Gah, Impulsive one-shot. Maybe two-shot, or three-shot. Who knows?
DISCLAIMER:: *sigh* don't you guys get sick of these? Except when people make them funny… {Cue the monotonous tone} I don't own Gallagher Girls etc etc.
"No. Freaking. Way." You're pretty sure the lawyer sitting in front of you is high on drugs or something. In fact, you're certain he should be carted off to a mental institute pronto.
He sighs, runs a hand through his sparse, balding hair and leans back in his chair. "I'm afraid so, Ms Morgan. You see, after your friends' untimely deaths, their child, uhh…" you see him ruffle through a bunch of papers, and decide to jog his memory.
"Bianca?"
"Uhh, yes, Bianca Jean Newman, daughter of Rebecca Newman, nee Baxter, and Grant Newman, is left orphaned. And they've put you down as her legal custodian."
You have an overwhelming urge to pull the man up by his pathetic amount of hair and force him to change the will. Honestly, you loved Bex and all, but raising her child – let alone a child – is definitely not on your life agenda.
So, you say back, as calm as you can be, "So, what? You expect me, a single, working woman, to raise a four-year-old girl who's just lost her parents all by myself?" But, by now, as much as you're trying to control your temper, you're practically fuming.
The balding man – Henry, or something – shakes his head and smiles grimly. "No, not by yourself."
As if on cue, the door to the cluttered, cramped office opens and in walks your arch-enemy. Okay, maybe not your arch-enemy, but someone you completely and utterly despise.
"Absolutely not." You're seriously hoping this is all a huge joke.
Henry clears his throat. "Actually, there's someone else listed on the will. And, seeing as you were both close with the Newman's, and that you are, in fact, little Miss Bianca Newman's godparents, it seems reasonable to say that you and Mr Goode, here, are her new custodians."
Feeling ready to scream, your fingers twitch towards the gun holstered on your thigh, underneath the only professional, and clean, pencil-skirt hanging in your closet.
Goode takes a seat in the chair next to yours and you both shoot each other dirty looks. You can't stand each other, especially since he embarrassed you in front of your whole co-workers.
Perhaps it would be rude if you didn't acknowledge him. Ah, stuff being rude.
But when he says, "Morgan," curtly, you have no other choice than to reply, equally as brusquely, "Goode."
Perhaps Henry doesn't notice the forced exchange, but if he does, he doesn't mention it. Instead, he lifts up a thick wad of papers and hands them to you. You glance down and see your best friend's signature at the base of the top sheet, alongside her husband's, and your breath catches a little. Tears begin to sting your eyes as you can't help but remember how close the two of you were.
You look back up at Henry and ask, trying to keep your voice steady, "And what happens if we," you gesture between yourself and Goode, "don't agree to this?"
"Then little Bianca goes into and orphanage, or perhaps foster care, if she's lucky enough to get that."
You just know you can't do that to the gorgeous, dark-eyed girl you last saw looking lost at her parents' funeral. You just can't.
Looking over at Goode, you see his expression is grim. No wonder, his best friend just died, too, you remind yourself.
He notices you looking, but his expression doesn't change.
For some reason, you blurt to Henry, "Can I see her? Can I see Bianca?"
Henry frowns for a moment before making a brief phone call. "Uhh, of course. We can go over straight away."
And within ten minutes, the three of you are bundled into the sleek company car, headed down a main highway. For some reason, Goode has decided to join you in the back seat instead of taking the front seat.
He's looking intently at you, and you feel uncomfortable under his gaze.
Finally, you snap. You can't take it any more. "Do you need something, Goode?"
And with your words, he visibly stiffens. "No. Just trying to figure out why there's a pile of dog poo on your head."
You know he's referring to the hurried bun you did up in the taxi, whilst clutching a piece of toast between your teeth, this morning.
You sniff indignantly and turn away from him to watch the surroundings. It's a dank place. No footpaths, graffiti covering every surface possible, stray dogs wandering the place. Wondering how on earth an orphanage would be allowed to run in a place like this, you feel the engine being cut.
Henry's expression of distaste is reasonable, considering the building standing before him. It's gloomy and just generally depressing.
And Bianca's staying here. I repress a shudder at what she's experiencing.
You all walk towards the place and meet up with a lady named Cheryl.
"Oi, you li'l shits, clean up that muck an' then go hassle the pigs next door," she yells at three timid-looking children, whilst snapping her gum loudly.
Another shudder almost escapes you.
