A/N: This story is dedicated to my friend, Sam (the other one lol) Thanks for the idea!

A/N2: This chapter is mostly character history. It'll get to the good stuff later lol Please let me know what you think!!!

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Miss Taylor-Sullivan,

As per requested, documentation regarding your birth family is attached to this letter. If you have any questions please call the Office of Children & Family Services.

Sincerely,

Gabriella Garcia

OCFS Caseworker

I sat in a shaded area on the balcony of my third floor artsy, vintage apartment with the letter in my hand. Dressed in a tank top and khaki trouser shorts with my long, brown hair pulled back into a high pony tail, I sipped my iced tea. New York was going through a heat wave. Most of the city had resorted to staying inside in the air conditioning but I admired how the younger generations embraced the warmth.

There were about thirteen young kids outside playing in the water that the fire hydrant was vibrantly spraying, as their parents stand aside laughing at their children's exuberance. It was relaxing to hear their laughs and shrieks of joy. It was those joyful sounds in the big bad city were reassuring me that I was fighting for a purpose every time I put on my NYPD uniform. But it was also therapeutic to help me realize that not everyone's childhood is damaging. My mind began to wander back through time.

I bounced around from foster home to foster home until I turned 15. The years I spent in the system were tough, and often I ended up with families that only wanted me for a steady paycheck, and for a punching bag. Up until I turned 14, I'd been almost convinced into believing that I was worth nothing. That a person like me wasn't capable of being loved. No one had told me any different until I turned 15. That night, I decided that last night would be the last time that sick bastards would touch me and I ran away into the dark streets of NYC. I packed the only thing I needed, my real mother's necklace. It was a delicate, silver cross that I hid from my greedy 'parents'. The necklace gave me hope that I'd find my way through the mess that I'd called my life. Even with everything that happened to me, I knew that I was meant to do something great.

I lived on the streets for two weeks, dodging every cop car that I saw, fearing that my 'parents' had called them. One day, I'd ran into a convenience store to hide and snuck to one of the corners pretending to look at items as I could hear them talking outside the door.

The only other person in the store was a man dressed in a nice suit, who was looking at something a few feet away from me. I snuck a look at him and he looked back and smiled at me as he turned. My smile immediately faded as I saw his badge and gun through the opening of his jacket. He noticed my reaction immediately and looked at me curiously.

I backed away from the aisle with a candy bar in hand and fled from the store, hearing him and the other officers out front chasing after me. I'd run for five blocks before turning down an alley. I flew past the dumpsters and latched over a fence that blocked the alley and kept running once I hit the ground. I turned back to see where they were.

The one suited officer was just getting over the fence and the two other officers were well behind him, just turning into the alley. I ran as fast as I could once I heard him hit the pavement with a thud. He was yelling for me to stop but I kept running. I was ready to burst onto the street when the cop grabbed me from around the waist and pulled me onto the ground next to him, as a garbage truck flew by. We both were breathing heavily and he caught me by the wrist when I tried to get up again.

"Why were you run'n, huh?" he asked me with blue eyes flaring, trying to catch his breath and putting the cuffs on me to keep me restrained."Where the hell are your parents?!" I didn't answer him. He just stared at me.

A cop car pulled up and he opened the door for me. The entire ride was terrifying to me. Thoughts of what my 'parents' would do to me clouded my brain as I stared at the people on the streets. Once we were at the station, he questioned me about what I was doing and about my parents. I refused to say anything fearing that they would find out who I was.

The cop, whom I found out was Detective Sergeant Michael Sullivan, knew there was a reason why I was scared. He'd asked me about the deep, large bruises that were now fading. He had a lady come in and take my prints and they matched it quickly from the foster care system. I remember sitting in the waiting room of the department looking at the floor as the lady from social services told me that my 'parents' would be there soon, and she left. Tears filled my eyes, and I pulled my knees to my chest, and laying my forehead on my knees, holding tight. Sullivan had seen my reaction from a few feet away and came over to me, kneeling down in front of me and gently touching my shaking hands. I quickly pulled away, tears coming faster, and hugging myself tighter.

He knew. He didn't have to say anything, he just knew. When I felt him leave, I looked up to see him trying to catch up to the lady from social services just as my 'dad' entered into the building entrance across from where the cop was talking to the lady. My heart stopped as I saw him walk aggressively towards me with a violent look on his face. I froze in place. He grabbed me assertively by the upper arm and pulled me off the chair and in the direction of the entrance.

