. How many times did I say I'd kick this habit, too? Heh…better than the shit I did back then. He stuck the cancer stick between his lips. With the lighter in his right hand, he attempted three clicks to bring out a flame from the item, ending with failure each time. Ray sighed before trying to get a flicker of blaze out of the lighter once more. Finally successful this time, he guarded the little flame with his left hand and set the tip of his cigarette ablaze. That first inhale sent a slight, relaxing numbness throughout his body, making the disarrayed contents of his mind just a little more tolerable.

He looked over his shoulder at the digital clock on the oven. 4:16 A.M. There was three hours before Ray had to get a move on for work – two and a half if Gemma wasn't with the program this Saturday morning; the girl was mature, but her father still thought she was too young to be left home alone. Regardless, the tattoo artist had some time to generate a façade of peace and composure. He leaned on the railing of the small balcony and drew in a deep breath, then exhaled meditatively. Alright Ray…Remember what he did to you. You're stronger now. He can't get under your skin and make you bow down in fear. Bite back, dammit! Be brave, for Gemma's sake, at least. Tala caught you off-guard just by showing up, but that's no reason to let that asshole control you again! You've got too many street smarts. You do the controlling around here!

Giving himself a mental pep talk lit a fire within – literally emphasized by the warmth he felt from his morning smoke. Still, Ray couldn't help but to acknowledge the steady chill that crept down his back. He desperately hoped that Lee was trying to develop some sick sense of humor when he was informed of Tala's return. Seeing his redheaded ex confirmed that it was the return of a nightmarish reality, especially when he cornered Ray in town a couple days ago. Even though Tala was the one to leave the relationship, he still managed to get his digs into the neko-jin; his words were as ice-cold as ever.

"Come on, kitten, you couldn't seriously believe the big, bad wolf would let you out of the bag that easily…I don't think you understand the actual power I have over you…You think you're past me, Ray? Ha! I'll have you begging for more than just mercy. Just you wait."

He shook his head vigorously to himself of the memory, his onyx locks sweeping across his face. Ray brought the cigarette to his lips, but stopped when he realized it had burned down to the filter while he was stuck in recent history. "Tala, I don't think you understand," He drew another stick from the pack, lit up, and took a drag, "just how past you I am." A light breeze passed, carrying away the smoke with his words.

Despite how unsettled his mind was, Ray felt a deeper calmness in his soul; he firmly believed that everything happened for a reason and that this was a test of his strength and will. That gave him enough optimism to confidently take on another day. He stubbed out the end of his last smoke for the morning before returning inside to start a pot of coffee. While waiting for the machine to produce a fresh brew, Ray returned to the living room. Sitting back down on the couch, he picked up his sketchbook and pencil. His interest in the drawing on the page was instantly renewed when his bright, amber eyes fell on the subject, and it excited him that something so beautiful could be shared with another in the form of a tattoo. He had a vision for this project; hopefully it was the same sight his client was seeing, too.

All it needed was a few remaining details. Ray spent most of the night drawing after Lee delivered the assignment; it was almost too long ago since Ray had a client that was looking for something this awesome. As he pushed his bangs away with the eraser end of his pencil, he wondered about the client, and more about the story behind this. It's too weird…I've seen this thing in the same dream as the one my white tiger showed up in…coincidence here? Ray continued to sketch, tuning out the world around him – the drip from the kitchen sink, the Saturday morning traffic that was picking up on the streets, even the alarm clock buzzing from his bedroom.

Coming out of his trance, the faint noise registered in his brain. "Six thirty already?" He rose from the couch to silence the device, but midway, the sound stopped. Ray peered down the hall to see a small figure walk out of his room. "Gem? You up?"

Rubbing the sleep from her eyes, Gemma padded into the room with bare feet. "Yeah. I thought you were still asleep. It's been going off forever." Her upper body flopped over the back of the couch. "Can't I stay home, just this once? It's too early."

"Sweetheart, you know how I feel about leaving you home alone." Her father rubbed the back of his neck, not wanting this argument so early in the morning. It wasn't that Ray didn't trust her; he didn't trust the neighborhood. Especially with you-know-who back around...

"Please? Come on, dad, I had a tough week, too. Especially since Mr. Hiwatari gave us another pop quiz and another chapter assignment. And! I haven't seen a single episode of Beyblade Metal Fury in weeks!" She gazed up at Ray's face, giving him an award-winning pout. "Please, daddy? I'm almost thirteen. I can spend a couple hours on my own, and if you let Mathilda stay over for the night, everything will be just fine until you get home."

Gemma wasn't giving him much room to budge. Ray was impressed that she thought her reasoning through. "You had this all planned out, didn't you?"

"Since Wednesday."

The tattooist laughed at his daughter's bluntly honest answer. He truly did raise a good kid, despite all they had been through over the years. "Alright, you got me. You can stay. But I'll be checking in, so no wild parties. Understood?"

Gemma bounded round the couch, striking her father with a full-force hug, mumbling a slew of "thank yous" into Ray's abdomen. Moments like this reminded him that he was doing just fine as a single parent; Ray couldn't give his daughter the world, but his best efforts were appreciated and worth almost every moment of hardship. Makes me wonder how you would do as her parent. He returned Gemma's affectionate embrace, wrapping one arm around her shoulders. The other hand fell on her head, lightly ruffling Gemma's still-messy bed head. "I've got an idea. Since you're up, how about I cook up an awesome breakfast? Pancakes and eggs sound good?"

