The elevator doors slid open with a familiar ding as Y/N Zidan stepped out onto the floor of the FBI New York office, her steps confident and brisk. It was barely 7:15 in the morning, and most of the city was still stirring awake, but inside these walls, the machine was already running. She clutched a file folder in one hand—yesterday’s case summary, neatly printed and signed—and her travel mug in the other, steam rising from the dark roast she desperately needed to survive the next twelve hours.
Dressed in slim black trousers and a camel-toned coat that still smelled faintly of OA’s cologne from where it had brushed against his earlier, Y/N’s look was a balance of business-formal and “mom-on-a-mission.” She didn’t plan to be here long. Just long enough to hand off the file to Isobel and print the necessary attachments. Then it was off to chaperone Talia and Harlow’s first-grade field trip to the New York Historical Museum.
Her twin daughters had been buzzing about it all week—especially Harlow, who’d told everyone in their household (including the dog) that she was going to “see real colonial shoes” and “eat a sandwich like George Washington.” Y/N smiled to herself at the thought.
She turned the corner into the bullpen, where the usual early birds were already around. Tiffany was poring over some digital forensics with a very large cup of coffee, while Scola looked like he was mid-rant about parking tickets to anyone who’d listen.
“Zidan!” Maggie Bell called from across the room. She stood, her coat half-off her shoulders, and crossed the floor with a grin. “What are you doing here? Thought you were playing hooky today.”
Y/N returned the smile and held up her folder like a trophy. “Just dropping off paperwork for Isobel and printing a few things. School trip starts at eight-thirty. I’m still on the clock for ‘Mom Duty.’”
“Right—the big museum day.” Maggie leaned on the edge of her desk. “Please, I need pictures. You know I live for updates on my goddaughters.”
“I’ll flood your phone with them,” Y/N promised with a laugh. “You’ll be sick of them by lunchtime.”
“Impossible.”
Just then, footsteps approached, and OA appeared from the direction of the elevator, hair still damp from the shower and shirt sleeves rolled to the elbows. He had the distinct look of a man who had tried to leave early and been waylaid by something critical—his tie hung loosely around his neck.
“Hey,” he said, smile softening the edge of his focused gaze when he saw her. “I thought you’d be at the school already.”
“I wanted to make sure the case was buttoned up,” Y/N said, handing over the rest of the folder to Isobel who had just joined them. “And someone has to keep the system running while the rest of you run off chasing bad guys.”
OA leaned down and kissed her quickly—chaste but warm. “You’re amazing. Have fun with the girls.”
“You know I will. Just don’t get tackled or shot while I’m gone.”
“I could say the same to you,” he teased, stepping back just as Isobel raised her voice.
“Team, let’s go—conference room, now,” Isobel called. She was already walking fast, the others grabbing tablets and folders in response.
Y/N glanced at the wave of motion like a tide rising behind her, then gave Maggie a wink. “And that’s my cue to leave.”
“Send me those pictures!”
“You’ll get a whole album,” she promised, waving goodbye to the team as they moved into their briefing.
---
The school courtyard was buzzing with six-year-olds and coffee-wielding parents when Y/N arrived, switching gears from “Agent” to “Mom” without missing a beat. She spotted Talia and Harlow immediately—Talia in a navy-blue peacoat and matching headband, Harlow in her trademark rainbow beanie and pink boots, a stark contrast of order and chaos that defined them perfectly.
“Mommy!” they cried in unison, bolting toward her. Y/N crouched down just in time to catch them both in her arms.
“Hey, my sweet girls,” she said, kissing each of their cheeks. “Are you ready to learn all about history and revolution and maybe meet a statue of Ben Franklin?”
“Only if he has the kite!” Harlow declared.
“I want to see the old-fashioned classroom!” Talia added.
Their teacher, Miss Reyes, smiled warmly as Y/N joined the parent volunteers. “Glad to have you with us today, Mrs. Zidan. The girls have been so excited.”
“Thanks for letting me come. I wouldn’t miss it.”
The bus ride was a whirlwind of snack-sharing, knock-knock jokes, and a surprisingly intense game of “I Spy.” Y/N sat with the girls, pointing out landmarks and helping explain the difference between colonial homes and “olden castles.”
