Author Notes: I've never liked simple black and white morality, so when I wrote "Family" I tried to make Crock as sympathetic as possible which, admittedly, wasn't much considering what he did. But I can't imagine something like that not leaving its mark on everyone involved, and I tried to show that.
While "Family" was a big flop as far as writing went, I liked Crock enough that I held onto him and my subconscious started working out his story. I like him and the cast of characters I've created for him, so you shouldn't be surprised to see another one-shot with him in the future.
But for now, grab a cup, can or bottle of your favorite beverage, sit back, read, review and enjoy.

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The bar was quiet compared to the clubs that flanked it on either side. Music with a heavy beat bled faintly through the walls, attempting to wash away the buzz of conversation. The decor was all old, polished wood, dark colors and comfortable seats as opposed to the brushed steel and glass that seemed so popular in the clubs.

The place had a warm, earthy feel to it, and Crock felt strangely at home as he stepped inside, despite not having set foot into any place like it for several years. He made his way through the tables toward the long, polished bar and sat down on one of the stools.
The bartender, a young unicorn mare with a rich chocolate coat and long, flowing black hair, a large pair of stylish dark glasses perched on her snout, bustled over.

"And how're you doing tonight?" she asked, flashing the older unicorn a smile.

"Been better."

"Sorry to hear that. You need a drink?"

Crock paused for a barely perceptible moment. Surely, after his long day, one drink couldn't hurt...

"There's nothing I'd like more. But I'm not going to have one," he said before she could bustle away to get one for him. "'One drink is too many, and a hundred's not nearly enough' and all that. I was actually hoping to talk to the owner, I'm trying to find a job.""

The bartender laughed. "You're an alcoholic and you're trying to get a job in a bar?" she asked, her voice tinged with amusement.

"Ex-alcoholic, actually. Or so I like to think. And beggars can't be choosers."

"Well, the boss isn't here right now, but things seem quiet enough that I think I can give you a quick interview. What's your name?"

"Crock."

"You can call me Mix. Now, Crock, why are you looking for a job in a bar? Seems like you could find a lot better place to work."

"You'd think so," he sighed. "But a recovering alcoholic with a G.E.D isn't exactly the most appealing employee."

"No, I can't say they are," Mix agreed. "But you're honest, I can give you that. What kind of job are you looking for? Bartender? Bouncer? DJ?"

"Doesn't matter to me, a job is a job. I'll clean tables, mop the floor, wash glasses, whatever you need."

Mix nodded slowly. "I'll admit, I could use a little help around here, it's a one-pony operation most nights and I can't really do everything myself. The pay isn't much though, this is a pretty small establishment and we're not exactly raking it in."

"That's fine. Anything is better then nothing."

"Alright then, consider yourself hired. Can you start tomorrow?"

Crock blinked. "Shouldn't you talk to the owner before you hire me?" he asked, confused. "I mean, I'm glad you're giving me a job, I just don't want you to get in trouble with your boss."

"Scumble, that's the owner, is pretty laid back," she said, waving a hoof dismissively. "He has to approve any real decisions, but for the most part I'm the one actually running this place."

"Really? That's a pretty big responsibility to lay on someone who's..."

Crock trailed off as Mix glared at him, her easy going expression gone.

"Someone who's what?" she asked, her voice hard.

"Someone who's so young," Crock finished, nonplussed. "I don't mean to be rude, but you can't be more then, what? Twenty? Twenty-five years old?"

"Oh," Mix said, ducking her head as her cheeks colored. "I thought you were talking about... Nevermind. I'll make sure everything's okay with Scumble and you can start tomorrow. Be here at about two-ish to help me open, alright?"

Crock nodded and said goodbye before leaving. Outside the night air was cool, a gentle breeze blowing as he walked home, his hooves clopping softly on the pavement. He finally had a job, that was good. It had been a rough few years since... well, everything, and what little money he'd had was almost gone.

And it's my own damn fault, he though sourly as he reached the small, single story building he called home. Opening the door he stepped inside, sighing as the quiet loneliness of the place settled around him like a cloak.

His mind mired in dark memories and depressing thoughts, Crock moved through the house like a silent phantom, mechanically making himself a simple dinner which he ate without tasting before going to bed. As he crawled under the covers his gaze fell upon a small, framed picture on his nightstand. It was of two unicorns, one still a little filly and the other barely a mare full grown. Sweetie Bell and Rarity.

His daughters.

"I love you," he whispered as he slid slowly into a disturbed and restless sleep. "And I'm sorry."

The day dawned dark and gloomy, huge grey clouds hanging low in the sky, swollen with rain and lightning. The weather patrol must have been planning a huge storm for later in the day. For now, the air was thick and humid, promising to progress into downright unpleasant as the temperature rose.

Slapping his alarm clock into silence, Crock crawled out of bed, his joints aching from a restless night, his mane in complete disarray. Staggering into the shower, he let out a groan as the hot water washed over him, easing the pain in his limbs and body.

