Work Text:
December 1982
When Detective Raymond Holt stepped into the small apartment, two things hit him at once, first there was a gratuitous amount of blood on the beautiful cherry oaken floor. That would be impossible to clean as it had likely soaked in at this point and that was a waste of a perfectly acceptable flooring. Second was the clear signs of a child living here: a small teddy bear lying haphazardly on the couch, face down. A small pair of tennis shoes resting by the front door, and what looked like some sort of colorful cup with a lid meant to hinder the chances of spillage.
He glanced over at one of the uniformed officers. “Where is the child?” he questioned in his usual flat tone.
The broad young man looked over at him, his forehead drawn inward as though confused. “Child?”
Holt nodded. “Yes, there are toys strewn about, and a pair of shoes by the front door. You did clear the space of any additional civilians, yes?”
“Uh…yeah, we thought so.”
Holt resisted the urge to roll his eyes at the young officer before turning back to the crime scene and raising his voice a decibel higher. “Everyone stop moving, immediately,” he ordered. Thankfully, he had enough clout in the precinct to garner an appropriate response. Holt stepped away from the living room and towards the short hallway that likely led to the bathroom and bedrooms, assuming there was more than one. He saw the bathroom door open, and glanced inside, unsurprised to find it empty. Moving further down the hall, the door was closed to that room. He knew they’d captured the subject already, so while he was certain there was no immediate threat to him and the rest of the officers here, he still drew his familiar revolver and held it in his dominant hand, keeping his finger away from the trigger and the safety on.
Reaching for the knob, he twisted it down, and slowly opened the door. Raymond was not a religious man, but silently he was hoping that he was not about to find a deceased child in the room. He’d been a detective and police officer for several years now and dead children still left him feeling uneasy and saddened. Especially now that he was an uncle to Marcus.
Thankfully, as he peered inside, he did not see any bodies. The room was dark, lit only by the fading light of day streaming in through the closed curtains. As he stepped into the room, he heard an intake of air coming from under the bed and felt relief spread through his body. He quickly holstered his revolver.
He heard footsteps in the hallway and turned to see another uniformed officer step towards him. Holding up his hand he advised her to stop.
“Sorry, sir. I wanted to let you know a neighbor confirmed there’s a child who lives here. His name is Jacob—mom called him Jake.”
Holt nodded his thanks before he gently stepped further into the room and took a seat on the floor; out of the corner of his eye, he saw the uniformed officer’s eyebrows shoot up. “Hello there,” he greeted softly as he tried peering under the bed. He couldn’t see very well; it was far darker under there than in the rest of the room.
Debbie always mocked him for how he spoke to Marcus, who was barely two now, for treating him like a small adult, rather than a child. But that was the only way Holt knew how to speak with a child. Holt waited patiently, barely moving on the floor. Taking off his badge, he gently pushed it toward the bed, just under the edge, so the child could investigate it if desired. He, of course, had no way of knowing the child’s age, but the presence of the cup in the living room indicated the child was younger, probably below school age. So, it was unlikely the child knew what a policeman was, much less that he could trust them, but Raymond remained hopeful.
After a few moments, a small little hand reached out and pulled the badge closer. The hand was quite small; Holt realized that he was likely dealing with a very little toddler. Before he could ascertain anything further a head of dark brown, curly hair inched out from under the bed. The child–a boy from his clothing–was certainly petite. He had equally dark brown eyes that were reddened from crying, his face puffy, and to Raymond’s displeasure, he had a dark purple bruise over his right eye that went up to his temple in the shape of a hand. The child eyed him cautiously as he fingered the badge in his small hand.
“Hello, my name is Ramond Holt. Is your name Jacob?”
The boy nodded. “Mommy?” he asked, looking at the door with watery eyes.
“I’m sorry, son. She’s not coming back.” Raymond replied, not even sure if the child understood what that meant in this situation.
But it seemed the boy did because a moment later his little face got red and he started crying, tears and snot starting to slip down his face. It wasn’t the typical wailing that Marcus did when he was truly upset, but rather a quiet whimper and occasional choked sobs. Raymond normally didn’t care for children for this precise reason. But something in him shifted and ached today at the sight of the poor little boy who was gripping Raymond’s badge tight in the other hand, while his other one was clenched close to his chest.
“Jacob, may I hold you?” he asked the boy. He waited for a head shake, and when he received none, against every other instinct in his body, Raymond reached out and lifted the boy from under his arms. He brought Jacob up against his broad chest and hip, and in an instant, two little arms latched around his neck, face buried in his shoulder.
Raymond couldn’t explain why he felt the way he did, couldn’t comprehend what was possibly wrong with his heart, that it felt like some sort of fissure had suddenly opened up and threatened to consume him. All he knew was holding the poor whimpering boy to his chest, Raymond ached to fix it. He wanted nothing more than to make everything better for this little child. “Jacob, I’m going to take you outside, but first I need you to close your eyes and keep them shut real tight. Can you do that?”