"What the hell were you thinking? You think you can just…"he started on me as I sobbed and looked away.

"HEY!" the cop yelled, getting my 'dad's' attention. "Get you god damn hands off of her!" He aggressively threw my arm out of his hand and I ran to the cop, throwing my arms around his waist, hanging on for dear life. I felt him put his hand on my head, gently stroking my hair.

"Mark, hook 'em up." Sullivan said forcefully to one of the uniforms. The cop cuffed him and took him away. The next time I saw him was in a courtroom. He was sentenced to twenty five years in prison for child pornography, abuse, and conspiracy to commit murder.

The latter had been discovered when my 'mother' was brought in for questioning. She admitted their plan to transform their birth daughter into a look-a-like of me to keep collecting checks. Since social services never sent the same person twice and they never really paid much attention no one would've noticed the difference. Sullivan had been disgusted. Murder for $300 a month.

"Pathetic", Sullivan said disgustedly, as he stepped outside of the interrogation room across from where I sat, running his hand through this dark brown hair.

He stopped when he saw me and his face softened. He told me that he was going to take care of some stuff but he'd be back in a little while. I sat at his desk observing the busy station around me, wondering what it would be like to be a cop. Fighting against people like my 'parents'. Maybe, that's it. Maybe I'm meant to be a cop. Maybe I'm meant to make sure this doesn't happen to anyone else. It was that moment that I knew.

One week after that day, I was put in yet another foster home. The social worker said that everything was in order and gave me a number just in case before she motioned for me to head to the door. The second I stepped out of the car I knew something was different about the place. The main difference being that it wasn't a slummy apartment; it was a three story, comfortable home that was almost picturesque. I was halfway to the house when the door opened and out stepped an excited, petite, red-headed woman with a warm, welcoming smile and a small present in her hand. She was about to say something when the door to the house opened again and out stepped a familiar face. Detective Sergeant Sullivan.

"Hi sweetie," the red-head greeted him as he put his arm around her waist. He smiled at me. Tears of happiness spilled onto my cheeks as I embraced him once again.

"I promise I will never let anything happen to you again, Samantha." he said quietly, tightly embracing me.

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The last years that I spent with them had diminished a lot of the bad memories that had loomed over me. I found out that they had wanted children for the longest time but had found out that, Julie Sullivan was unable to carry to term, resulting in tormenting emotional rollercoaster for the both of them. He'd told her about possibly bring in a foster child and she'd immediately been welcomed to the thought, she was actually surprised at his determination.

Knowing about my dark history while in the system, he insisted that they give me the proper help and took me to counseling on a regular basis. They'd turned out just like the parents I'd hoped for. Caring in every sense of the word. We went out for pizza on Fridays', got to visit Michael at work while becoming close to his coworkers, and went to the NY Ranger's games regularly. On my birthday that year, they had surprised me by asking permission to adopt me. I had tearfully responded joyfully with the only request to keep both Taylor and Sullivan as my last name, which they had no objections to. I finally had my mom and dad.

I finished high school at 17, after recovering my shoddy transcript from the previous years, mostly, because of Julie's determination as a college professor at Columbia University, something I admired her for. During high school, I enrolled at Columbia and completed a large amount of credits before I went to college full-time. I had no clue what I wanted to get into. I told my parents that I just wanted to get into the academy; however, my mom and dad were adamant that I go to college. Seeing how I couldn't make up my mind, I triple majored in Psychology, Biology, and Chemistry. I graduated by the time I was 21 and began my career with the NYPD. My dad was promoted to Chief of Detectives shortly following my graduation from the academy.

A child's exuberant shriek threw me back to the present. I smiled on last time and stood up, clinching the letter in my hand.

I had reluctantly admitted it to dad while I was in college and his reaction had taken me by surprise. "Sometimes, when you wanna get to where you're going; you gotta know where you come from." I remember teasing him about his sudden philosophical take on things. He laughed and softened saying that if I was serious that he'd help me and support me in finding them.

And here I was. Two years later and I finally have answers. But do I really want to know? Do I want to risk what I have right now? I sighed and put the letters back into the envelope, and headed inside to my cool apartment. I grabbed my jacket, slipping the letter into my back pocket and headed to my dad's office.

Let me know whatcha think so far!!!