Chapter Text
The apartment was a mess—broken glass on the floor, overturned chairs, the smell of stale alcohol in the air.
Lucy’s chest tightened as she scanned the living room, her flashlight cutting through shadows. Tim was a steady presence behind her, voice clipped as he radioed in: “Dispatch, show us on scene. Possible domestic.”
Then came the sound. Small. Soft. A hiccupping whimper from the hallway.
Lucy’s breath caught. She exchanged a look with Tim, who already had his hand on his weapon. He gestured for her to follow, cautious steps down the hall until—
A little girl.
She couldn’t have been older than three, sitting cross-legged on the carpet in princess pajamas. Her thumb was in her mouth, eyes wide and wet.
“Oh my god,” Lucy whispered, holstering her weapon. She knelt instantly, lowering herself to the toddler’s eye level. “Hey, sweetie. It’s okay. You’re safe now.”
The girl blinked at her, thumb still tucked against her lips.
Tim’s voice was low, even, but Lucy heard the crack in it. “No adults?”
Lucy shook her head. The apartment was empty except for broken furniture and a terrified little girl.
“Dispatch,” Tim said into his mic, “we need Child Protective Services on scene. One juvenile, female, approximately three years old.”
The little girl shifted forward, reaching clumsily toward Lucy. Without hesitation, Lucy opened her arms and the child pressed herself against her chest, cheek smooshed into Lucy’s vest.
Lucy’s heart ached at the weight of her. So small. So scared.
Tim was watching, jaw tight, eyes soft in a way Lucy almost never saw. He said quietly, “Looks like she found where she belongs.”
Lucy felt something twist inside her, something she wasn’t ready to name.
⸻
Lucy didn’t expect to bring the girl home that night. She expected paperwork, CPS, maybe a goodbye. But the system was overloaded, placement wasn’t available, and Lucy—Lucy who couldn’t bear to let go when the girl whimpered and clung—heard herself volunteering before her brain caught up.
“I can take her tonight,” Lucy told Sergeant Grey later, voice steady even though her stomach was in knots. “Just until they find a placement.”
Tim was there, arms crossed, gaze unreadable. He didn’t argue. He didn’t tell her she was crazy. He just said, “I’ll drive you.”
⸻
That night, Lucy found herself in her tiny apartment with a toddler curled on her couch. The girl had fallen asleep in Lucy’s lap, thumb in her mouth, breath evening out against her.
Lucy smoothed the child’s hair back gently, whispering, “You’re safe now.”
And she meant it.
What she didn’t expect was the knock at her door an hour later—Tim, holding a grocery bag in one hand and a stuffed bunny in the other.
“She’ll need breakfast,” he said simply, stepping inside.
Lucy looked at him, at the way he softened just a little when he glanced at the girl, and thought: Oh. This could ruin me.