A/N: doesn't allow my formatting that I have been working on to translate properly. The full and correct version of the story can be accessed using my LinkTree and going to Archive of Our Own. I would encourage for later chapters, you to go there as the formatting makes more sense in the later chapters. Happy reading and please read and review.

I don't know what I want, so don't ask me

'Cause I'm still trying to figure it out

Don't know what's down this road, I'm just walking

Trying to see through the rain coming down

Even though I'm not the only one

Who feels the way I do

- A Place in this World / Debut Era / Taylor Swift

September, 1984

Silence was a rarity in the chaotic, noisy community that filled this area of Pitkin Avenue. Even on the calmest of nights, there was always a low hum of activity that filled the air and made the place feel alive. He supposed that was the heartbeat of the city that Carmella Rossini often referred to. It had an almost rhythmic melody; between the honks of the horns from the vehicles that filled the crowded streets, the percussion of the ratting pipes in the old building that sometimes needed a good bang to settle first thing in the morning, and the harmonic sounds of people yelling, screaming, and laughing with each other as they communicated. Standing in the empty apartment, looking around at the bare walls, battered furniture, and boxes of items to be donated that were left in the middle of the kitchen, all the sounds of Brooklyn faded away for Tony Micelli.

Instead, all he could hear was the sound of his daughter's footsteps, running along the floorboards as he chased her, and the sound of his late wife's laughter as they danced together to an old Sinatra album. Things had to change. He wasn't a fool. His lips tilted up on one side, in a wry grin as he leaned against the doorframe for one moment longer. He knew he wasn't a genius either, but it didn't take one to see that it was time to go. Things weren't good. He and Samantha had faced harder and more painful circumstances, but when he'd seen the black eye she was sporting on her beautiful face, reality had crashed down around him. Living in Brooklyn, delivering fish and doing countless other dead-end jobs, and neglecting his daughter was no longer going to cut it.

The job delivering fish had been a God send at the time he'd gotten it from Mrs. Rossini. His career with the Cards had come to a screeching halt after his shoulder injury and having a nine year old daughter at home whose mother had been killed in a drunk driving accident the year earlier, meant he needed a replacement job. He'd been a strong player in the minor leagues, had been drafted straight out of high school by the Cards and had started in the Minor Leagues like the majority of players. Low-level rookie ball in the Florida Complex League that eventually allowed him to grow and move into the Low-A league. It had been a slow burn in the baseball career for him. After 11 years of struggling from level to level within the MiLB, he had finally made it to the Major Leagues when the Cards called him up to play second base in June of 1981. All it had taken was one decision, one split second, to change his life. He'd known the instant that he'd started to slide for that base, that it was all over. He could feel the tendons and muscles tearing; even now, when the weather was just right, he could feel the ache in his shoulder. He covered the scar with his opposite hand as he rolled it.

He'd held down other odd jobs since he'd returned to Brooklyn full-time. Driving taxis, lugging furniture for moving companies, mowing lawns in Central Park, whatever he could do, he had done it. Delivering fish wasn't enough to make ends meet for everything he needed it to and he wasn't afraid of a little hard work, though it had meant spending less and less time with Sam. He'd already missed out on so much with her and he ached for an opportunity to find something, anything, that would allow him to be with her more. He'd started looking for work the day that he and Samantha had fought in the kitchen about the note from her teacher. He'd combed the want ads in papers outside of New York, knowing that wherever they ended up it would have to be away from Pitkin Avenue and the group of kids that Samantha seemed determined to impress.

He had ended up in Connecticut, at an apartment building that was small, but sophisticated and chic. No rusty fire escapes adorned the exterior. The grounds were green and full of vibrant flowers and tall trees. He'd been there to interview for a building manager position but had bumped into a redheaded woman named Mona who had all but begged him to come work for her daughter as her housekeeper. Tony hadn't been sold on the idea, not until Mona had pointed out how good it would be for his relationship with his daughter; and then she'd shown him the photograph in her wallet.

Angela.

He'd done his best to hide his grin when he'd seen the photograph. As it had turned out, he'd already met her in a roundabout way, and she wasn't the kind of woman you forgot. A week earlier, while delivering a large order of salmon to the luxe Fairfield Country Club, he'd been bumped into by an attractive blonde with dark eyes and legs that seemed to go on for days. He couldn't remember the last time he'd met someone's eyes and had felt like the world around him stopped spinning. She apologized in her soft, husky tone and had smiled as she stepped around him, her hand gliding off his elbow where she'd been holding him as she quickly walked past him toward a shorter woman who had been waiting for her. He'd wanted to stop her, to ask her name, to invite her out for coffee, anything to get her to linger for a moment longer; then he had remembered who he was and where she was coming out and had backed down. Women like her didn't go for men like him. Fate, it seemed, insisted that he and her connect though, and it was using her mother as the catalyst. Mona had told him more than enough about the job, and even gave him the address of the home as encouragement to him to drive by. It had been impossible to resist the opportunity to scope the location out on his way to the turnpike. He'd completed his interview for the Building Manager position, then had taken the time to locate 3344 Oak Hills Drive. He'd parked a couple houses away and climbed out, walking around the block to try to get a view of the house from every angle he could. The basketball net in the back, the large yard, the pristine line of houses up and down the street were all bonuses to the idea that he'd be able to spend more time with Samantha.

