Ford *One-Shots*

When Reaper Met Sharon

Hey, guys! So, a little while ago (i.e. a few years ago), a lot of people were wondering how in the hell Jake's mom (Sharon) got together with Jake's dad (Reaper). Weird. But anyway, this is Jake "Ripper" Ford's literal origin story. I hope you guys enjoy it.

∞

When Reaper Met Sharon

Fetus Jake: Still chillin' with the Stork

It was a cold, dark day when she broke her leg.

She remembered bundling up beneath a mountain of jackets just to walk the two blocks to her audition at some out-of-the-way studio. She remembered the clawing, biting New York air that chilled her bones and turned her otherwise milky complexion a bright red. She remembered how the guy at the coffee shop had spelled her name wrong on her cup, and how she'd ended up being too nervous to drink her latte anyway, and had handed it over to the first homeless man she'd seen.

Yes, it had been a cold, dark day when all her dreams and hopes and aspirations had become like the ash that was perpetually on her chain-smoking mother's clothing.

If she couldn't dance, what could she do? If she couldn't dance, who was she?

Nothing and no one.

So, with a heavy heart, she got onto the next flight home with her tail tucked between her long, toned legs.

***

He was reading the newspaper.

Dressed in a black leather vest and dark jeans, he had a gun sitting on the table, beside his empty cup and half-eaten French toast, and he was reading the business section of the fucking newspaper.

Gun on the table—like it was normal—and no one around him said a thing.

"Can I get you a refill?" she asked, coffee carafe in one hand and plate of bacon and eggs for another table in the other.

He didn't look at her when he said no, and for some reason, that pissed her off. Just because she worked in this crappy diner, wearing this crappy custard-colored uniform, didn't mean that she was invisible, damn it!

But she walked away with her head held high, keeping her mouth shut—simply because tall, dark and handsome happened to be a great tipper, even if he wasn't exactly a wordsmith.

For her, the days passed painfully slowly, like the slow drag of a long, manicured fingernail down a chalkboard. She'd only been working at this diner for two months, but it felt like it had already been an eternity. Waking up at five every morning just to come down for the morning breakfast rush was hell, and it didn't help that the town was so small it felt like she already knew every face that made up the population's census.

She had once dreamt of big cities, flashing lights, and being unable to stretch her arms out on a busy street without hitting someone in the front or back.

But this? This was hell on earth, and she was stuck here. Stuck because she had nothing else. No one else.

"Hey, Big Spender's asking for you," Emily, her coworker, called out to her on her way out for a smoke break.

It was almost lunchtime. Big Spender should have been long gone. She didn't appreciate him eating into the little bit of peace she needed; nevertheless, she put her pack of Camel Lights into the front pocket of her apron and made a U-turn back to the silent business-section reader.

"You asked for me?" She knew it was a rude way to start off, but she didn't really care.

"Sharon, right?" he said, his voice gravelly. He wasn't even giving her the courtesy of looking up from his paper.