"So, Hero," my chef, James Hanson says, his tone serious yet friendly. His hands are folded in front of him and resting on his desk, and even though we're in the office, I feel as if I'm interrogated. It doesn't sit right with me. "How are you doing?"

I know we're not here because he wants to small talk; he could've done that in the cafeteria down the hall. He asked me to come here because he wants to talk about what transpired eight days ago, and to be honest, I don't want to tell him everything because I fear he'll catch on that his motives for this conversation are as accurate as it can be.

"I'm good, chef. I'm still very much liking my work, and I feel as if I'm at the right place. Working with Dwight and Nancy goes smooth, too."

He nods his head, actively listening to what I say. His expression stays serious, and I know what's coming next without thinking twice.

"That's good to hear," he starts, his hands unfolding and sliding a document from the corner so that it's laying in front of him. "I've read about Case 736."

I fight the urge to roll my eyes as I hear his reverence. Case 736. As if Josephine and Daisy are nothing more than numbers. I fucking hate it.

"What about it, chef?" I try to keep my tone and expression neutral. I don't want him to see what kind of battles are going on inside my head while thinking about this case.

"Must've been a shock for Dwight and you; walking into an apartment while expecting a cat, but then finding a woman in labor on the floor." He raises his left eyebrow while he looks at me expectantly, waiting for my reaction.

But again, I don't let any other facial expression take over. "We had to switch fast," I agree while nodding my head. "But once I got into proper contact with the woman, everything went on autopilot."

Hanson nods while his eyes light just slightly. "And you two acted according to protocol and saved the woman and her child, which I'm very proud of."

I nod my head in thanks. "We were determined to get them out of there healthy and safe."

Compliments of Hanson are rare, and therefore I would take them over a bonus any day. Well, maybe not any day, but today I would.

"And it has come to my attention that you take that very seriously, even now still," he counters, cutting to the reason for this conversation smoothly.

I cross my arms in defense, even though I can't read his expression and therefore do not know if I must defend in the first place. "Meaning?"

A barely-there chuckle leaves his throat, which he hides by a made-up cough. "We're in close contact with the hospital for purpose of the case, and they've told us that you've been visiting them every day."

"I don't see the problem with that," I counter immediately, taking Hanson by surprise. "What I do in my free time is my business, not anyone else's. Thereby I'm doing my job, very good at that, and I'm-"

"You don't have to defend yourself," Hanson interrupts me, his hands now mid-air and up to me to stop me from talking. "We're not here because I question anything you do."

"Then why are we here?" I ask him, sounding harder than intended. When Hanson asked me if I had a minute to spare, I wasn't jumping to say yes. I've had a tough day-shift, and right now all I want to do is go home to take a shower and then visit Josephine and Daisy for a bit, just like I promised her.

The past eight days have been a whirlwind of emotions, half of them I'd never felt before. I feel emotionally drained, yet at the same time, I crave more of it because I've never felt more alive than I do now.

For example; I've never felt anger the way I've felt it when Patty took Daisy away from Josephine. I consider myself a very reasonable and patient guy, but when I found out Daisy wasn't where she should've been, with Josephine, I felt steam coming from my ears.

Thankfully, Patty got Daisy right after our conversation ended, and when Josephine woke up from her forced sleep, Daisy and I were in the room. It helped her calm down somewhat, but when I placed Daisy in her arms, she shut down once again completely.

I only got short answers from her, and it made me feel like shit because it was as if she was hating me for what'd happened too.

I left that day thinking that it was truly the last time I'd seen both of them. I was sure that, since she was now shutting me out as well, she wouldn't even notice I wouldn't come anymore.

But two torturously long days later, Mercy called me once again. Josephine had asked for me and I swear I felt almost euphoric that she had.

From that day on, I've been visiting when I can. Josephine slowly started talking to me again, and although she hasn't once talked about what happened to her or who she is, I do feel like I know her.

I know that she loves to listen to music of the Rolling Stones and Queen, but that she hates classical music. Her motives for both of them I've yet to find out because I'm hesitant about asking her questions that might instigate memories or events that are the reason for her trauma. So mostly, I just listen to her. I soak up everything she tells me, letting her decide whatever it is that she needs to get off her chest.

I know she is originally from Australia because she'd let that slip on the fifth day. I don't think she noticed that she did, and again I didn't ask for more information on that matter. She talked about how she used to love nature when she was little, even calling herself a treehugger.

I know that she didn't know she was pregnant until she felt Daisy move for the first time. At first, she thought she has a stomach bug, but when the movements became consistent and stronger, she knew that something was up.