Once he'd shampooed and rinsed he stepped out of the stall. water dripping from his sodden mane and coat. Toweling off he walked toward the kitchen a quick breakfast satisfying the rumbling of his stomach.

Needs attended to, Crock stepped outside. Despite the looming storm, the streets were still filled with ponies laughing and talking as they went about their business. As he watched, a small group of fillies ran by, laughing and playing. To be as young as that again...

The day passed slowly as the middle-aged unicorn struggled to fill the time. That had always been his biggest challenge, finding ways to fill his time. Once he would've drank the day away, but that wasn't an option anymore. Lately he'd taken to just sitting in the park, letting the sounds of happy ponies and playing foals wash over him. It was a nice distraction.

Finally, two o'clock rolled around and he set off for the bar.

"Afternoon," he called as he walked up. Mix was standing next to the door, and as he approached she shoved something into her saddlebag.

"Good afternoon to you too," she replied, pulling out a key and opening the door. "You know you're early, right?"

"Yeah, I figured being early was better than being late," Crock shrugged as he followed her into the bar. "I take it your boss approved?"

"More or less. Scumble wants to interview you himself before he commits either way, but I'm pretty sure he'll agree with me. But until he shows up, you get to help me open."

Nodding, Crock set to work under Mix's direction, mopping the floor and then pulling chairs down off the tables as she washed the long, polished bar. The two had just finished readying the bar when the door swung open and an absolutely enormous earth pony, his coat a rusty orange, stepped inside.

"How ya doin' Mix?" he boomed, moving over to lean against the bar. "And yew mus' be Crock. Pleased ta meet'cha!"

Crock winced as his hoof was enveloped in a bone-crushing grip and shook so hard that the unicorn was sure his arm was about to be ripped out of the socket.

"The name's Scumble. Apple Scumble. Mix told me that yew were lookin' fer a job."

"Uh... that's right, sir."

"Don' 'sir' me," Scumble snorted. "Makes me sound old. 'Sides, you're probably older'n ah am anyway."

Crock looked at the earth pony and sighed. It was probably true, Scumble didn't look to be any older than thirty while Crock was steadily shoving his way into depths of middle age.

"Now, Mix is a pretty good judge of character and I'm more'n willing ta hire ya, but first, I need ta know why ya lost yer last job."

"I used to be an alcoholic, Crock sighed. "And even though my boss was a good friend, he just couldn't cover for me anymore and I got tossed out on my flank."

"How long ya been sober?"

"I don't know, four, maybe five, months. Short enough that it's still a struggle."

"Well as long as ya don' show up ta work completely sloshed, I don' have a problem with that," Scumble smiled. "I believe in second chances, and ah'm more'n willing to give ya one. Welcome aboard, Crock."

"Thank you," the unicorn sighed in relief as he shook the big earth pony's hoof again.

"Don' worry about it," Scumble said, releasing Crock's hoof. "Mix, pour two glasses a scumble."

Mix nodded and pulled a heavy, earthen jug out from underneath the bar and gently poured a dollop of an orangish-brown liquid into two glasses, sliding them over to Scumble who gave one to Crock.

"A toast," the earth pony said, raising the glass. "To our newest employee."

Crock stared down at the glass and then gave it a cautious sniff.

"What is this made of?" he choked as the vapors hit his sinuses like a runaway cart with a grudge.

"Apples," Mix replied and then hesitated. "Well... mostly apples, anyway."

"Go on now, drink up!"

Crock looked at the massive earth pony and then at Mix. After a moment, he seemed to come to a conclusion.

"No."

The cheerful, laid back expression fell away from Scumble's face. "It's tradition," he rumbled, pushing his face down into Crocks. "You don' drink up, you don' get the job."

"Then I don't want the job," Crock said, setting the brimming glass on the bar with a solid click.

He was halfway to the door when he felt a heavy hoof on his shoulder and spun around, ready for anything. But Scumble was just standing there, his face twisted into a huge grin, the anger gone so fast and so completely that it could only have been fake.

"Sorry 'bout that," he said. 'But I needed ta make sure. If you woulda been willin' to throw away months a work, you're not the kind a person I want workin' here. But ya passed that little test with flyin' colors." He clapped Crock on the shoulder hard enough to almost make the lanky unicorn's knees buckle. "Mix'll show ya the ropes. Just do what she says, and you'll be fine."

The earth pony drained his glass in one go and set it down on the bar before walking away, whistling to himself.
"What was that?" Crock asked once he was gone.

"He was testing you," Mix replied from behind the bar as she dumped out the untouched glass and began to wash both of them. "See if you'd actually hold to what you've been working at or if you'd just cave at the first bit of serious temptation. He did something similar to me when I started working. Congratulations."

"Thanks. For helping get me this job I mean."

"It was no problem," she said, waving away his thanks. "Just don't prove me wrong. Now, if you'll step around the bar, I'll show you how to work the taps..."

The rest of the day rolled past and, for once, Crock wasn't aware of every second of it.