(A/N: I own Nothing. The Labyrinth and Silent Hill do not belong to me in any way, shape, or form. No profit is made. I'm poor. Please don't sue.)

Silent Labyrinth

"If I don't have it by Monday morning, you're fired," he said.

Mild mannered social worker, Sarah Williams was embroiled in a bitter battle with one of the most frustrating men on Earth. Her boss. He slammed his fist on her desk, knocking over the blue coffee cup she used to hold pens, scattering them off the desk and onto the floor. She had been in the middle of an important phone call when he'd burst into her office, not even bothering to shut the door before he started yelling. A few coworkers passed by, peeping in at the noise, while others clustered at the desk directly in line with her door. She fought back her anger but stared him in the eye.

"There's nothing else I can do," she said.

It was all there, medical records, parental waivers, consent forms, recommendations, and the foster parent's application for adoption. The file folder was almost as full as it could get, with just the one document missing. And no matter what she had done, she couldn't find it.

"He can't finalize the adoption without it," her boss said.

"You mean he won't finalize it," she countered, "And I don't understand why; he's done it before."

He rubbed his temples, sighing heavily.

"And this time, he needs the birth certificate," he said, "He wouldn't tell me why, and it's not my place to question. It's the law, and it's there to protect the child. Sarah, please."

"I don't know where else to look," she said, "There's no record of her anywhere. The hospital was condemned; the whole town was condemned. There's nothing left."

"If you don't find it and the adoption falls through," he said, "I will have to fire you."

Fury. Her vision clouded nd she felt her heart pounding against her rib cage.

"You can't fire me," she said, "It's not---"

She broke off suddenly, chilled by the cold look that flashed through his eyes, by the anger and disappointment warring there.

"I know," he said, "And if this were the first time, I'd be inclined to let you go with a warning, but I asked you if you could handle this. You said, no problem. You promised me this would go smoothly. You said not to worry, and now my boss is breathing down my neck."

The small cluster of people peering in at her had grown to half the office. She felt her face flush with embarrassment, and opened her mouth to argue with him, to let him know his manners were sorely lacking. But as she started to cut short his rant, the girl in question appeared, foster father in tow. She was smiling, a rare occurance as of late, and stared curiously at the cluster of people and then at Sarah.

"It's not fair for her," she added.

All of the fight drained out of her, and her boss gave her a wan smile. The little girl and her foster father sat in the orange plastic chairs in the waiting area, and the cluster of people finally started to disperse.

"She shouldn't be punished because you couldn't do your job," he said, "I know it isn't fair, but that's life."

He was right and she hated it.

"What should I do?" she asked.

He took a deep breath and stared at her desk.

"You're going to have to go to the birth mother's last known residence," he said, "and if it isn't there, the hospital, the courthouse, and every other place it could be."

"Except for her last known residence, I went to all of those places," she protested, "The courthouse doesn't even-"

"Not the Brahams Courthouse," he interrupted.

"Oh," she said, the full weight of what she was about to do, hitting her hard.

While the girl sat, waiting, Sarah felt a pang of guilt.

The child, Laura, wore a new dress and her hair was neatly done up for the occasion. After several long, lonely years, a brief battle with cancer, and a lifetime of loss, she finally had a home, a father, and a bright future. Not many case workers had been willing to work for her adoption; and Father-to-be James Sunderland was a harder sell than most. He was widowed with barely a middle class income, and no experience raising children.

Sarah had championed him, and the adoption was supposed to be finalized.

Only...

Sarah chewed her lower lip as she picked up the thick file folder from her desk. Laura looked up, catching sight of Sarah and smiling. She tugged on the sleeve of the man sitting beside her. The tall, blond man turned, his face lighting up with a rare smile.

"Ms. Williams," he called out, standing, "What's the news? Am I a father yet?"

Sarah forced herself to smile, her hands still fumbling with the file.

"Hello, Mr. Sunderland," she began.

"Please, it's just James," he said, "After all you've done for us, I'd really appreciate it."

He reached for her free hand, squeezing it gently.

"James," she said, her heart sinking further, "I'd like to speak with you a bit in private."

His smile faded.

"Is something wrong?"

Both father and daughter stared at her.

