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Sandy shores was always a goldmine for drug busters, but this raid takes the cake. Out of 22 houses, they gathered 27 illegal firearms and around 3 kg of methamphetamine and crack cocaine combined. Somehow, of all these, a small child is the most surprising discovery for Flop and the one that he doesn't know how to deal with.
The house he had to check was a rickety little thing, with windows all bordered up in a haphazard and crooked manner. Discolored yellow paint peeled in large flakes off the walls, and the front door barely held up on its hinges. The exterior reflected the interior to a tee, with the only semblance of life and possible functionality being the kid himself. Flop found him carefully wrapped in dirty blankets, tucked safely between empty boxes under a kitchen table.
Apart from that, the owners presumably ransacked the house before making a run for it. Empty open drawers and small hidden compartments in the floorboards were all unabashedly evident. Flop frowned, disturbed by the twisted priorities of some people, who you would hardly call human.
No one paid attention to a man with a screaming toddler. As much as Flop tried, his colleagues brushed him aside or redirected him to a scene lead. There was too much buzz and too many things to keep track of, leaving Flop with the only reasonable conclusion; A child isn't evidence. I can take him with me.
Flop hid the toddler in his car and drove back home after he was free to leave the scene. Lucky for them, the apartment was empty. Flop sighed in relief, knowing he didn't need to explain anything. He carried the little bundle in and placed him on the couch. The kid was sobbing nonstop, and he couldn't get why. Is he injured? Is he scared? Hungry? He carefully unwrapped the blanket and immediately recoiled at the pungent smell of a soiled diaper.
"Oh god, how am I supposed to deal with that?" he asked, holding his nose shut.
Running to the store wasn't an option. Flop risked either suffocating from the fumes or having him be unattended and getting discovered by his dads or husband. He paced around the apartment, and after a few minutes of brainstorming, he picked up the toddler, a pair of boxers, and baby wipes and headed for the bathroom. It took a lot of trial and error, but eventually, he figured out how to fold the fabric in a way that would hold, even for a short while.
Flop reemerged from the bathroom and fought the urge to collapse on the couch with the kid in hand. Instead, he slowly eases himself onto it. Thankfully the crying stopped as the little one was gawking at his detective badge and tugging it curiously. The strange shiny object certainly distracted him and made him very quiet. Flop made a mental inventory of all the time he spent with the little guy, and oddly there wasn't as much noise as he expected. There was loud wailing when he first got him, but once they left the scene, that changed to semi-quiet sobbing. He also hasn't uttered a word yet.
Flop felt really out of his element. As someone familiar with taking care of animals, be it with Ziggy's guidance, more often than not, taking care of a child was entirely different. At least from what Flop saw, he didn't look hurt externally. He was so small and a little thin.
What do babies eat? he thought.
As soon as he sat him on the couch and stood up, the kid whined and raised his pudgy little arms, reaching for him. For a brief moment, Flop was awestruck until he noticed him eyeing the badge. Still, his pouty little face was undeniably adorable.
Flop chuckled, "Okay, I see what you wanted."
He handed him the badge, chuckling at another surge of excitement from the little boy. The distraction allowed Flop to step away and look through the pantry, hoping to find something that would tell him, "This is good for the baby." His gaze inevitably landed on a silvery can of chicken breast.
This should be tender enough for him, right?
He opened it and attempted to feed him a small chuck of the fork. The kid wasn't having it and swatted at the meat, spending it on the floor.
"Hey!" he shouted and turned to face the boy.
The kid immediately soured, and his eyes welled up with tears. He looked spooked.
"Oh, shi- Hey, shhh. It's okay. I'm sorry I didn't mean to scare you," Flop cooed and shook the badge beside him. He still looked shaken and not so excited but grabbed it anyway. Bless the handy, shiny distractions. Now to see how to feed. The second attempt had the boy leaning back, away from the suspicious meat.
Flop sighed, "Not you too... I don't get it. It's just chicken."
He dabbed the fork into the meat, separating it into fibers. This time, the boy chewed it briefly before letting it fall out of his opened mouth.
Hmm, well, that won't do, he thought while cleaning after the kid. Maybe he can't chew solid food yet? Maybe he doesn't want to?
Suddenly, an idea struck Flop. He picked up a bowl and the open can and rushed outside to pound on Winston's door. Today must have been his lucky day because no sound indicated their presence. Within minutes Flop broke into the apartment, hijacked his neighbor's blender, and returned to test his new theory; Canned Chicken Purée.
There was no hesitation. The toddler ate well over half of the bowl, and Flop beamed at him with pride. Who cares about his neighbor's future questions and a potential lawsuit? The boy was well-fed, and that was all that mattered. Nevertheless, Flop's joy quickly dissipated at the sound of keys turning in the front door's lock. In a flash, he scooped up the boy and locked them both in the bathroom.
"Please be Ziggy. Please," he begged under his breath.
There were footsteps, accompanied by some disgruntled voice mumbling. They came to a stop at the bathroom door.
"Flop?"
The younger man sighed in relief, "Yeah?"
"Did you just vomit into a bowl? It's all over the flo- Shoe NO! Don't eat that!"
Ziggy audibly stormed off. The doors are just as paper-thin as the walls, and the little one let out a soft whine at Ziggy's sudden outburst. He cooed and bounced the boy in his arms to quiet him. Telling him about the foundling was going to be difficult. Flop had to prepare him first. He crouched by the shower's basin, fusing with the kid's blanket when he heard a knock on the door.
"Flop, why the fuck did you blender chicken into a pulp?"
"Just give me a second. I'll explain."
Satisfied with a makeshift bed, he left the boy on it and stepped out of the bathroom. He was startled to see Ziggy standing outside of it, waiting with his arms crossed. Flop promptly shut the door.
"You're not sick, are you?" Ziggy asked, cocking an eyebrow at his husband's strange behavior.
"No, that's not it."
"Ah- hmm, we can agree to disagree about your take on canned chicken, but this is taking it on a whole other level of weird."
"Listen, it's still chicken, okay? And for your information, I didn't eat it. That wasn't for me. It's for the boy."
"...What boy?" Ziggy asked, getting progressively more confused.
"Promise me you won't shout?"
"Okay, why?"
"You didn't say I promise," Flop insisted.
"Ugh, fine. I promise."
"Okay, now look into the bathroom."
Cautiously Ziggy walked up to the door handle and turned it, "You know you could just tell-" he stared through the open door.
"Flop... Why is there a child in our shower?"
"I found-"
"Wait- hold on. Why is he in MY boxers?!"
"Listen, I needed all the fabric I could get to wrap him up and- and you thought I'd put him up on that shower chair? He'd fall off!"
Ziggy was at a loss for words until eventually settling for "Explain, now."
"Okay, so I found him abandoned up in Sandy. It started with our biggest bust in the history of SCU. We had a stakeout and searched-"
"Please spare me the story. To the point, what do you mean abandoned? Where are his parents?" he raised his tone urgently.
"I'm getting there- okay if you want it short and sweet. I found him during the bust. The parents are missing and probably are felons on the run. I-"
"WHAT!"
"You're shouting!" Flop glared at him.
"You couldn't just say, 'Oh, by the way, I STOLE a child'?!"
Their heated argument got interrupted by a sobbing wail echoing from the shower.
Flop sighed, "Great... you just had to do it, didn't you."
"You were shouting too."
"You shouted first, motherf-" Flop bit his lip and approached the boy to calm him down. A familiar smell got to him faster, and he wrinkled his nose.
"That's one shi- crappy first impression."