I loved your "baby jane doe is farm widow's baby" theory, would you consider making a fanfic with that concept?
Dennis doesn't see her until gone six. She's not his patient, so why would he? He's heard enough about her all day - so much that it’s become a joke - Dana's voice crowing out over Central for updates on their baby Jane Doe. (He knows he should by now get over the association with that name - too many NCIS reruns as a kid has led him to associate it with bodies dragged out of rivers.) Besides, Dennis is pretty done with babies. He's over babies, at the minute. Not that he wasn't being truthful when he said he was a diaper genie - he assuredly is - he's just cleaned up enough of Hannah's spitup over the last eight months to take his leave of it at work.
But the shit has hit the fan with the ICE agents, Jesse's been taken away in cuffs, Robby looks like he's about to have a coronary and the baby is now crying, garnishing the afternoon with the proverbial cherry.
He can't see anyone free, and Jesse was her nurse, and his face is hot and panicked and he thinks he could do with a little soothing of his own, so he nudges open the door of Paedes to the wailing. Which seems - now that he hears it properly - oddly familiar.
It's a weird moment of recognition, like seeing your teacher at the grocery store. He sees her there, in the blue hat he's bundled into the laundry countless times, her face scrunched up in a red ball, pink gums and fingers being thrown against the standard issue crib. There's no denying it. She's not still young enough for it to be a mistake. It's Hannah.
It's enough to make him stop in his tracks, for just a split second. He looks at her, at the paper chart clipped to the countertop. He thinks about the last time he saw Amy, pulling out of the long, rough drive as she waved goodbye on the porch, Hannah tucked up in bed. The thoughts hit his mind like slow, tactile things, and his body moves totally on its own, stepping forward to take her up in his arms.
“Oh,” he's saying, making the low, crooning noise that comes out of him when she cries like this, “Oh, okay, okay, it's okay.”
And it takes all of ten seconds before he's crying, too. The tears bubble out of him, and the calmer she gets, the less he can control it, the warm, small weight of her against his chest.
Not even a minute later and it's Trinity that finds him: harried, eyes wide, telling him something about Emma, and some fucking drunk abusive asshole and strangled, before she clocks him, Hannah pressed up against his shoulder.
“What is this?” she asks, “Is she yours?”
It's a half-joke, only half because he's crying, he guesses, spoken with a clipped tone that he knows means he's supposed to pull his shit together, put the baby down and get on with it. He doesn't. He can't. He shakes his head.
“She's Amy's.”
Trinity's face falls.
“What?”
“I hadn't seen her, I hadn't had any reason to– I don't know anything about– but it's Hannah, Amy's– her daughter. Her name is Hannah.” He's clinging onto her like he can't let go, “They found her in the bathroom?”
He doesn’t know how to compute it, and Trinity must see this, hear the way his voice breaks, because she steps forward, an aborted movement, and then back.
“Stay there,” she says, “I'm going to find Dylan.”
hi luvlies ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡ merry christmas and happy holiyays! 🎄🎁 wishing everyone a wonderful christmas ☃︎ unfortunately,,, i don't think i'll be able to post anything 'proper' and fic-wise because i'll be a little busy with my family + completing angel tree reqs for you guys! ૮꒰◞ ˕ ◟ ྀི꒱ა i'll try to post something before 2025 ends to wrap it up!
i love you guys soooo much and let's end this year full of love and contentment! ( ꈍ◡ꈍ) looking forward for 2026 with you guys eeekk
“Maybe neither of us deserves the other, and that’s why we belong so well together,” she murmured against my lips. “I want us to be selfish and keep choosing each other forever. Would you do that for me?”
“Eilish,” I whimpered. “I wouldn’t be anywhere else… Everyone is gone, trying to find a way through the rot I caused, and I am here, kissing you, expecting the world to stop just so I could kiss you for one more damned minute.”
“Please keep swearing,” she said, then kissed me.
“This obsession you have with me swearing can’t be healthy,” I said when her lips parted from mine.
“Why care about health when I date Death herself?”
Excerpt from my upcoming novel THE HOLLOWS, coming out this November
