(A/N: As requested, here is one more chapter but it will be the last chapter for F9. Hope you enjoy. XxD)

******************************************************************

"I'm not exactly surprised, darling. This is mum we're talking about," Deckard laughed as he whaled on a punching bag, Katrina explaining to him the situation in London with their mother and Toretto.

"Decks, you and your inability to say no to the women in this family makes me nervous for when our daughter makes it to her teen years," his wife scolded.

Deckard grinned. "Well, you've only got yourself to blame for that, darling. We should've had a son."

"Please, you wouldn't know what to do with a son. And at least this way, you'll be the one burying bodies when she starts dating." And the mere thought of his little girl growing up and dating boys had his punching bag crying louder and his wife laughed on the other side of the phone. "Enjoying your workout?"

"It's a warmup for our real workout when I get home. It's Hats' night to babysit, right?"

Another musical laugh.

"Yes. Why? You have any ideas as to how we can spend our few hours alone because that's all I can stomach after leaving to Tokyo for so long?"

Deckard's suggestive comment was replaced with a loving smile as he eased up on the punching bag.

"How about I run you a bath, darling? Perhaps a massage. After all you endured giving life to our daughter, I figure it's the least you deserve."

Katrina gave a soft chuckle from the other side of the phone. "I won't say no to that. And I also won't say no to a nice home-cooked dinner."

"Whatever you want, Kats," Deckard said, and he could almost see her smile through the phone.

"I'm almost tempted to tell Hats to babysit next week and just keep her with us," Katrina admitted.

"Hattie spends too much time with her niece anyway."

"Hattie maybe sees her three times a week if you feel like it."

"She still sees our daughter more than Mum or Owen. She can miss out this once."

Katrina laughed again. "How about you finish your workout and come home and then we can decide whether or not to cancel on Hats?"

"That sounds like a perfect plan."

"Mummy," came a distant voice from the other side of the line.

"Oh, hi sweet girl," Katrina cooed, and Deckard could imagine his wife scooping the girl up and into her lap. "Someone's still a little sleepy. Say hi to Daddy."

"Daddy?" asked the voice and Deckard's smile grew bigger.

"Hi, sweetheart," Deckard said. "How's my favourite girl?"

"Daddy, come home," she said, her voice still sleepy.

"I will, princess. Very, soon," he promised before the punching bag cried out and Deckard muted the call for a second as he kicked the bag. "You better shut up. I'm trying to talk to my daughter. And if she hears you, I'll make sure no one ever hears you again." And his smile instantly returned as the punching bag went silent and he unmuted the call. "Daddy's gonna be home very soon, darling. I promise."

"Say, I love you, Daddy," Katrina encouraged.

"Love you, Daddy," she repeated, and Deckard beamed.

"I love you, Livs," he returned. "Love you, Kats."

"Love you too, Decks. Alright, it's back to bed with you Livs," she said to her daughter before the call ended and Deckard's attention returned to the punching bag, the thought of Olivia Shaw still on his mind. Their daughter's name meant peace. And not only that, but her nickname, Livs, fit with the nicknames of Deckard, Katrina and Hattie- Hats, Kats, Decks and Livs – Owen being the odd one out. Katrina had also coined a little phrase when she was born. Her birth had been smooth sailing until the umbilical cord had been tangled around her and Katrina was rushed to have an emergency C-section. That scar was actually Katrina's proudest mark on her body as it should be. And when she'd held her daughter for the first time, she said, Livs lived. And their Livs would live.

Olivia Shaw would live to be as normal as possible, but she would also be a force to be reckoned with; just like the rest of her family.

Deckard chugged some of the water from his water bottle, as he dabbed some of the sweat from his face and his punching bag continued to cry. The eldest male Shaw turned towards the bag as he flexed his hands that were strapped into his boxing gloves before he unzipped it.

The man inside the punching bag gasped as he was blinded by light and filled with fresh air – well air fresher than what was inside the leather punching bag.

"Thank you," he gasped, his face and nose covered in buts and bruises and one of his eyes so swollen he couldn't open it, the skin an ugly shade of purple and black. There was also a massive gap between his two front teeth, but Deckard was fairly certain that wasn't his doing. "Please," he begged. "I tell you where the drive is, the plans we stole. I tell you where it is."

"You mean this drive?" Deckard asked as he held it up and the man gaped at it. "These plans?"

"But you already got it," the man whimpered.

"Yes, mate. How else do you think I stay in this good shape? And keep a wife who looks hotter than a Victoria's Secret Model happy?"

The man whimpered again and was about to respond when there was a knock at the door.

Deckard rolled his eyes as if he was annoyed to be interrupted, but he still zipped the bag back up, forcing the man's face back inside.

"Don't go anywhere," he said as the man screamed inside, and Deckard tapped the bag with his fist before heading for the door. "Oh, shut up. My baby girl cried less than you. And my brother when he loses a race."

And Deckard opened the door to see Han standing in front of him.