Little Girl Lost

Disclaimer: If you recognize it, it's not mine. This story is on an AU track.

Chapter 5: Impossible Adjustment

"Zach, are you sure about this?"

"I'm positive," he assured his partner. "I really appreciate you letting me crash here for few days, but it's time for me to go home. Especially since Kira will be back later today."

"Kira likes you," she pointed out.

"I know, but you two deserve some mother-daughter time. Serena, it'll be okay. You see me every day anyway, remember? You'll be able to keep an eye on me." He didn't voice the real reason he was so insistent on leaving; he didn't think he could bear to be around little Kira right then, to see Serena interacting with her daughter. It would be rubbing salt in the still-open wound that had been left by Andrea's disappearance. "You have my key and as of right now my permission to come over if you think something's wrong, okay?"

"Okay," she said finally. "I'm not going to try to force you to stay. But if you do change your mind, you know where I live and it doesn't take long to set up the futon, understand?"

"Loud and clear. Thank you, Serena."

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Well, he thought, at least he'd managed to make it up the stairs. That counted as progress, didn't it?

It had been three days now since that fateful morning when he had last seen his daughter's face, heard her soft voice telling him she loved him as she stepped out of the car. If only I could do that day over, I never would have left her at school. Logically, he knew that only retrospect allowed him to think that way, but his emotions wouldn't let that logic reign unchecked.

In those three days, he'd heard nothing. Benson had called him once, just to let him know that given the amount of time that had passed, they were tentatively ruling out the possibility of a ransom kidnapping. It had been a hard blow to accept. While no option was good, a ransom kidnapping had stood the best chance of being resolved quickly and without harm to Andrea. The remaining possibilities he could think of were more grim, and he'd gotten the idea after speaking with Benson that there were other possibilities she wasn't telling him about. He understood; he wasn't a cop on this case, she couldn't tell him everything, and there were some images he didn't need in his head anyway.

He looked over Andrea's room one last time before pulling the door closed. Until she was found (and it had to be until, not unless) the door would remain closed to prevent anything inside from being disturbed - and, if he was to be honest with himself, to spare himself the visual reminder. "Please come home," he whispered as the latch clicked.

He headed back down the stairs, towards his full-size piano. The keyboard was wonderful in a pinch but no substitute for the real thing. As he went to sit on the bench, his foot hit something. As he bent to pick it up, he realized it was Andrea's shoe, the very one she'd been looking for on that last normal morning. And then, all at once, he began to both laugh and cry.

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"How are you doing?"

Zach glanced over at the body lying on the sidewalk and then to his partner. "You're asking me this now?"

She shrugged. "He's not going anywhere."

He cracked a smile despite himself. "That sounds like something I would say."

"Where do you think I learned it from? And by the way, don't think I missed you evading the question there."

"It's good to be back," he said truthfully. Work was good for keeping his mind away from his pain. "But," he admitted, "it's not always easy. I know what the numbers say."

"Numbers are just odds. Someone has to make up the smaller number," she reminded him gently, the best reassurance she knew how to give. Even as she said it, she cringed. What kind of support is that?

But he only smiled, albeit sadly. "I know. That's what I've been telling myself. Andrea survived Vincent Thomas, a man who killed every other witness to his crimes, by her wits and her skills. But without knowing what she's up against, I have no way of knowing if any characteristic is going to matter." His composure cracked ever so slightly. "I just want my daughter safe in my arms. Is that too much to ask?"

"Of course not." She laid a hand on her arm, wishing she could hug him but knowing that embracing her partner at a crime scene would probably be considered inappropriate. "And there are a lot of people who will do whatever it takes to make that happen."

"Thank you," he whispered before forcing a mask of composure back onto his face. "Now, what's up with him?"

"Unidentified male, ME thinks dead about a day..."

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Zach almost thought he'd imagined the sound of a ringing doorbell until he heard it again, now fully awake. He wondered, more than a little irritably, who would be ringing his doorbell on Christmas Day. He'd counted on being left alone to sleep the day away.

While his family had been staunchly atheist, they had nevertheless always made a large secular celebration of Christmas. His brother had carried the tradition forward for his children, and this year, Zach had intended to do the same for Andrea. Especially for Andrea. He knew there had been only one year in her life so far when she'd gotten to celebrate anything.

