Disclaimer: Not mine.
A young woman walked through the mess of officers standing by the door. A knit cap covered her head and she held her coat tightly to her. There were two detectives talking to each other, one was making coffee. He turned around and saw her, pausing in his tracks and their conversation ceased. "Can I help you?"
"The man downstairs said to report a rape here." She watched as his face immediately softened.
"I'm Detective John Munch. Why don't we talk someplace private?" He held out his arm, placing his hand gently on her arm. She let herself be led into a room with a table and file cabinets in it. There was a large mirror in one wall and she stood nervously near one of the chairs as he closed the door. "Why don't you sit down." He pulled out a chair for her and she sat down, pulling her cap off. She didn't see his eyes go wide as he saw her bald head. "What's your name?"
"Charlotte Wiles."
He nodded. "And what happened?"
"I was raped by... by a boy."
"Do you know him?"
"Y... yes. He's in my grade."
"Which is?"
"Tweflth. I'm a senior."
"Could you tell me this boy's name?"
"Jacob... Jacob Turner."
"When did this happen?"
"Two hours ago."
He looked hard at her, but she didn't notice because she was staring intently at the table before her. "We need to go to the hospital and the doctor needs to perform a rape kit."
"What's that?"
He sighed. "The doctor takes samples of fluids and various other tests for evidence."
She looked at him directly for the first time and he was struck by her intense blue eyes. "Now?"
"As soon as possible." She nodded and he stood up. "I'll drive you to the hospital, all right?"
She nodded again and stood as well, following him as he opened the door and took her back into the squad room. His partner looked up to see Charlotte slip her cap back on and John grab his coat. "We're going to the hospital."
"I'll tell Cap."
"Thanks. C'mon, Charlotte." He reached out and placed his hand on her shoulder again, guiding her through the officers in the hallway to the elevator. "It'll be all right."
He slid onto the cushioned chair, waiting as the woman behind him slid on the smock.
"Are you sure about this, sweetie?"
"Do it." He was determined, his jaw set. Taking off his glasses, he put them on the white counter in front of him, staring at the fuzzy shapes in the mirror.
"All right, if you say so."
"I say so." And began to watch as the dark brown hair fell onto the smock, thick clumps of it falling down like tumbleweeds to the floor.
"Get it over to forensics," he told the young officer. "ASAP."
"Sure thing, detective." He hurried away.
John turned to the door as Charlotte walked out, clad in hospital sweats. "Ready to go?"
"Yes." She already had her coat on and zipped it up before putting her hat on again. He looked at her for a moment before leading her through the hospital hallways.
He ran a hand over his scalp, marveling at the oddness of no hair, just skin. He turned to the woman standing behind him, hands on her hips.
"I told you that--"
"Thanks," he cut her off and gave her the money for the haircut.
She looked at the money in her palm and then up at him, taking note of the grin plastered on his face. Blinking, she said, "You're welcome."
He left, to go home and put on his tuxedo. And to make sure his baseball cap didn't look too bad with it.
"Thank you, Charlotte." She continued to look at the table, wiping at her eyes every now and then, to try to stop the tears that were still coming slowly. "This is a really brave thing you did, coming here and reporting him." But it didn't feel like enough to him. Those words said so many times to so many victims, they didn't seem to be enough all of a sudden. They seemed empty, hollow, like meaningless letters that happened to form words which just happened to sound somewhat comforting. And it also didn't feel right to get any old officer to drive her home. "I'll drive you home."
She looked up at him. "No, it's okay. Y...you don't have to."
"Part of the job description. And it wouldn't feel right to let you walk out of here to fend for yourself. Let me bring you home."
"Okay." They exited the room and John paused at his partner's desk.
"I'm taking her home." Fin nodded and John glanced to where Charlotte was standing, staring into space before looking at Fin again. "Check out this Turner kid." Handing a piece of paper to Fin, he left, guiding Charlotte again through the halls of the precinct.
He straightened his tie, looking in the mirror one more time before putting on his baseball cap. It didn't look too bad, if you looked past the somewhat grungy look to it compared to the sharp tuxedo he donned. He left his room and went downstairs where his mother was waiting with a camera.
"Mom," he groaned. "Do we have to take pictures?"
"Yes, we do. I want to have pictures of my oldest son on his prom night."
Groaning again, he gave in, knowing there was no point to arguing with her. She must have snapped ten photos before he put his hand up and said, "I'm going to be late. I'll see you when I get home. Don't wait up." He leaned over and hugged his mother and she insisted on kissing him twice, once on each cheek. "Mom..."
"I know, I know." She let him straighten up and then patted him on the cheek. "You'll be just fine, Johnny. Just fine."
He slowed the car to a stop next to the curb. "Is anyone home?"
"My dad should be home by now." She looked at him for only the third time that day. "Thank you, Detective Munch."
He nodded, not knowing quite what to say. He found himself choked up suddenly and waited as she let herself into the house before pulling away. It was getting dark quickly and by the time he returned to the station house, it was fully dark, though he couldn't believe there was ever such a thing in New York. He found himself on autopilot, turning off the car and going up to the squad room, collapsing in his chair. Fin wasn't back yet, so he leaned back, waiting for him to return. He sat up suddenly and then stood, striding purposefully to the stairs and letting them take him up to the roof.
He pushed open the door and walked over to the side, leaning heavily on the stone wall. The image of Charlotte was planted everywhere he looked, mixing with the image of another girl very simliar to her from so long ago.
He stood in front of the door for a moment, gathering the simple courage to knock. This is it, he thought. This is it. He pulled his hand up and knocked, her father answering almost instantly, pulling open the door to reveal the brightly lit house. "John! Come in. Come in. She's just about ready I think."
"Thank you, sir." He stepped into the house and her mother came down the stairs, smiling.
"She'll be down in a minute."
John nodded nervously, swallowing the lump in his throat. And then she came down the stairs. As she reached the bottom, he lifted off his cap. She gasped along with her parents and then tears were streaming all around. Reaching out, she touched his head gently. "John... oh, John."
In turn, he pulled her to him and hugged her close. Letting go after a minute, he turned to her parents, who were standing together. "I'll have her home on time, sir." Her father just nodded. "Good night, Mr. Riley, Mrs. Riley."
"Good night, son. We'll see you later. Have a good time."
As he stood, looking over the city, he watched as his younger self danced with a girl across the sky.
"Good night, Beth."