Disclaimer: I do not own anyone who you might recognize. Mickey and Elizabeth are owned by Lindsay. Owen is owned by me.

A/N: Lindsay rules for thinking this whole thing up and then letting me muddle through it. Good call by you.

xoxoxo

"What do you know? You don't even have a father!" cried the boy.

Elizabeth took a step back, surprised at how hateful his words were and the effect they had on her. She caught hold of Madeline's hand and squeezed tight. They were at the gazebo, the wedding ceremony long over, the reception in full swing. It had started innocently enough. The girls had been crouched down in the grass, careless of their special occasion dresses, collecting pebbles to put in their lacy little handbags.

When the boys approached, Madeline and Elizabeth stood up to see what they wanted. Because it was a town event, just about everyone showed up, if only to see the two most likely to die in denial actually get hitched. The three youngsters were bullies who'd begun to tease the girls for fun. Madeline had shouted that her father would catch them and make them sorry. When Elizabeth chimed in with a well-timed "Yeah!" she had thought they would shrink from the threat, but instead, this! This horrible truth flung at her like one of the little rocks weighing down her pink satin bag.

"I have so got a father!" she yelled, her cheeks scarlet with rage.

"Oh, yeah? Where is he then?" called Tommy. "My mommy says your mommy isn't worth a darn," said the second boy, Aaron.

Madeline, as a second child and the only daughter in her family had always been cherished and as a result she wasn't very tough. She clutched Elizabeth's and started to cry. "Stop it," she wailed.

"I heard Taylor say you're a bastard!" the third boy, Nicholas, chimed in.

Elizabeth's mouth trembled as she tried to think of something to say. She didn't know what a bastard was, so she went with the obvious which was of course denial. "Am not!" she said hotly before tugging on Madeline's arm and running from the boys.

When Madeline saw her father in the crowd she broke away from Elizabeth and ran for him, leaving E to her own devices worried and confused. It was dusk and the party had been going for hours. She could see Luke and Lorelai dancing to the band, holding each other and looking very happy, but tonight it didn't make her happy, too.

She sagged into a chair on the outskirts of the action and crossed her arms, wishing her mother would find her. She wanted to go home. Elizabeth was as miserable as she had ever been in her short time on earth.

As she sat there, watching the people drink and eat and laugh and enjoy themselves, she grew more and more angry. Stewing, Elizabeth tried to figure out why her mother wasn't worth a darn, why she was a bastard and where her father was. Clearly it was an important question, but one she had never considered before.

Someone sat down in the chair beside her and she looked up to find Owen there. "Hiya," he said pleasantly. She saw that his blonde hair had been trimmed recently and he had a tan line where his sideburns had recently been.

Elizabeth's lower lip jutted out and she didn't say anything. She didn't think she trusted grownups at the moment. She wanted her mother.

"Whatsa matter?" he asked, clasping his fingers together, placing his elbows on his knees and leaning in to study her fixed expression. She seemed hell-bent on being crabby.

Elizabeth cast her eyes downward and studied her shoes. She'd been so pleased with them at the start of the day. Now they were smudged with grass stains and pinched her toes. She sniffled, allowing the wave of self-pity to wash over her. She could not have named the sensation, but she knew what to do with it.

"Did something happen?" Owen pressed. He'd watched her playing with Madeline earlier and they'd seemed fine, happy and entertained. He watched her face and saw it contract at his question. Like a leaf dropped onto a clear pool of water, her face had shimmered for a moment, the answer just barely visible, before settling once again into stoic misery.

"Come on, E-Train," he coaxed, using a nickname that was his and his alone. Mickey's desire for a stable and legitimate name had been the reason for naming her daughter "Elizabeth". If she had known that everyone would invent his or her own myriad pet names for her little E, she would have gone with something purposefully foolish like Britney or Tiffany or Amber.

"I want my mom," she told him, still not looking at him. It was the little nickname that had done it. It forced her to remember that he'd always been nice to her and she could trust him.