The bell rang a third time, and he sighed. "Okay, okay," he called out as though the person at the door could hear him. "I'm coming." He threw a robe on and headed for the front door.

It was only seeing who was on the porch that stopped his anger cold. "Mom."

"I'm sorry, did I wake you?"

"It's okay," he assured her, stepping back to let her in. "What are you doing here? I didn't expect you."

"It's Christmas."

It hit him then. "Christmas. Right. Of course." Ever since he'd returned to New York after his sabbatical, it had become an unofficial tradition for her to stop by his house on Christmas to share a meal with her younger son. "I'm sorry, I completely forgot." Of course she would assume they'd be sticking to that tradition.

"You forgot?" she repeated, managing to sound both concerned and amused all at once. "If you can't keep track of the calendar, you really are working too hard."

"I remembered the date, I just forgot -" He cut himself off, but too late.

"Zach, is something wrong?"

"No," he lied. "It's nothing. Just work stuff."

She let out something between a sigh and a laugh. "Zach, you should know by now you can't lie to your mother." She gently laid a hand on his shoulder. "I know it's personal. What is it? Is it a girl?"

"No. Yes." He shook his head, which was quickly beginning to ache. "It's complicated."

"I have time." She pulled him towards his couch. "Sit down. Tell me."

"It - it is a girl," he said finally. "Technically. But not the way you think."

For the next fifteen minutes, he poured out the entire story. The Park Strangler and his first meeting with Andrea. The serious incident that had resulted in a removal from her home. How he'd come to love her, even before he'd realized that was what was happening. How he'd made the decision to foster after realizing he couldn't give her up.

"Wait, wait. You took her in over the summer and I'm just hearing about this now?"

He laid his head in one hand. "I'm sorry. I didn't know how to bring up the subject. It's just, your world...the world I come from...foster kids don't really fit in there."

"You're right about that."

"I wasn't sure how you or Dad would react."

"Zach, I don't know if you know this, but I got my start working with children in family court - this was before I had you boys, before your father and I were even married. If there's one thing in this world I absolutely understand, it's the fact that foster children are different from other children only by circumstance. Now, where is little Andrea? I'd love to meet her."

"I - I don't know," he choked out. "I haven't seen her in two weeks. I don't know where she is."

Through tears, he explained the rest of the story. As he did, she took him warmly into her arms, holding him as she had so often when he was a child. "Oh, Zach, I'm so sorry."

Their dinner forgotten, he cried on his mother's shoulder, grateful as he had been many times in the past that his parents had never subscribed to the common idea that boys weren't supposed to display emotions. As psychiatrists, one thing they had absolutely agreed on was the importance of recognizing feelings, and they had imparted that to their sons. Zach had spent the aftermath of several childhood mishaps crying in his mother's arms, and it was oddly comforting to do so now.

"If there's anything I can do," she whispered when his sobs had mostly eased, "just let me know. If you need money...we could post a reward..."

He shook his head quickly. "No, don't do that. Rewards just bring out false leads, people making up stories to claim the money. It won't help."

"Okay. You know more about this than I do." She rubbed his back gently. "But if there is anything, just let me know, please. I'll help any way I can."

"Okay, Mom," he whispered. "Thank you."

But they both knew that the only thing that would help was out of both their reach.

Short-ish, I know, but it was as much as I felt like this chapter needed. At the moment, I'm looking at probably one more chapter like this (though with fewer and longer sections) and then we'll get back to serious plot stuff.

Nichols' mother is pretty much entirely my own creation; the series doesn't give us much to go on, other than she can be very proud of him ("everyone...and of course your mother is talking about what you've done" from Three-In-One), that she's still on cordial terms with her ex, and that she appears to still be fairly close with Zach. I pieced the rest in based on that and based on how I intend to use the character. The fact that Zach has an older brother gets a couple of mentions on the show, so he gets a nod here as well, though he won't appear as a character.

The part about why Zach would be uncomfortable telling his parents about Andrea is mostly a compilation of attitudes I've heard or read about, based on what we know of his family's financial situation.

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