Chapter Text
Imogen Heaney was up to her neck in work, coordinating social workers and trying to make sure that everything was as good as can be. She’d grown a lot from her school days and truly felt she could judge characters well. She picked a good adoption agency to work at and quickly climbed the ladder, learning early on that being the one to drive kids to new homes was heart wrenching. She wanted to see them happy, but they were heartbroken first. She wanted to make sure the agency remained one of the good ones and that they were relied on. They were, which is why she was drowning in papers. Her eyes came across a familiar stapled paper and she frowned. Big bold letters were stamped across it:
DENIED
She flipped through it, for the fifth time since the denied adoptees came across her desk, familiar frozen smiles gazed up at her. There was no ground for denial, but somehow, someone working with her social worker refused and that was that. They had to know details to know who they were sending their baby to. Imogen sighed, staring at the blue eyes. She hadn’t known how much he hurt until it was obvious back then, but now she could tell. She could see the hurt in his eyes at each rejection. The slightly less hope their voices held every time Imogen had called. Neither blamed her, but she still felt guilty for breaking the news to them. For even getting their hopes up again just to have the family back out. It was almost enough to make him relapse, which was what the families were always afraid of. Afraid his husband wouldn’t be able to pick him back up.
“It’s so unfair, Charlie.” Imogen whispered to herself.
Imogen knew Nick well enough to know he absolutely could. That they both could be there for each other. But the families always argued that Imogen knew Nick and Charlie. They didn’t know Nick and Charlie. Which shouldn’t be detrimental to the case and if they were doubtful of Imogen’s judgement, they could have a word with her boss, but they always had some sort of mumbling of it being unnecessary. It was almost enough to infuriate her. Wedding coordinating had been her breaking point. She loved her friends, but her perfectionism went overboard and she snapped at many workers at the wedding before Elle had her go cool off.
“April, are you still here?” Imogen called.
“Yeah.” A chipper, choppy haired brunette entered the office, her hair swishing around her shoulders. “I was finishing up a file, but I could do something small. What do you need?”
“I just wondered, did Miranda say why the Nelson-Springs were denied?”
April thought about it. ”Not in exact words, but she said something about it happening again and that you wouldn’t be pleased. I could text her if you like.”
“No, I will, thank you.”
“Anytime.”
April went back to her desk and Imogen texted Miranda. Miranda told her that the family giving up the baby had been the most avoidant of the topic out of all the families thus far, but that she absolutely got the hint that it was about Charlie’s eating disorder and self harm even though he hadn’t self-harmed in at least a decade and he had his ED managed the best he could. Imogen sighed heavily, feeling a headache coming on, and looked at the time just as April was clocking out. Imogen gave a half-hearted bye and April came to check, but Imogen smiled and said she’d be fine. Imogen dialed the number, trying not to feel guilty.
“Hello?” Nick said.
“I’m this close to quitting my job.” Imogen groaned, massaging her temple.
“That’s one way of saying we’re denied again.” Nick gave a half-hearted fake laugh.
“I’m so sorry, Nick.”
“We had a feeling since it was taking a while.”
“They beat around the bush quite a lot.”
“At least the other families were kind enough to give us less time. Imogen, um…Char, are you sure?” No verbal response came from Charlie, but Nick took a shaky breath. “Imogen, we-we want you to er-to take our names out.” His voice breaking made Imogen’s heart ache.
“What? Are you both absolutely certain?”
“This is the fifth denial and even though I’ve told him not to blame himself, he does and-and-we keep getting our hopes up…there’s only so much I can stay positive too. It’s not your fault and it’s not either of our faults-it’s not, Charlie-we get so far, then we get shot down before we can even meet the families.”
“I understand. It’ll be the first thing I do when I get in tomorrow morning.”
“Thank you.”
“Your foster licenses are still valid for another five months.”
“Can you remove our names from there too? The reason we’ve never had a foster kid might be the same for denying the adoption.”
“Understood. I’ll let you go, then.”
“You’re still coming to Charlie’s birthday party next weekend. No guilt tripping yourself.”
Imogen chuckled lightly. “Alright.”
She always tried not to feel guilty. Final decisions weren’t up to her. Or Miranda, who had met Nick and Charlie, and became their main social worker. Everyone in the office had met Nick and Charlie and they were well liked. Miranda never complained, she’d had enough successes to not have it negatively effect her career, and she still made sure those babies went to loving homes. Imogen felt that as the manager of several social workers, she was responsible for the successes and failures of her employees. That and being bearer of bad news time after time was taking a toll on her, but she didn’t want it to be Miranda or anyone else. It would feel like shoving the responsibility onto someone else and Nick and Charlie were Imogen’s friends. They deserved to hear from the most invested person in the agency, and Imogen had often gushed about how cute it would be to have a kid grow up with the puppy like Nick had most of his childhood with Nellie. It was much too late, in her opinion, for her to back up emotionally.