"Okay," he answered easily. Owen glanced around, but the failing light and crowd of people made it difficult. He let a small sigh drift out of his mouth and Elizabeth glanced up at him, suddenly angry with her mother. Whatever she had done to make herself not worth a darn, it didn't have anything to do with Elizabeth, herself. And it was probably her fault too that she didn't have a father. And now that she was feeling sad because boys had been mean because of her mother, she wasn't even here to make her feel better.

Owen studied the pale face beneath the torrent of freckles and tried to figure out what had happened. He didn't see Mickey anywhere although she had promised him a dance. From where they were sitting, he could make out the makeshift dance floor. Among the bodies he could make out one tall figure in a black suit. The man's back was facing him, and he seemed to be dancing with someone because he was swaying from side to side, but Owen couldn't see a matching pair of legs moving in time with the man's.

After a moment, the man began to turn in time to the music and Owen could see that it was Jackson he'd been watching. His dancing partner was Madeline, her legs hitched around his waist and hands resting on his shoulders. He hadn't noticed this before because he'd been focusing on Jackson's legs, looking for the second pair there.

He glanced down and saw that Elizabeth was watching them, too. Owen thought about asking her to dance as well, and would have when she defiantly crossed her arms over her chest and gave a "Humph!", except that she then looked him straight in the eye and said, "Dancing is dumb!"

Elizabeth waited for him to smirk. Grownups always laughed at you when they thought you were being silly. Sometimes they pretended they weren't, but she wasn't stupid: she'd become quite adept at finding the smirk. Owen was simply looking at her, though, wondering how to fix her heart, which was clearly hurting.

"I like dancing," he told her.

Elizabeth regarded him suspiciously, still looking for the hidden smile. The band wrapped up the song they'd been playing and started another slow number. "Come on, dance with me," Owen coaxed.

She looked again at the crowd on the green, dancing away under the gilded moonlight, and she softened as another wave of self-pity washed over her.

"Okay," she said, her tone suggesting that she was doing him a favor and he better remember this the next time he wanted something.

Elizabeth stood and held up her arms for him to pick her up, which he did. Like Madeline, she slung her skinny legs around his hips and wrapped her arms around his neck. He supported her bottom with his clasped hands and strode toward the crowd of dancers.

While they were walking she caught sight of the first boy, Tommy, who'd said she didn't have a father. Her eyes narrowed as they locked onto his. She stared at him until he turned away and then she turned back to look at Owen as they arrived at the crowd. Unlike the boy's face, which was dark and unreadable, Owen's face was open and clear.

Elizabeth, still too young to feel any reservation with someone she'd known since birth, lifted her left hand from his shoulder and placed it on his chin, which was scratchy with the stubble that had grown in since that morning.

Dropping her head to one side, as if preparing to closely concentrate on his answer, she said, "Do you have a dad?"

Owen's lips tightened almost imperceptibly, but he nodded slowly, allowing her hand to move up on and down with the movement of his chin.

"Where is he?"

"Back home. Where I'm from"

"And your mom?"

"She's there, too."

"They live together?" Her sharp eyes seemed to bore into his.

"Yep."

"Even when you were my age?"

"Even then. But, E," he said.

"Yeah?" The solemnity of her expression twisted something inside his chest.

Owen paused as he considered how to say what he had to say next. Finally, he gently gave her the piece of information that he'd been holding in his own heart for so many years. "He wasn't a nice man."

Elizabeth stroked his chin once and then put her hand back on his shoulder and settled into a more comfortable position in his arms as she waited for the story.

She was far too young to hear about all the things his father had said and done in his lifetime, much less his mother's, so he settled on, "He was never very nice to me or my mom, or my little brother."

"Why?"

Owen tried to think. Why had his father been so awful? "I don't know. I think he was probably very unhappy." She certainly didn't need to hear about the alcoholism, but it was the truth that unhappiness had seemed to saturate their little house.

Elizabeth continued to study him, not understanding someone who would complain about a dad when the dad was there all the time.

"You're very lucky because your mom loves you a lot," he said as they gently glided along on the music.