You let Henry talk to the woman because, to be honest, you're scared of catching rabies from her.
As soon as Henry negotiates his way inside, you notice he's shaking slightly by the way his battered briefcase continues to wobble.
Once the three of you are inside, you lead the way upstairs to where the bedrooms are. In the furthermost dorm, you find a small, mocha-skinned girl, crouched in a corner, tears streaking her face. A feeling of immense pity overcomes you as you creep tenderly towards Bianca, crouching a little.
"Bianca?" you call gently, not wanting to startle her.
And your heart fills with warmth as she raises her face even more and replies with a faint, scared, "Auntie Cam?"
Although you're not technically her Aunt, she's called you that ever since she first learnt to talk. As much as you shouldn't laugh, you can't help but giggle as she turns to Goode and says, "Uncle Zach?"
Why's that funny? You ask. Well, because she can't pronounce 'Zach' correctly, it comes out as more of an 'Uncle Yuck'.
He gives you a death stare which you ignore, and you pick up the trembling four-year-old and hold her close.
"It's okay, Bee, we'll get you out of here," you reassure her, once again ignoring Goode's startled look.
She giggles adorably at the use of her favourite nickname and wraps her little arms around your neck.
"Are Mommy and Daddy coming home soon?"
You freeze, and then look at Goode for help. He looks as lost as you feel.
"Umm… well, you see, Hon, they've gone away for quite a while."
More like, forever,
Bianca deflates slightly, but then brightens up. "So does that mean I'm staying with yooou guys?"
You pause for a moment, but then nod slowly, giving her a kind smile. How could you resist those adorable eyes, anyway?
"Well, at least, you'll be staying with me," you correct her.
But you receive a huge surprise as you hear Goode interject, "And me."
Whirling around to look at him, your eyebrows shoot up. "And you?"
"And me."
Completely puzzled, you allow Goode to take Bianca's purple suitcase from your hands, and follow Henry back down the stairs.
When you're safely buckled inside the car again, Bianca between you and Goode, you let Henry fill out the paperwork with Cheryl, who looks like she'd rather be whipping some geese.
You watch as Bianca and Goode have thumb wars (hey, she's an intelligent kid), him often letting her win on purpose. It's weird how well they get along, but cute at the same time. You mentally smack yourself for relating Goode to the word 'cute'.
Henry drives you back to the law firm building and you all get out. You realise you didn't bring your car because it was still being repaired and that you'll probably have to catch a taxi home.
Just as you pull out your phone to call one, Goode's hand catches your wrist. You look up into his eyes, still puzzled.
"I'll drive you home. Besides, we need to work out whose house we'll stay at."
Nodding, you return your phone to your pocket and agree to meet up with Henry soon to finalise all the paperwork. Obviously, he made you and Goode sign things before you take her home, but you're still dreading the mountains yet to come.
As you notice Bianca has fallen asleep in Goode's arms, you offer to drive, and he hands you the keys hesitantly, as if you'll hurt the metal thing.
Rolling your eyes, you climb into his car and wait for him and Bianca to click in their seatbelts. Once you're all safely in, you pull out of the car park and onto a main road.
"Your place or mine?" jokes Goode.
Yet again, you roll your eyes. "Mine. And don't make innuendos about this."
"Why yours? Mine's closer," he complains.
You swivel around to face him and reply, "Because mine's better to raise a child in. At least, for now."
Giving a sigh, he clearly decides not to argue with you and remains quiet.
For some unfathomable reason, you're feeling chatty. "So, how did we get roped into this, again? I mean, I don't remember signing any papers!"
Goode smirks. "No doubt they knew we'd say no and they forged our signatures. After all, they're spies. I thought you knew that, Morgan."
Frowning, you focus on the road, trying to figure out why their family wasn't asked. But then you realise that there's no family to speak of. Both of their parents are dead, along with any other family. Perhaps you ought to have seen this coming.
After all, you're in the espionage business, assassinations are actually quite common.
Once you reach your apartment, you park the car and lead the other two up to your place. Jiggling the key the way it needs to be, you let yourself, Goode and a now-awake Bianca into the apartment.
You glance over at Goode, who's smirking, obviously remembering the last time he was in your apartment. You resist the urge to slap him.
Just as you turn the kettle on, you hear a thump come from your bedroom, soon followed by the wails of a four-year-old girl.
You wonder what you've got yourself into.
Hmm, completely off the top of my head. It just popped in there the other night and wouldn't go away! Anyway, I hope you like it and please please please review…
Please?