And maybe a small part of it was residual guilt from her teenage years. For being so clueless about a community she wasn’t sure she was a part of other than being an ally. For being obsessed with Nick. Then Ben. Then a public breakup in which she could’ve inadvertently outed Ben. Not even he would have deserved that. For drunkenly kissing Sahar and not committing to a relationship, leading her to feel pushed around. Even though they’d long since moved on from that and started an actual relationship, Imogen felt she could never really make up for anything if she tried. She didn’t even want to put music on while she drove home.
Imogen smelled dinner and groaned. “I’m so sorry, I was supposed to leave earlier-”
“Imogen, Nick texted me. It’s understandable, but you do owe me.”
“So much more than I can even pay-“
“Imogen.”
Imogen sighed. “I know, I should consider therapy, it’s just-I feel like there are so many more people who need it more than I do and I don’t want to take up a slot of time that could be someone else’s.”
“I was going to say food’s on the table and going to get cold, but therapy should also be on the table.” Sahar said, kissing her. “Relax until morning, promise?”
“I’ll try.”
“I’ll take that.”
They ate dinner and Imogen tried to relax and accept the words of her friends and girlfriend that she shouldn’t feel so guilty. Her dreams that night hammered in the guilt she felt, she’d see Charlie and Nick cry, knowing that they did even though they told her they weren’t anymore. They were trying to spare her guilt, but it only made her feel worse.
Her phone rang before her morning alarm, the sun’s early rays peeking in. She yawned and glanced at the caller ID before answering it, trying not to sound too tired.
“Hello, Miss Heaney, my name is Sharon Fallon, I was told ages ago that this was one of the numbers to reach you if I needed.”
“Goodness, Sharon, it’s early.”
“Terribly sorry, but I have two case emergencies and I need to prioritize one.” Sharon said, sounding hurried. “I had to drop a girl off at the station because my other case OD’d.”
“Oh-oh dear…can you tell me about her?” Imogen put the phone on speaker while getting ready. This woke Sahar, but she pretended not to be disturbed.
“Her name’s Izzy, she’s around the age of twelve and I’ve been her social worker for six months. She’s been in the system for nine years. That’s-tent-know-I-” The call was dropped.
Imogen brushed her teeth and texted April asking her to buy a breakfast sandwich for her, stating she had to pick up a child. Sahar had Imogen’s bag ready.
“Thank you.” Imogen said, kissing her cheek. “April’s picking me up breakfast and I’ll treat her to lunch.”
“Good. Love you, hope everything goes well.”
“Good lord, I hope so.”
Imogen headed to the police station. She saw the twelve year old dressed in ratty clothes, feet on the chair, legs drawn to her chest, arms hugging them. A backpack was shoved under the chair and a file lay on the table next to her. Her brown hair was choppily cut chin length and looked greasy. Her green eyes looked around warily before locking onto Imogen who had begun to approach her.
“Hello.” Imogen said with a smile. “Are you Izzy?”
“Yes.” The girl’s voice was soft.
“My name is Imogen Heaney, I work for Belding adoption agency.” Imogen showed her the work badge. “Sharon was very busy, so she called me-”
“I know he overdosed, she told me he was in the hospital getting his stomach pumped and he may be suicidal.” Izzy said. She handed the file over.
“Oh.” Imogen tried not to sound put off. She took the file, but didn’t open it. “I’m here to bring you to a temporary foster home until she can find you a placement. You’ll come by my office first and we’ll see if we can find you somewhere to be for a day or two, how does that sound?”
“Not like I’ve got a choice.” Izzy got up from the chair, grabbed her bag from under it and swung it on. They got in the car and Imogen started driving to the agency.
“Could you tell me about yourself?”
“You’ll read the file.”
“Well, the file’s what other people say about you. What do you say about you?”
“Nothing that matters.”
“I certainly think your opinion matters.”
There was a pause before Izzy spoke, slowly and carefully. “Could I ask something of you?”
“Provided it’s within reason, go ahead.”
“Please stop acting nice, we’re not around anyone.”
Imogen was confused. “I’m-I’m not acting.”
“You’ve got no one to impress, so you can drop the bullshit.”