That was seventeen weeks and four days before I found her on the floor. She knows it precisely because she kept track. How she did that, she didn't tell me.

I know that she was in labor for quite a while before Dwight and I kicked in the door. She guesses it was about ten hours, but she still isn't sure about that. It started with her water that broke, and after that, contractions followed suit.

And I know that she loves Daisy. She loves Daisy so much, she would give up her life for that little girl without a doubt. She loves talking about her, she loves cuddling with her, and she loves feeding her. She even loves the broken nights that she has now that the breastfeeding is going according to plan.

The broken girl that I found on the cold, hard wooden floor eight days ago, not only has a face now. She has a personality and a character. And she has crawled her way into my life without knowing it.

I've tried talking to her about how she needs to let people in. I've explained that if she panics and she does hurt Daisy unintentionally, she will lose her. And I think she listened to me because she is trying.

Patty is still very much a no-go, which is something I support and understand. But thankfully, there are now four nurses, including Mercy, and one doctor who Josephine seems to accept, on proper distance.

Mercy and I are pretty much the only two who she trusts with Daisy still, and therefore she only showers when one of us is there so we can hold her. I realize that it isn't exactly a healthy thing, but I'll be lying if I said it doesn't make me proud as fuck.

The truth is, I feel so protective over that little girl, I don't want anyone else to hold her.

"We are here because of the investigation regarding case 736 is hitting a brick wall. The suspect that we are looking for is nowhere to be found, and on top of that, the victim doesn't want to talk to any of our officers." Hanson cuts off my thoughts, and when I look at him, I instantly know why he felt the need to talk to me one on one.

I shake my head and lay my hands on the table, bracing myself. "Chef, I've chosen street very carefully and with good motives. I'm not cut for the shit investigation does."

"From what I've heard, you're the only one she's openly talking to," he says, ignoring my statement and tone. "If we want to find the suspect and get him behind bars, we need more information about him. Information that the victim might be able to give us."

I shake my head once again. I will not, under any circumstances, ask her about what happened in that apartment. If she chooses to tell me, I will listen, but only if she is telling me because she wants to. I'm not risking her shutting down on me because my chef wants answers.

"I'm not going to interrogate her. I'm not cut out for it, that's why I chose street," I repeat, standing my ground.

It's not a lie; interrogation is something I hate to do, and I tend to avoid it as much as possible even though I sometimes have to. It feels unnatural to force people to answer.

Of course, regarding this particular situation, that's not the only reason why I don't want to do it.

For the past eight days, I've been struggling with the backlash, emotions, and feelings immensely. And where in the beginning I tried to convince myself that it would fade eventually, I now realize that it won't.

The truth is, I don't want to be professionally involved in Josephine and Daisy's case. I need to be involved on a personal level.

And frankly, I know that if I ever see the bastard that did this to Josephine, I won't be able to hold back and deliver him at the police station. I will kill him.

"Hero, I wouldn't ask you if I didn't think you can handle it. Your statement about not being good at interrogation just isn't correct. And I-"

"I'm not doing it, Hanson, end of story," I cut him off. He is not only wasting his own time here.

Hanson looks at me intently and eventually lets his shoulders hang in defeat while a heavy sigh falls from his lips. He knows I won't budge on this one. "Will you at least talk to her and explain what I've just told you? Tell her we're doing everything we can to find him, and beg her to talk to us."

I don't give him any confirmation regarding that. It's not that I won't do it, it's just that I want to test the waters first. "What have you found out?" I change the subject.

I haven't heard much regarding the investigation, which is common. Normally when I have a case that isn't closed in my shift, we transmit it to the unit where it belongs. I sometimes still am a little involved when it comes to describing situations and stuff, but overall, we don't hear about the progress.

Since Josephine's case is now at the highest crime unit due to earnest of the situation, I'm only needed to testify on how we found her and how we gave the first care, if there ever will be a trial. All I know about the investigation is what Dwight told me hours after we'd found her.

"We know that Blitsford left the UK for Australia in July 2001. He was granted a visa for six months which he didn't extend. We know that his father, who lived in Australia but was born in the UK, died in November 2001. We're assuming that might have something to do with why he left the UK. His mother died when he was in his twenties, and he doesn't have siblings or other relatives that we know about. He is born and raised in Bristol and moved to London when he was twenty-three. He worked in ICT, at a company that sold computer software. The company went bankrupt in March 2001, which lost him his job."

"And what about more news on who Josephine is?" I ask, my hands clenched into fists and my anger rising as I hear more information about the person that is responsible for Josephine's trauma.

It's one of the emotions that I've never felt before as well; rage. I've never in my life came across anyone that could make me as furious as this man can, yet I don't even know who he is. I have no idea what he looks like, yet I hate him with every fiber in my body.

