Chapter Text
Aileen looked through the window into the small conference room at the Child Protection Agency. The young girl in the room was maybe 15—just a bit younger than her son. She had her arms crossed in front of her chest, glaring in discontent at a spot in front of her as if she wanted to burn a hole into space and time. Aileen had seen that look before. Many of the older foster children she’d taken in over the years shared the brooding anger that years of being shoved from home to home brought along.
“She’s a tough one, I won’t lie,” Margerie told her. “Grew up at St. Agnes’ Orphanage. Then was shoved from foster home to foster home. Never a good fit. Sounds like her attitude has been getting worse. Tried to send her back to St. Agnes’, but the nuns gave up after two months.”
Aileen scoffed, her assumptions confirmed. “No offense, but it wouldn’t be the first time the nuns wouldn’t quite know what to do with a young girl going through puberty.”
Margerie chuckled weakly. “I think puberty is the least of her problems.” She shrugged. “But I’ve seen you handle some tough cases over the years, so my hope is she’ll settle in with you.”
“I certainly don’t give up easily.”
“You never have,” Margerie replied, her tone laced with admiration as she handed Aileen the girl’s file. “Good luck. Let us know if we can help.”
Aileen smiled at the social worker. “I will.”
She watched Margerie walk away, before opening the girl’s file, studying the various reports. She’d been dropped off at St. Agnes’ as an infant, and the nuns had given her the name Mary Sue Poots. Nothing was known about her history, her parents, her precise birthdate. She was thought to be born in 1989—14 years old, two years younger than Fitz. Yet, she looked older to Aileen, which was often the case with orphans who’d been through the system too much at a far too young age.
Aileen inhaled deeply before closing the file. She put on a friendly smile and opened the door to the small conference room. “Hello, Mary, I’m Aileen, I’m here to pick you up. You’ll be staying with us.”
The girl glared at her in disdain, her lips tight and her brow furrowed. “It’s Skye,” she growled through gritted teeth.
“Pardon?” Aileen squinted in confusion.
“My name,” the girl replied sternly. “It’s Skye.”
“Oh,” Aileen widened her eyes. She lifted the folder in her hands. “I just went with what the file said, but if you prefer to go by Skye then I’ll gladly oblige. My son, Leopold, prefers to be called by our last name, Fitz.”
“Oh, a foster brother,” the girl put on a big, fake smile. “Awesome.” She kept one hand folded across her chest, gesturing palm-up at Aileen with the other. “And what’s with the accent? Did they run out of foster homes in America, so they’re shipping me off to Australia next?”
Aileen couldn’t help but laugh. “If you think my accent is Australian, then you either have never heard an Australian accent before or living in America has influenced the way I talk far worse than I thought.”
Skye looked back at her, entirely unimpressed.
Aileen sat down across from the young girl, placing her file on the table and tapping it with her fingers. “It’s a Scottish accent,” she explained, trying not to sound too lecturing. “Though my father was an American GI, thus, I have dual citizenship and moved here about six years ago with my son.”
“Wow. That’s so fascinating,” Skye remarked sarcastically, her arms still protectively crossed in front of her chest.
Aileen chuckled quietly, deciding not to bore the young girl with any more details about her personal life. “Well, what do you say, should we get going?” She got out of her chair and ticked her head to the side. “It’s not much of a drive.”
Skye shrugged, standing up herself and reaching for a large, worn duffle bag on the ground. “Whatever. I’ll probably be back here two months tops anyways.”
One corner of Aileen’s mouth ticked up into a pitying half-smile, the girl’s sad remark touching her deeply. “I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” she said softly, opening the door and waiting for Skye to step past her. “How about we get to know each other better tonight over dinner? I thought I’d make haggis.”
Skye looked over her shoulder, squinting skeptically. “What the hell’s that?”
“It’s a traditional Scottish dish, a meat pudding made from sheep’s heart, liver, and lungs, cooked in the sheep’s stomach lining,” Aileen explained, closing the door to the conference room behind herself and trying to maintain a serious tone.
She could see the nausea build in the girl’s stomach as a bit of color left her cheeks. “Are you serious?” Skye asked in utter disbelief.
Aileen laughed out loud. “God, no! I don’t like the stuff and Fitz wouldn’t touch it with a ten-foot pole, but your reaction was worth bringing it up.”
A little puff of air escaped Skye’s nostrils and her lips briefly pulled into a shy smile, before her gaze wandered to the ground as she walked down the corridor next to Aileen to the elevators.