She gave him a wide smile, her fangs slightly poking out from between her lips. "With bacon?"

"If there's time. Get everything out and start the batter. I gotta shower and get ready for work."

The duo split up. Ray had to hustle if he was going to keep his promise of whipping up a fresh breakfast; it would be the least he could do, considering how late the raven-haired knew he'd come home. He was slightly relieved to know that Gemma thought ahead of him and suggested her older friend spend the night. Mathilda was a sophomore in high school who lived in the same building as the Kons – someone Gemma grew up with and Ray trusted.

Ray showered as quickly as possible - a task that was never an easy feat, considering his long, silky, black tresses required proper attention and care. The long tail-like portion of hair at the back of his head was easier to maintain than people thought; it was something he grew up with. Ray's hairstyle was a signature. If he wasn't known for tattoos, then it was his glorious onyx locks – well-spiked and styled, held together by a red bandana around his head and a white fabric wrap holding in his tail.

He flew out of the shower, thankful that his body was naturally clean of unwanted hair elsewhere and that there wasn't a need to shave. After quickly towel-drying his hair, Ray looked in the mirror. He noticed how tired he was beginning to appear. Dark circles starting to form under his eyes, he never really took a moment to see how pale he was becoming, too. Most days, the artist would ignore the overall fatigue; he would have no choice but to keep going, no matter how hard a six-day, nearly eighty-hour work week drove him. Even when it all seemed hopeless, useless, and absolutely worthless, Ray found a method and reasoning to make it seem like there was a purpose for this. I'm certainly not getting any younger, that's for damn sure. God, I wasted so many years on fucking up and screwing over.

Finally dressed for his first job, in black pants and a blue chef's shirt, Ray started for the kitchen. There was the light, sweet smell of pancakes wafting through the air in the cozy, two-bedroom apartment. She found my stash of chocolate chips, too! When he made it to the entryway, he was blown away by the sight of his daughter preparing breakfast. The table was set for two, with orange juice at both settings and a steaming mug of coffee by one. Nothing was burning, there was no sign of fire, and even the linoleum tile floor managed to stay clean. Last time Gemma tried her hand at cooking, all of the above happened two-fold, plus Ray spent quality time on the couch with a sprained ankle and two broken toes after a nasty slip and solid collision with the bottom of the refrigerator; that was just last year.

Hair tied up in a ponytail, Gemma looked away from the stovetop and smiled smugly. Taking home economics wasn't such a bad idea anymore. "See, dad? I'm not a total lost cause."

"I never said you were." With practiced hands, Ray wrapped the tail of hair. "No bacon?"

"Not unless you want another broken toe."

xXx

Despite it being a weekend, none of the staff in the little café expected a mob of customers. It was another quiet, laid-back day. The fair weather only enhanced the relaxing work atmosphere...if Johnny could just keep his mouth shut.

"The one day I asked to have off, I get turned down! There's no business here anyway!"

Max rolled his eyes. Almost halfway through his double shift for the day, he wasn't looking forward to spending his evening with the loudmouth cook after Ray leaves. The blond leaned on the front counter and fiddled with a highlighter; an open textbook was held up against a metal napkin holder in front of him. With midterms starting on Monday, Max took every spare moment he could to study. It was his mission to impress Kai and prove his worth as a potential apprentice to someone he looked up to. Glancing away from his Statistics II notes, the waiter saw Ray at the other end of the counter with his nose in his drawing. "Man, you've been at that all day."

Ray's ears perked at the sound of Max's voice; he tuned out Johnny long ago. "Hm? Yeah, I've been working on it since last night. It's for a client."

The student was always impressed with Ray's work. He'd never known anyone as artistic as Ray, but he knew how badly the black-haired cook wanted tattooing to be his only profession someday. Working together for the past three years, Max learned of his situation. He could partially relate, being a child of parents who are now separated and also having a best friend that's going through life as a young parent, too, Max was sympathetic toward his co-worker. Ray was yet another admirable role model for himself. "Wow. That'll take a long time to complete when you get down to the ink, won't it?"

"No doubt about that. I gotta outline it all, shade it in, color it, and everything in between. It's gonna be huge!" By the end of his statement, Ray was psyched up.

"That sounds awesome! I bet your client is pretty stoked too!" Max looked at the clock on the wall. "Why don't you get out of here and get a head start on that? I'm sure Oliver won't give you a hard time at the staff meeting next week. He knows your story. And don't worry, I can handle Johnny. I know what the frying pan by the kitchen door is for. One good whack and BAM! He's down!"

The artist laughed at the younger employee's energetic response. An extra couple of hours would cut down the prep time before getting to actually tattoo. He slapped his sketchbook closed and gathered his pencils. Thanking Max for his good thinking, Ray made a hasty getaway from the café – chased out by a cranky Johnny shouting out a string of profanities.

He had a good feeling about this.

A/N: You see what I did there? c; Fresh apple turnovers to whoever sees the little "easter eggs" I slipped in this one. And a Happy Father's Day to all the dads out there! I saw that I was falling behind in the progression & made a point to line up a father/daughter moment with the holiday to sort of make up for it. Kind of a little homage to my own dad, too.
Stay tuned, readers~!