Title: Nobody's Child
Author: Controlled Chaos
Rating: T
Disclaimer: Any character you recognize belongs to NBC and crew. I do not intend to profit from this story, it's just a way to release my creativity. All characters that you don't recognize are mine.
Summary: A guilt stricken, broken-hearted detective and an orphaned teenage girl are thrown together, only to discover all that they have in common.
A/N: This might seem a little fuzy, but give it time. It's a work in progress. It's AU, set sometime in the future. I play aroundwith certain details from the show, especially timeline. I greatly appreciate reviews.
"Sir?"
The forty-five year old man slowly raises his head and stares at the young woman in front of him. She smiles shyly. He's not quite as frightening as she had been warned he would be. In fact, the infamous, angry fire in his eyes isn't there at all. It's replaced with something indescribable. Sadness, maybe? But it's deeper than that. Yearning. Pain. Whatever it is, it clouds his previously baby blue eyes. Those eyes have seen too much grief to be called "baby" any longer. It would imply youth, innocence- things that he no longer possesses.
"Yes?"
She shivers involuntarily. Though he doesn't appear to be angry, she senses his volatility. He runs a hand through his prematurely salt and pepper hair, waiting for her to continue.
"Um, I'm sorry to disturb you. I was told you might be able to help me." Actually, I was told that you were the only person that could help me, she thinks, hoping that he cannot see that she is desperate.
It takes a few seconds for him to respond. He finds that his answers are all delayed these days. There's no rush anymore; not the way there used to be, anyway.
"I see. What is it that you think I can do for you?" His words are slow and deliberate. He may not be in a rush, but despite common belief, he does still care. He cares about other people, and sometimes about what they think of him. Life does still matter to him. He thinks that much should be obvious. If it didn't matter, he wouldn't be living.
"Well..." she trails off, unsure of how to phrase her question.
He senses her discomfort. "Why don't you sit down?"
She takes a tentative step into the office. He nods. She sits down on the chair in front of his desk, crossing her legs and sitting straight up in the chair.
"I'm s-s-sorry." Suddenly the words will not come to her at all. "I'm not sure how to say this."
"Who sent you to me?"
"My mother. Jessica Carey." He nods, but shows no sign of recognition. She bites her lip.
"Her name doesn't ring a bell." His voice borders on apologetic- certainly not a new tone for her. Sympathy and apology are all she seems to get from anyone.
"It wouldn't. You've never met her. She was going to come here herself, to talk to you." There is a hitch in her voice. He notices, well versed in the language of loss.
"I'm sorry. How long ago?"
It's no secret, but still, she is surprised at how easily he reads her. "Three months. I had to get her affairs in order, before I came here."
"I understand. Did she tell you why she wanted to see me? Or are you as much in the dark as I am?"
She sighs deeply, and it's only now that he notices her youth. She's no more than sixteen, he decides, if even that.
"I'm not sure how she knew this, but she was convinced that you knew my father. Well, my aunt actually."
He doesn't speak, but mentally reviews the catalogue of people he once knew. He can only really talk about people he used to know. He certainly doesn't know them anymore. The ones that he would know now are afraid to speak to him. It seems he has garnered quite the reputation in LA.
"What's his name?"
"My father?"
He nods.
"James."
She mistakes his silence for lack of recognition. "I'm sorry, I don't know his last name. I'm not sure he even knows I ex--"
"I know him."
"You do?"
"I've never met him." He sighs. "But I knew his sister."
"Knew?" She sounds disappointed. "As in you no longer know her?" She can't help but let out the sarcastic teenager lurking inside the poised young woman. He replies in kind.
"As in there's no 'her' to know anymore."
She doesn't like to be challenged. Besides, what does that mean? Any fear she may have had of him disappears as she blurts out what she's thinking. "What the hell does that mean?"
"It means she died. Passed away. She's no longer with the living."
He can tell by the look of horror on the young girl's face that he has made his point. But for his own sake, he repeats it. And for the first time in seven years, he speaks her name.
"Jordan Cavanaugh," he whispers, "is dead."
A/N 2: Well? A little dark, I know. It gets brighter though, I promise!