"Mommy isn't worth a darn," she said before she could stop herself. Her words were not passionately spoken, but matter-of-factly stated. She was simply repeating the words of Aaron's mother.

"Hey," Owen said sharply. "Your mom is one of the good ones."

Elizabeth shrugged, noncommittal. For her the party was ruined.

"My dad wasn't nice to me or my brother or my mom. Ever. He used to say terrible things to us. So don't think that you've got it tough just because your dad's not around. The parent you have is pretty wonderful if you ask me."

Elizabeth brought her hands down under her chin, snuggled into his chest and thought about this. Owen smelled nice, like the inside of the bakery, and she wondered if he'd been there recently.

"What did he say?"

Owen, who'd been trapped in a memory, spoke truthful words before he could check himself. "When I brought home bad grades or did something dumb he'd tell me how stupid I was. I never played sports and he was always telling me how I'd never amount to anything. He screamed at me when I forgot to mow the lawn. He screamed at my mother when she didn't have dinner on the table when he got home."

Elizabeth seemed to retract into herself for a moment before sharing with him, "Some boys were mean to Madeline and I. They said mommy wasn't worth a darn and that I didn't have a father and that I'm a bastard." It didn't occur to her that the last two were related.

Owen's hold tightened on her involuntarily and he swallowed the outburst that threatened to spew out.

"You have a father, everyone does. He simply doesn't live with you or your mom."

Elizabeth didn't understand much of this but she did get that it was a choice. Not knowing what question to ask next, she squinted up at Owen, trying to figure out the puzzle.

Owen stopped dancing so that he could look at her squarely, as if he were talking to an adult, before he said, "I wouldn't wish my father or someone like him on anyone. If your father is anything like my father, then it's good he's not around. Would you like to get yelled at all the time?"

With a shake of her head, Elizabeth continued to frown up at him, hoping he'd make everything clear soon.

"Maybe he was smart enough to know that he wouldn't make a good dad, so he just didn't even try." As he spoke, Owen recalled the hatred he'd felt for Elizabeth's father way back when he'd first gotten to know Mickey.

How sad and fragile she'd been during E's crying jags and how elated she'd been when she'd gotten her G.E.D. He'd wanted to physically harm him for making her do it all alone.

Now, though, he was starting to see it the way he was painting it for the child he held. The kid had been a senior in high school, for heaven's sake. It was probably a blessing in disguise that he wasn't around to mess up their little life together. Especially now, a little voice whispered in the back of his head. He tried to brush it away but just then he saw Mickey herself cross the dance floor in her blue dress, looking for all the world like a Greek goddess. Miss Patty could have told him that it was the empire waste, but all Owen knew was that she was a vision in pale blue fabric that clung to her body in layers and folds that made him jealous.

She moved with the grace of a young horse, all leg and bone with a long stride and glossy curls. He held his breath and watched.

With the wide smile she reserved for her daughter alone, Mickey arrived at where they stood and made a welcome intrusion by asking, "May I join you?"

Elizabeth smiled the same smile back and leaned up for a kiss from her mother. Mickey dropped a kiss onto the corner of her baby's mouth and tried not to feel the swirl of her stomach as she caught a whiff of Owen. She smiled up at him as Elizabeth straightened in his arms and said, "Dance with us, Mommy."

Shyly, using the smile she reserved for strangers, Mickey shifted her eyes away from his and slid her hands up his arms so that Elizabeth was between them, held up by Owen, with Mickey pressed against E's back, her hands atop his shoulders.

Under her lids, Mickey studied his face and saw that it was more deeply lined that at first glance. With careful consideration, she followed the planes and curves of skin as it gracefully turned from nose to cheekbone, from cheek to jaw, and from jaw to chin. She found herself desperate to touch it and she would have been shocked and, God help her, jealous to discover that her daughter had been doing just that until very recently.

His hands pressed into her pelvis from beneath her daughter's bottom and she held his shoulders tighter. If asked she would have said that she didn't want E to fall. In her heart, though, in the deepest part of herself, she knew differently.