Hello, readers!

I started this over on AO3 but I thought I could make have it available here as well! I'm uploading the first 3 chapters I've written. I'm currently working on a 4th but classes start up again next week and I don't know how often I'll be able to update. Thanks for reading!

-chleesha

MacKenzie heard the screaming long before the frantic knocks against her apartment door. Mere milliseconds passed between her first jolting awake on the couch and flinging herself in to the front entry. It was a fight trying to pull Sloan inside, the shrieking child in her arms making her last ditch efforts to be put down.

"Sunny! Sunny, please."

Even in the dark MacKenzie knew Sloan's cheeks were wet with tears, distress evident in her voice. Once they were safely inside the apartment, Sloan released the little girl who fled in to MacKenzie's living room, missing hitting her head by just a fraction of an inch as she dove underneath the coffee table. Sloan finally broke, choking back a sob as she covered her mouth with her hand, MacKenzie quick to collect her in her arms.

"Shhh, it's okay, it's okay, Sloan."

Sloan crumpled in to MacKenzie's embrace, her breathing erratic as she worked hard to calm down. Sunny had stopped screaming but she whined and hiccuped from where she lay flat on the living room rug.

"Coffee?" MacKenzie whispered, rubbing Sloan's shoulder's before her friend took a deep breath and straightened herself, quick to put space between them.

"Yes, yeah. Thanks 'Kenzie."

Her voice was quiet and, when MacKenzie squeezed her hand, she could feel it shaking.

Sloan Sabbith was currently facing the greatest challenge of her entire life.

It was maybe two months ago when Sloan first got the call.

"It's Rashida. She's been killed."

Initially, Sloan's heart had given a heavy thud, like someone had walloped her hard in the chest. Her breath was instantly gone, the bustling newsroom around her beginning to blur in her peripheral. She nearly dropped the phone.

"Been killed?...Someone...someone...killed her?"

Sloan's half sister, a woman she barely knew and had only spoken to a few times, had died in a ferry accident in Japan. She had moved, just after college, intent on getting as far away from the haunting memories brought on by an alcoholic mother and a father (Sloan's) who only sometimes acknowledged her as his. Sloan had distanced herself from all that years ago, living mainly with her mother until she had received a full ride to Berkeley, and later Duke, after her senior year of high school. Losing herself in to a different world, one that suited her better both intellectually and emotionally, was easier than facing the reality of her father's double life.

"You were listed in her will. To take Sunny."

The lawyer on the other end had been engaging the whole conversation in short sentences, completely neutral to the whole situation. Sloan was beginning to feel nauseated and had to grip her desk to keep from passing out.

"S-sunny?" she stuttered. "What are you talking about?"

"Her daughter?"

Sloan, so used to being so professional, so put together and flawless in tough situations, dropped the phone then. She had been eating cereal alone in her apartment that morning, scanning the newspaper, formulating the rundown for the afternoons broadcasts. A phone call, something as insignificant as a phone call, had thrown her entire world in to a frenzy. She took huge gulps of air, scooting her chair away from her desk as if it had just caught fire.

"Hello? Are you still there..."

Her daughter.

She wouldn't have. We barely spoke. We barely knew each other.

It was Sloan's continued insistence, over and over and over again. What about her father?

One had never been listed. It was either Sloan accepted temporary custody of the girl (Sunny, three and a half) or she would be placed in a group home until other arrangements could be made for her. Arrangements. The word taunted Sloan. This was a little girl. Her head continued to spin. She had 36 hours to decide.

Elliot took over for her during the afternoon market watch. Sloan sat in Will's office (Will behind his desk, staring intently, MacKenzie knelt on the floor at her side with both hands clutching hers impossibly hard) and wept through insistences.

We were teenagers the last time I saw her. It's a mistake. Surely she had other people in Japan.

It took almost an hour (and Jim taking charge of the final, 5:00 rundown of News Night) for Will and MacKenzie to talk her down.

"Whatever decision you make is yours, and only yours," Will said, leaning forward against his desk, Sloan refusing to look anywhere but her lap. "Whatever you decide is going to be extremely difficult."

"We're here for you," MacKenzie said with certitude. "We can help you, Sloan."

She made the decision, within the hour, to take custody.

It took four weeks for Sunny to make it to the United States.

Immigration had done a full on investigation and, while she had Will defending her every step, Sloan still felt accused and incompetent. And absolutely terrified. She had taken a leave of absence from A C N, Will having handled everything with Charlie. She felt like a zombie, going through the motions, letting Will do everything. It was doing nothing for her spirit.

MacKenzie came with her to the airport.

That was 9 days ago.

Sunny, an absolutely beautiful, angel faced little girl, spoke nearly no English. She was confused and agitated. This was the third night in a row Sloan found herself at MacKenzie's doorstep, nowhere else to turn as Sunny continued to shrink in terror every time Sloan got close to her. She was asleep in a ball by the time MacKenzie led Sloan back in to the living room.

"She hates me," Sloan whispered miserably as the two of them fell, exhausted, in to MacKenzie's sofa, clutching coffee mugs.

"We knew it would take time," MacKenzie whispered back. "It's going to be hard. But it's going to be okay."

Sloan stared at the tiny sleeping mass underneath her friends coffee table. She was determined to make things right for her.

For Sunny.