"It's nothing to worry about," she said, "but I do want to let you know that there's a problem."

Laura's eyes widened, "If it's nothing to worry about, why can't I hear?"

Her voice rose sharply, tears spilling down her face. James knelt beside her, a hand resting on her shoulder.

"Hey, hey," he said, "Give her a chance to answer you first. I'm sure it's not the end of the world."

Laura sniffled, sending Sarah a murderous glare.

"It's just that," Sarah stopped, her mind suddenly empty.

She took a deep breath, her eyes locking with James'.

"First of all, I'm taking care of it even as we speak."

"Ok," James said, looking confused, "What are you taking care of?"

"I still haven't found her birth certificate,"she said in one breath.

He paled, "What?"

She felt like she was falling; her breath wouldn't come. And the shock reflecting in Laura's eyes made her feel two centimeters tall and rapidly shrinking.

"There's nothing on file anywhere," she continued, "I can't even find a copy."

"What does that mean?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper.

"The judge won't finalize the adoption with out it."

He sank into the chair, his head buried in his hands.

"But don't worry," she said, "Please. I have it all under control."

She started to go to his side, but one look from Laura stopped her.

"That's not 'nothing'. You don't even know where to look," the girl said accusingly, "You messed it up and you aren't even going to fix it!"

She stood, her eyes wet with tears, fists clenched, ready to strike out at everyone. Life had been cruel to her, making a bitter old cynic out of an eight year old girl.

"There are two places the original birth certificate could be," Sarah said, "I'll try each one and every place in between until I find it. I promise you will be father and daughter by Monday morning."

James looked up at her. His eyes were red but he flashed her a hint of that rare smile.

"Is it nearby then?" he asked, "They never told me where she was born, where she comes from."

She smiled.

"It's about an hour a way," she said, " The town was abandoned years ago but the buildings still stand. You've probably heard of it; it's called Silent Hill."

He stared, his eyes getting bigger, his face getting paler, and his hands shaking.

"You can't go there," he said, "Even for our sake, you can't go there."

She stepped back.

"I have to," she said, "There's no other place left to look."

His eyes flashed.

"Promise me you won't go," he said.

"James, it's okay," she said.

He stood.

"No, it's not," he said.

She took another step back as he moved towards her. He grabbed her arms before she could even think to move and shook her.

"James, let go," she ordered, pulling away.

But his grip tightened.

"Stay away from Silent Hill," he shouted.

From somewhere behind her she heard footsteps and shouts. The security guard, Mr. Cartland, appeared to her left, grabbing James under his arms while Sarah's supervisor hurried to her side to untangle his fingers from her arms.

"Mr. Sunderland," he pleaded, "Let go now! Think of how this looks to the judge!"

Mr. Cartland pulled hard, twisted, and James lost hold. Sarah ducked and scrambled out of reach, but as she moved she could hear the sobs. James slumped to the ground, his body shaking. Laura watched from several feet away, another social worker at her side.

"Would you like to have him arrested?"

She rubbed her arms gingerly.

"No, no," she said, "I'm fine. He didn't hurt me."

Mr. Cartland gave her a dirty look but retreated, muttering something under his breath. Her supervisor followed suit, returning to his office a few feet away. She noticed he opened his blinds once inside and left his door open as well.

"James," she began, "Talk to me, please."

He shook his head.

"I'm sorry," he said, "I don't know what that was."

That pang of guilt grew, twisting and biting at her stomach.

"You're worried that this is all going to fall through and you're scared you're going to loose Laura," she said, "But that's okay. I understand."

"No," he said, "You don't understand."

"James-"

"Haven't you done enough?" Laura asked, freeing herself from the social worker to stand beside him, "This is all your fault."

The girl glared at Sarah.

"It is my fault," she said slowly, "But I'm going to fix it. I have the whole weekend."

Laura snorted.

"You'll fail."

James took Laura's hand, his face clouded and his eyes glassy.

"Walk away," he said, "No one will blame you."

The two turned to leave, and Sarah felt a wave of despair wash over her. She couldn't let them leave like that, despondent and hopeless. They had to understand!

"I won't just walk away," she said, "I will fix this. By Monday, you'll be a family. I promise."

"We already are," Laura snapped.

James gave her a sad smile and the two walked away.