By midmorning, they were inside the museum, walking through exhibits of Revolutionary War uniforms, artifacts, and models of early New York life. The twins held onto her hands tightly, wide-eyed and full of questions. Y/N took photos throughout, even getting a perfect candid of Talia peering into a replica hearth and Harlow dramatically posing with a tri-corner hat.
She sent a few to Maggie, who replied instantly:
Maggie: LOOK AT MY BABIES. That hat!! Why does Harlow look like she’s about to lead a rebellion?!
Y/N: Because she probably is.
The group finished the final stretch of the tour—crossing a grand marble hallway with columns and a huge exit foyer where the buses waited outside in the sun. The kids were energized, talking about muskets and old coins.
And that’s when Talia froze.
“Mommy… is that Daddy?”
Y/N’s head snapped up.
Outside the tall glass doors, two figures in dark suits were sprinting across the plaza, weaving between pedestrians. One of them was OA—her husband—his badge out, gun holstered, eyes locked on two suspects making a break for it.
Next to him? Maggie, determined as ever.
“Oh no,” Y/N whispered, eyes narrowing.
One suspect veered toward a side alley. OA followed without hesitation and tackled him hard to the ground, knee to his back, cuffs already in hand.
The second suspect bolted toward the museum steps.
Y/N’s protective instincts kicked in. “Miss Reyes, get the kids on the bus. Now.”
The teacher didn’t ask questions. Y/N was already moving.
She sprinted across the marble floor and out into the courtyard, intercepting the second suspect as he reached the sidewalk. Timing it just right, she shifted her weight, stuck her foot out, and caught him mid-stride.
He stumbled—hard—crashing to the pavement. Before he could recover, she was on him, knee pressing down, one hand on her spare cuffs clipped inside her purse.
“Federal agent,” she said calmly. “Stay down.”
Behind her, the tour bus erupted into cheers.
When OA came jogging up, dragging his suspect with him, he burst out laughing at the sight of his wife expertly cuffing the guy in front of a group of cheering first graders.
Maggie leaned over, catching her breath. “Okay, remind me never to underestimate you in ballet flats.”
“Noted,” Y/N said dryly.
They both looked toward the bus. Talia and Harlow were standing in the window, saluting with both hands, beaming.
Maggie nearly doubled over laughing. “You two have the coolest kids.”
“I’ll take that as a win.”
---
The suspects were booked within the hour. Y/N filed a witness statement while Maggie handled the rest. OA offered her a ride, but she waved him off.
“I’ve still got sandwiches to eat and juice boxes to open,” she said, kissing him on the cheek. “We’ll meet you later.”
By the time the girls were home from school, OA pulled into the driveway with a soft smile and two bags of cookies from the café down the street. The twins ran into his arms, talking over each other.
“Daddy, we saw you run so fast!”
“You tackled a real bad guy!”
“And Mommy kicked one!”
They all laughed as they went inside, collapsing onto the couch in a tangle of limbs and warmth.
Over dinner, the girls retold the museum adventure five times, dramatically acting out the takedown. OA and Y/N exchanged loving, amused glances. Their lives were never normal, but they were perfect in their chaos.
Later, after bath time, the family curled up in the twins’ bedroom for storytime. OA read from a picture book while Y/N braided Talia’s hair.
“And then the agent said, ‘Not today, criminal!’ and kicked him right in the shin—”
“That’s what Mommy did!” Harlow squealed.
Eventually, the girls drifted off to sleep, their hands still tucked in their parents’. OA carried Harlow to her bed while Y/N kissed Talia’s forehead, brushing a curl from her eyes.
They met in the hallway outside, quiet finally descending.
“She’s right, you know,” OA whispered, arms slipping around Y/N’s waist. “You did look kind of cool out there.”
“I don’t need to impress a bunch of six-year-olds,” she teased, kissing his jaw. “Just you.”
“Well,” he said, leaning in, “consider me impressed.”
They smiled, wrapped in the comfort of the night, hearts full.
Together, they walked into their bedroom, knowing tomorrow would bring more cases, more chaos—but for tonight, they had peace.
And maybe, just maybe, their daughters would dream of saving the world—just like their parents.