Raymond felt a small nod against his neck. With one arm under the child to support him, he used the other to gently pet the boy’s hair. “You are safe now,” he assured as he gently carried the child out of the room and away from the crime scene.
His partner, a young woman named Miranda, looked up from where she’d been speaking with a neighbor. “How is he?”
“He has a bruise on the side of his face and over his eye. I was unable to assess any further as he began crying. He is quite upset.”
Miranda nodded. “That’s expected. He probably realizes on some level his mother is gone. The neighbors confirmed that the boy’s father, Roger, isn’t in the picture, and hasn’t been for at least a few months. We’re working on getting ahold of him now, but he’s a pilot so it could take a while. I spoke with child services, but given that we’re two days out from Christmas, they don’t have any openings, and don’t expect any until after the holidays. They’ve asked if one of us can take him for now.”
“I believe I can take him,” Raymond replied, looking down at the small child who had seemingly settled from crying and was now just lying limply in Raymond’s arms, letting out the occasional sniffle.
“I’ll have one of the uniformed officers who’s a parent go pack a bag for you to make sure you have some stuff he can survive with for the next week or so.”
Raymond nodded. “Thank you, Detective.” He hoped that Kevin would not mind the little child, but Kevin was quite fond of Marcus, so it seemed likely that Kevin would be the better at dealing with a child, of the two of them.
“I am going to go get him settled at home, will you have the officer bring me the stuff?”
Miranda nodded. “Of course.”
Raymond arrived home half an hour later, it had taken some coaxing to get Jacob to sit in the passenger seat; the child had wanted to cling to him, so the backseat had been out of the question, he’d immediately started crying again. Thus, despite safety concerns, Raymond allowed the boy to sit on the front seat.
Raymond parked the car before getting out and going to the other side. He lifted Jacob into his arms, and once again the boy clung to him like a baby sloth would to his mother. “We are going to meet my partner, Kevin. I think you will like him; he is very intelligent and engaging.”
Understandably, the toddler didn’t reply, instead leaning his head against Raymond’s shoulder as Raymond made his way to their front door. He opened it with ease, sliding his shoes off and leaving them on the mat by the entry.
“Raymond,” the familiar voice of his partner greeted. He glanced up to his gorgeous partner and offered him a smile. “Who is your charge?” Kevin had a slight smile on his face, perhaps because Raymond was home, or perhaps because he’d come home with a strange child.
The child in questioned had tensed at the sound of Kevin’s voice and was now trembling as Kevin moved into the room cautiously. “Hello, Kevin, this is Jacob. I found him at a crime scene; his mother was killed. He needs a place to stay until we have located family or a sufficient foster home.”
Kevin’s blue eyes widened as he studied the toddler in Raymond’s arms. The little boy had started sucking on his thumb, leaving most of his tiny little fist now wet with saliva. Kevin must’ve noticed the way the boy was trembling in Raymond’s arms.
Raymond watched as Kevin took in the child’s figure: no shoes, ratty clothes, and a rather concerning, sizable bruise on his face. “Well, I’m certain we can find some space for him. Hello, Jacob,” Kevin greeted with a soft, patient voice—a tone he typically reserved for Marcus or their dog.
Jacob didn’t reply right away, rather seeming to size the man up. Until finally, the hand that was attached to the thumb currently in his mouth waved, without ever separating the thumb from his mouth. Kevin smiled softly. “Would you like to perhaps have something to eat? I’m sure we can make something befitting of a little one such as yourself.” Kevin held out his hands to invite the boy into his arms.
Jake seemed to hesitate, his other hand gripping tightly to Detective Holt’s suit lapel; he looked back at the bigger man who’d protected him, comforted him, and held him. “Leave?” he whimpered. Tears once more threatening to fall down his cheeks.
Raymond had to consider the word for a moment before his heart sank. “No, Jacob. I am not leaving. We are both staying with you, or rather you are staying with us, if that is all right.”
Kevin, catching onto the child’s fear, spoke, “Ray can join us in the kitchen, if you’d prefer.” Hedropped his hands. He wasn’t offended by the child’s desire to remain in Ray’s arms. If Kevin had his way, he’d never leave the man’s arms either, but more so, Kevin understood that right now what Jacob needed–more than anything–was to feel safe. If Raymond was doing that for the toddler, then Jacob could stay there as long as he’d like.
As they made their way into the kitchen, a familiar fluffy creature toddled in after them, short little legs working to keep up. Jacob spotted the fluffy dog and giggled; hand finally gone from his mouth. “Doggy!” he squealed, wiggling to try and get down.
Raymond leaned down, placing the child on his feet. The boy quickly plopped down on his rear and reached out. Ray was about to remind the child to be gentle and careful, not that they were worried their Corgi would bite, but dogs were still animals.