He'd told her that night that they were moving and here he was. Samantha had been resistant to the move from the very start. She'd been content to maintain her status with the kids from the neighborhood, skipping school and going out to play whatever sport she encountered with them. Samantha had become what his mother would've called a hooligan. During one of the many restless nights spent on the pullout sofa in their small apartment, Tony had laid in bed and had decided that he needed to do better. Samantha's teacher had sent a note about a non-existent death in their family, and had requested a meeting with him. He knew bad signs, and that was a major one. He had confronted Sam about it and had been met with her typical brush-off. That had been the final straw. His daughter's life was following a path that he didn't want her to continue down. Samantha deserved better. He had promised himself that he would give Samantha the best life he could and that shiner was all the evidence he needed to show that he had failed. If she'd been alive, Marie would've had his head on a platter for allowing Samantha to fall in with the group of kids that she had. He wished he could say that the neighborhood had changed since he and Marie were growing up there, but it hadn't. What had changed was him. His time away from Marie and Samantha while he chased the pipe dream of being called up from the minor leagues into the majors had given him time to see the world outside of Brooklyn. He had met some interesting guys, had expanded his views on things, and while he always felt he would stay a Brooklyn boy at heart; he came home from the road changed.

"DAD?!"

His 11 year old daughter's voice echoed up the staircase of their apartment building and pulled him from the deep reverie he'd been lost in. Leaning down, he picked up the blue Samsonite suitcase at his feet and draped his sport coat over his forearm. He'd kept it out to wear over his well worn blue-gray sweater and blue oxford button-down. He wasn't raised as a yuppy, but that didn't mean her couldn't attempt to dress like one to impress Angela. He gave one final sigh, taking in the early morning light filtering into the apartment window, just past the rusty fire escape outside the window by the kitchen and nodded to himself. It was time to go. A brand new life was calling to him; even if he didn't know what the exact details were.

He jogged down the stairs, waving and saying his goodbyes to anyone he passed as he came out and grinned at Samantha as she struggled to balance her basketball, bat, baseball and mitt in her arms. Putting aside his own nerves about the future, he swiped the basketball from Samantha's overly full arms. "Sure you've got everything honey?"

"I'm sure, Daddy. "

He smiled as he shifted the ball to his other arm and opened the back of the truck, doing his best to ignore the wino on the ground in front of the building across the street. They couldn't get out of here fast enough. "Goodbyes are tough, huh? I thought I noticed a tear in one of the cockroach's eyes." The two Micelli's loaded the rest of the belongings that they were taking with them into the back of the 1972 Chevrolet Sport van that was older than Sam, but still in decent shape, at least under the hood, due to his self-taught mechanic skills.

"I still say you're making a big mistake, Tony. How could you leave New York, huh?" The shriek from the third floor window was enough to pull both his and Sam' eyes up to the middle-aged Italian woman in the window watering her begonias.

"The Triborough Bridge." He raised his eyebrows and directed Sam toward the front of the car. The excitement she'd had on her face when he'd told her about the house had comforted him at the time; he found himself taking comfort in that memory again as he opened the door to let her climb into the front seat. "Hey, look, Mrs. Rossini, you've gotta admit this neighborhood's falling apart. I mean, look at Samantha. When she starts coming home with black eyes, I think it's time for me to get out."

"Hey, that's because there were three of those guys, Dad. And anyway, I got one guy sneezing out of his ear." He rolled his eyes up to Mrs. Rossini in a silent acknowledgement of the proof of why he was taking her out of Brooklyn. He hoped that her smart mouth and athletic talent were the only things that she had inherited from him and that his wild streak and charismatic charm with the opposite sex would not be something she'd ever come to exhibit. He wasn't sure the world would be able to handle two Micelli's playing the field at the same time.

"How are you gonna support yourself, huh?"

His chest swelled with pride as the image of the house and neighbor came into his mind's eye. "Oh, hey, Mrs. Rossini, I've got great job in a great place. It's all green with picket fences." He could almost smell the fresh, earthy richness of the fresh cut lawns on Oak Hills Drive, even standing right there on the dingy Brooklyn street.

"But you always said that you loved New York."

"Yeah, but I love my daughter a lot more." He climbed into the truck and shut the door. Giving one final glance up at her, he started the car and called out to her. "Hey, Mrs. Rossini, take care of yourself, okay?"