“I’m not having you on, Izzy.” Imogen said. “I’d rather we not use crude language, but I’m not going to punish you for it.”
“No, that’s the parents’ job.” Izzy muttered, crossing her arms and looking out the window.
“Do you mean other than telling you off?”
Izzy didn’t answer, so Imogen just stayed quiet the rest of the way.
Izzy was perturbed by smiles as she entered and she hissed at them, but they didn’t seem taken aback as much as she thought they would. She sat in the chair on the other side of Imogen’s desk and put her feet up. Imogen stated nonchalantly that she’d prefer feet down, not saying or doing anything when Izzy kept them there. She looked through the file.
“May I ask where full medical reports are for all these hospital visits?”
“I don’t keep my file, I was just to give it to you.”
“Right. Sorry. Seven homes in nine years, is that correct?”
“Eight including my original one.”
“You’ve got a bit of sass.” Imogen said with a smile. Izzy looked incredulously at her. “What?”
“Why the hell do you not find that offensive? Or the fact that I’ve had my dirty arse shoes on your desk when you clearly asked me to put them down-no wait, why the hell do you apologize to a piece of shit like me?”
“Who…called you that?” Imogen asked, heart breaking for the girl in front of her.
Izzy put her feet down and looked into her lap. “I get bullied at each school and it’s among the things they call me.”
It sounded rehearsed, but Imogen didn’t want to say so for fear of sounding accusatory. “I’m so sorry, you don’t deserve to be bullied.”
“You don’t know that.”
“No one deserves to be bullied. Especially kids.” Imogen said. Izzy had no response. “Well, reading the file gave me knowledge of where you’ve been and where you came from, but it doesn’t really tell me about you. Any hobbies?”
“Hobbies?”
“Hobbies are things you enjoy like writing, art, sport-”
“I know what they are…why are you asking me that?”
“I want to know about you. Likes, dislikes, things the file doesn’t tell me.”
“I hate dolls.”
“Not everyone likes to go by gender norms, that’s perfectly fine not to like dolls.”
“No, I mean-they creep me out. Especially the older china dolls or porcelain or whatever they’re made of. I don’t like when they talk either.”
“Have you had bad experiences with horror shows or movies with creepy dolls?”
Izzy nodded. “I know it’s dumb and they’re not going to come to life and murder me, but when I was six, I was placed in a home with these older boys who forced me to watch those kinds of things and would scare me with them by moving them around and talking in high pitched voices. The parents didn’t give a sh-they didn’t care.”
“That was horrible of them and the parents should’ve put a stop to it the first incident and assured you. I understand where the fear comes from, it’s completely rational. Even if it was irrational, it’s not stupid. Was that the first time things went bad in a home?”
“No, but it did start something…bad.”
“Your file does mention bedwetting often.” Izzy pulled her sweater up to her eyes. “Sweetheart, is nothing to be ashamed of. It’s something that can be worked on with a professional and perhaps a therapist to work through the fear.”
“It only happens when I have doll nightmares and I-I don’t know where I’ll be that foster parents would care to get me help.”
“My agency prides itself on finding best placements for children. We’ll get you a temporary home first while Sharon sorts everything out so she doesn’t have to worry too much about you. Do you trust Sharon?”
“She’s one of very few people I do trust. The last house was fine until they got fed up with the bedwetting.”
“Hello.” April said, entering. Izzy stiffened, but relaxed as April brought an egg sandwich and a chocolate chip muffin along with coffee and apple juice. She put the juice and muffin in front of Izzy. “I thought that maybe you might be a bit hungry, is chocolate chip okay?”
Izzy gave a start when she realized April had spoken to her and not Imogen.
“I…guess?” Izzy said.
“Imogen told me that she was picking a child up. I wasn’t sure how old you were, but most kids like chocolate chip. In hindsight, I probably should’ve asked in case there were dietary or allergy concerns.”
“I don’t hate it.” Izzy said. She haltingly reached for it, obviously expecting it to be snatched away. She held it close.
“No one’s taking it. It’s for you.” Imogen said softly. “What kind of muffin do you prefer?”
“Blueberry.”
“I could get you one if you want.” April said.
“I’m fine with this. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
Imogen ate between calls to foster homes. Izzy practically inhaled her muffin, both hungry and worried that it would be taken.
“Don’t drink your juice that fast.” Imogen said. “You’ll get sick.”
Izzy slowly sipped it, keeping the bottle close to her chest when closed. Imogen sighed, looking at the list of names. She had one more choice. She hadn’t taken their names off yet. But…would they be up to it?