A/N: Ah, FINALLY! I think it's fitting that this is up on March 21st, which, if you guys weren't aware, is World Down Syndrome Day. Much more alike than different.
As a forewarning, this chapter contains mentions of something that may be triggering for some.
She wants to know what happened to this tiny, innocent child, she really does.
But she is also scared to find out.
The needle marks, the anonymity…it appears nobody cared that this child was missing, never mind dead.
Of course, that becomes secondary when Clara wakes, sluggish and her body burning with fever.
Clara has been sick for going on a week. Erin resolves if her fever doesn't break, that she would take her to the doctor next week. Clara has never been sick for this long before, and Erin doesn't know how many more Mr. Tumble videos she can sit through.
"Mama," she whimpers plaintively, beckoning Erin to come over, change the damp cloth on her forehead, and snuggle with her.
Two days later, her fever has broken but she is still sluggish and miserable.
Her sheets have been puked on many different times, and her room smells terrible. Having taken a day off from work to be with her sick baby, Erin finally ventures in to change her sheets.
Clara sleeps as she moves the child to the couch, opens the window and changes the sheets.
Erin figures she'll give the room a few minutes to air out, and then settle the child back down.
For once, she manages to get some washing in and some dishes done, before making her way back to her daughter.
Clara's Dora pajama shirt rides up when Erin picks her up, and that is when she sees it.
Her feet carry her quickly back to Clara's bedroom, so she can inspect it closely.
Her heart sinks lower and lower as she observes the bright red marks dotting her child's stomach.
She wishes, desperately wishes, she didn't know what those were. And what they could mean.
She calls the doctor without hesitation. He will see her tomorrow.
And until then she will hold her child.
Her living, breathing (but not healthy her subconscious whispers) child.
She calls Jay too, and he comes home and holds them both.
The next day, they take Clara to the doctor.
Clara can walk, has been able to for years, but Erin insists on cuddling her close as they enter the office.
The child lays her head on Erin's shoulder and contentedly sucks her thumb as they wait, and Erin lays her head on her baby's and tries to quell the feeling of dread in the pit of her stomach.
In the waiting room, she gets a text from Voight.
M.E. report is in. Call me.
Even in text, he is noncommittal.
She carefully shifts Clara over to Jay, gives his hand a squeeze, and punches in Voight's number.
"Hey, kid. How's the little one?" his gruff voice answers.
"Still waiting to be seen. What did the M.E. say?"
Voight heaves a heavy sigh (never a good sign in anyone, but for Voight, who has seen so much evil in the world, this is particularly bad news).
"M.E found evidence of…what she thinks is experimentation on this kid."
Erin's mouth drops open. "Experimentation?"
"Yeah. Human testing, Evidence of some non-FDA approved drugs, medically unnecessary procedures, repeated testing. Someone used this kid as a lab rat."
Horror knaws at Erin's stomach as the reality of this child's life sinks in.
"She was….she was an animal to them."
"Less. M.E. says some of these procedures are highly controversial, 'specially since she appears to have nothing medically wrong."
There is a knock on the window, and Erin starts and turns to see Jay, beckoning her in.
" I gotta go," she whispers.
There is a brief pause, and then she hears the resolve in Voight's tone.
"We're gonna get them, Erin. We're gonna find out who did this to this kid."
"June," Erin whispers.
"What?"
"She should have a name. She was a person, a human being. She should have a name. Her name is June."
She can practically hear Voight's smile through the phone.
"Pretty. June it is."
(break)
Clara has never liked doctors. Too much experience with them, Erin figures. Or perhaps it is the coldness of this office, the smell of antiseptic stinging her little eyes, the chill of the doctor's gloves on her belly.
Either way, she manages a very healthy cry, holding out her arms for Erin.
She tries hard to read the doctor's expression as he rises and Clara immediately launches herself into Jay's arms, but he is inscrutable, turning his gaze to write an order on his laptop.
After a moment, Erin can contain it no longer.
"So…what are your thoughts?"
The doctor lets out a breath and turns to them.
This time, his eyes hold concern.
"Ms. Lindsay, your daughter has the presence of both petechiae and bruising. She's also lost some weight."
She gulps. "That could….just be from being sick, right?"
"Maybe," he nods, and she knows he is only appeasing her.
"Either way, I'm ordering a CBC. The nurse will collect it. I assume it's best to do it now, since Ms. Clara –" he reaches toward her, and she recoils with a suspicious glare – "probably won't want to be back here anytime soon."
Erin nods woodenly.
(break)
Clara does scream when her blood is taken.
Quite an impressive, indignant scream, in fact. And then they are told to go home and wait.
And that waiting is probably worse than anything, Erin thinks.
Clara falls asleep quickly when they get home, so her and Jay order a pizza and then lie on the couch.
She updates him on their case and watches his whole body tense, as she knew it would.
He sees their innocent daughter on that child's face, as she knew he would.
And he comes with her to check on their sleeping child, as she knew he would.
He knows what this blood test could mean as well as she does, she can tell by how he laces his fingers with hers as they lie down in their room, full of Clara's toys and blankets and medicines.
She has invaded every inch of their lives, and Erin struggles to remember a time without their child. She struggles as well to think of how their lives could be without their little girl.
Without the small, demanding presence who loved ice cream (but only strawberry and mint, and she would let you know it), whose entire face lit up when Mr. Tumble came on the TV, who had no conventional family but had been gifted with a grandpa, three uncles and an auntie who adored her. Who couldn't sleep without her bunky (her bunny whose ear she was so fond of sucking on as an infant). Who was firmly convinced that it was not Burger King, it was "Borker Kig" and god help anyone who tried to tell her different. Who had Down Syndrome. And who had changed her parent's lives more than she had ever thought possible.