He buckled into the seat and they began to pull away from the curb, just barely clearing the corner as Mrs. Rossini called after them. "But I'm telling you, you're gonna miss the heartbeat of the city. The excitement, the culture." Tony turned on the radio as Sam opened the road map on her lap and smiled up at him. "Is it really all green with a basketball hoop and everything?"

He stopped at a red light and turned to his daughter, feeling his breath catch in his throat at how much she looked like her mother with the sun's warm morning rays shining off her slicked back brunette locks. He reached over, smoothing his hand over the top of her head, his thumb caressing her temple. "Aye, oh. Have I ever lied to you?"

Sam tilted her head, her index finger tapping on the side of her mouth as she feigned contemplation then dissolved into giggles as Tony tickled her side before returning his attention to the road. Ever since they'd lost Marie in that horrible accident, he'd become much more focused on the road and safe driving. He couldn't imagine causing another family the same heartbreak that they had experienced. The drive went by relatively fast once they were free of the city traffic and on the Interstate. It was shocking how much scenery could change in under 70 miles. It felt like a whole new world taking the exit and pulling into the upper class neighborhood with their manicured, small towns and pristine yards. He sort of felt like the Tramp coming to visit Lady in that Disney movie that Samantha had obsessed with so long ago. He wrapped his arm around her shoulder as she leaned into him and started pointing out all the new surroundings with an eager tone.

"Dad! Look at the baseball field! Is that at the school?" He paused at a stop sign and looked across the street, seeing the large light brown building just beyond the baseball diamond.

"Looks like it, Sam. Maybe Angela can tell us more about it, huh?"

He didn't wait for Samantha's acknowledgement, and instead continued on with his drive, 4 more blocks and two more turns and they were on Oak Hills Drive. "Oh wow…" Sam's hushed whisper of amazement filled the front seat as she stared out the window at the large while Colonial style home. "This is it?" Her brown eyes were wide as saucers as she studied each exquisite detail and then smiled wider than he'd ever seen before. "I love it! Okay, come on. Get out. You've got to go make a great first impression. Go, go, go."

Tony climbed out at Samantha's insistence, walking with her toward the house and each of them taking time to correct the other and try to clean each other up. "Okay, don't be nervous. Aye, get your fingers out of your mouth. How do I look, huh?"

"Oh, you look great." She took a deep breath, "And you got all the fish smell out too!"

"Good, good, good. Oh boy. Now look, Sam. You just be yourself, all right?" He looked down at her, finding himself feeling less like he was going on a job interview and more like he was going on a first date. He wasn't sure why he wanted to impress this Angela so much on a personal level, when this was a purely professional role, but something inside him was driving him to be his best self.

"And hey, it wouldn't hurt if you told Mrs. Bower, you know, how nice it is up here and how happy you are to be here."

Samantha nodded at him. "You mean butter her up?"

Tony almost flinched then nodded, "Yeah." He rubbed his hands together and turned to look at the door, "All right, now look, Sam. I want you to be happy." He turned back to her and pointed at her. "So, if you don't wanna move here, you say the word, and we're back in Brooklyn, like that." He snapped his fingers, and furrowed his brow.

"Dad, we gave up the apartment and loaded everything into a van. You're not getting cold feet, are ya?"

"Me? Me getting cold feet?" Tony pointed at himself, putting on a false, superficial air of confidence. "What am I, the first pro baseball player to become a housekeeper?" He chuckled, but deep down, in the places that he'd never let Sam see, he could feel the beginnings of self doubt and insecurity to stir. "Well maybe I am. But hey, what's the big deal? I mean, what about you?"

Sam looked up at the white house, sighing, "Oh, it sure is a pretty house." The yearning for this life, one she'd never expected but one that she'd dreamt about was written all over her face. "And I think I'd like to go to a school where the mascot isn't a cockroach." Always one to make a joke and hide her emotions behind her humor, Samantha was still unable to tear her eyes away quite yet.

"All right, Sam. Then let's go in there and we'll give them some of the old Micelli magic."

"You know, I think this shiner's going to give them the wrong idea. So I'll wait in the van, and you go in first and make a good impression. Give them a firm handshake. Look them right in the eye. And whatever you do, don't tell the pig joke.

"Are you sure? It always works."

Sam rolled her eyes and nodded. "Let's go." She shoved him towards the door, eager to start a brand new life here in this house with her father.

"Okay, okay. I'm going. I said I'm going." He rang the doorbell, fixed his jacket, then smoothed his hand over his hair, waiting anxiously and staring at the cerulean blue door, before it opened and revealed a slim woman in a pink bathrobe, with her hair wrapped up in a towel, and a brown hair brush in her hand. "Morning."

Time breaks down your mind and body

Don't you let it touch your soul

It was like an age-old classic

The first time that you saw me

The story started when you said, "Hello"

- Timeless / Speak Now Era / Taylor Swift