But before he had to say anything, Jake’s outstretched hand turned palm up and he waited, as if he’d known the best way to greet a dog was to let them come to you. In this case, Elanore did indeed toddle forward; she was a puppy herself, barely a year old. She sniffed at Jake’s hand before giving his palm a big lick and pressing into the small hand.
Jake let out another giggle of delight as he began to gently caress the dog’s soft head and ears. There was a knock on the front door, which Jake seemed to ignore, so Raymond stepped away to answer it. Miranda was standing there, a bag held over her shoulder and a manilla file folder in her hand. “Looks open and shut. Shithole boyfriend just confessed. I also had CPS send over a copy of the kid’s birth certificate and what information they could pull up on his mother. Here’s his bag, he’s got half a dozen or so change of clothes in there, several toys that look to be his favorite, and I grabbed a blanket from off his crib, a ton of diapers, a sippy cup, and some pacifiers. That should keep him until after the New Year.”
“Thank you, Miranda,” Ray replied, accepting both the bag and folder.
“That’s what partners are for. The captain said you can have a few days off to help the kid acclimate if needed.”
Raymond nodded. “Thank you, and Merry Christmas.”
“You too, Holt.”
He shut the door as she walked away and locked it before he headed back into the kitchen. Jacob was still on the floor, Elanore now lying across his little legs as he stroked her down her back. The only thing that concerned Ray was the far off look in the child’s eyes.
“What’s in the bag?” Kevin asked as he finished making what appeared to be a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. He cut the sandwich up into small bite size pieces.
“Clothing, some toys, diapers, and necessities to get through the holidays with him.”
“Do you know how old he is?” Kevin questioned as he pulled out a glass for some milk, and then poured it into the glass.
“Social services are provided his birth certificate, he’s eighteen months and six days old. I also have some information about the mother. I should have more information this evening. Jacob, can you stand up?” Raymond requested.
The little boy looked up from where he was still seated under the dog. He stopped petting her and gently scooted out from under her, before he got to his feet, albeit a little unsteady given his age. Raymond crouched down in front of the child. “Do you know how to wash your hands?”
Jake nodded, then reached out to wrap his arms once again around Raymond’s neck. Ray lifted the boy into his arms and carried him over to the sink. Kevin brought over a barstool, and Ray stood the boy on the stool, holding him gently with one arm as he turned the sink tap on and squirted some soap into Jake’s hands.
The day went on much like that, they gave Jake some food; he didn’t eat all his sandwich, but managed most of it. They gave him a bath, which turned out to be a bath for all three of them, rather than just Jake, as Jacob liked to splash water everywhere. And got him settled into a little white onesie and little shorts. After dinner, at which they learned Jacob was not a fan of anything green, they settled in the living room. Jake was cuddled up against Raymond’s side in the chair, while Elanore was lying by Kevin on the couch, both men reading quietly.
“Mommy?” Jacob whined, kicking his feet a little. “Mommy?” he called again, whimpering.
“I’m sorry, Jacob, but your mommy is not here. Remember we talked this morning. She is not coming back.”
“Bad Jakey?” he asked, pointing to himself.
Ray looked to Kevin who looked just as unsure of how to reply. “No, Jacob, she was not angry at you, that’s not why she left. She did not want to leave you—she had to.”
Jacob’s eyes had begun to water, and he whimpered, curling further into Raymond’s arms. In turn, Ray pulled him onto his lap and held the child close. He had never been much for physical affection, but he could recall longing for it after the death of his father. “Kevin and I shall be here; it’s all right,” he soothed, gently rubbing the child’s back as he cried.
Small wails turned into soft sobs that eventually turned into little quiet snuffles as the boy cried himself to sleep. All the while Raymond held the child, watching him, longing to make this hurt less for the child. He could remember losing his own father, and how much that had hurt.
“You’re thinking of your father?” Kevin asked softly.
Raymond glanced up, meeting his partner’s crystalline blue eyes. “Many people often joke that I am a robot; it was how I was born, but I loved him. I miss him. It is not hard to imagine how Jacob must be feeling—he isnot fully understanding.”
“You are uniquely suited to his situation, perhaps we are the best choice to care for him for the time being, given your history.”
Raymond nodded. “I believe you are correct. But he’s so much younger. I at least had some basic understanding of death when my father passed.”
“Be that as it may, you will know perhaps best what he is feeling,” offered Kevin.
“I know it’s been a long day, and if you aren’t amicable, please feel free to say so, but—”
Kevin held up his hand. “Despite only having him here for about four hours, I find myself quite fond of the little one myself. I agree, we may never have shown interest in children prior to this point, but I would definitely be amicable to becoming his foster parent until his father can be found.”
Raymond gave Kevin one of his rare large smiles. “I will speak with the social worker tomorrow.”
End