Now that I hear this information, it's clear to me that Josephine was taken by him in 2001, when he was in Australia. It has to be, since she told me that she's from there. I don't tell Hanson this though.

"There are countless unsolved cases of missing children in Australia, and our colleagues over there are working on narrowing them down, based on the victim's approximate age and appearance. They are now specifically looking at the cases from 2001 to 2003 since we know for sure that the suspect was there at least six months during that timeframe," Hanson concludes. I notice how he is telling me all this without once looking into the file that's laying on the table in front of him. The red binder with 736 written across it in big, black letters is still closed, and he hasn't touched it at all.

As I process everything that Hanson told me, I see him shift once again, leaning a bit more to me. "If you have any more information, I'd very much appreciate it if you let us know. We need all the help and information we can get."

I nod my head. "I understand. At this point though, I don't know anymore that can contribute to the investigation," I answer him.

I also silently promise myself that if Josephine ever decides to tell me anything regarding what happened to her or who she is, I'll only pass it through to the team if she agrees.

Hanson nods his head. "Then that's all I got. How is the woman and her baby doing?"

He eyes me curiously, and I can't fight the small smile as I think about the two of them. "They are okay. As far as they can be in this situation at least. Daisy, the baby, is a strong little girl. She's doing good even though her weight is still not up to term. Josephine's mostly recovered from delivery. The instances are busy searching for a proper place where they can stay since they are allowed to leave the hospital soon."

"Any luck with that?" Hanson asks.

"Not really." I shake my head. "They don't find it responsible to give them a place of their own considering Josephine's trauma and an incident that occurred a few days ago, and all the instances that are offering relevant care don't have a place for them."

I roll my eyes at what I'm saying. I just can't hide the disgust that I feel when I think about their argument of not letting them go on their own. I know Josephine would never hurt Daisy, but hey, who the hell asks me?! No one.

Instead, they listen to fucking Patty, since she is still the case manager of the hospital care of both Josephine and Daisy. And her report about them, along with a report of a psychiatrist that saw Josephine, concludes that they find it irresponsible to let her live on her own.

The psychiatrist came to that conclusion because Josephine wouldn't say a single word to her, no matter what she asked. Because reports like these are leading and valuable for the instances that the case has been assigned to, Josephine and Daisy basically have nowhere to go.

And to add to the disaster, they are now looking at shelter outside of London too. I'm not sure what Josephine thinks about that, but I do know how I feel about that. I fucking hate the idea, and I'm determined to stop it. I don't know how I'll do that though.

I'm not even supposed to know all this. Mercy knows it because she has access to Josephine's file, and she passes all the information through to me. Mercy and I are both aware of how illegal that is, but we both also know that Josephine and Daisy need our help.

I've seen what happens with people in similar situations. They disappear into the system and hardly ever get the help they need. It's because there aren't enough educated people to help them and because there aren't facilities to accommodate them. They eventually get lost and don't get help at all.

I won't let that happen to Josephine and Daisy. Never.

"Too many people that need help." Hanson shakes his head and clicks his tongue, obviously also informed about the mess in the mental health sector.

I nod my head in agreement but don't say another word. Since there isn't much to say about the matter, I hope that we're done with this conversation now so I can go.

"Well Hero, if you change your mind, I happily hear from you." Hanson stands and offers me his hand which I take after I've stood up as well. "Keep up the good work."

"Will do, chef."

After I've parked my bike, I almost run into the hospital. The now-familiar route to the unit were Josephine and Daisy are staying seems to get longer with each passing day, and it's only very concerning proof about my involvement once again.

I pass the Christmas trees and lights that are placed strategically in hopes they will make the depressing vibe of the hospital a little less pronounced. I've mesmerized them by now; I pass fourteen of them before I arrive at Josephine's room.

It's three days until Christmas, and where I normally don't feel the need to count down the days, this year is different. I find myself counting the days, hoping that they go by as fast as possible.

It's all because I hope that Josephine and Daisy will still be here, in this hospital, by that time so I can visit them. I don't have a fucking clue how Josephine has spend her last Christmases, but I can imagine that they weren't pleasant.

I want to make sure she isn't alone this year, even if I can only be there for just an hour before I have to go to my mum's house. Nobody should be alone during Christmas, especially not someone like Josephine.

When I enter the maternity unit, I look at the information desk and the office behind it to see if I spot Mercy. I know she has a day-shift today, and according to the time, she must be here for another thirty minutes still.

When I don't spot her right away, I make my way to Josephine's room. Mercy knows I was planning on stopping by, so I think she'll come say hi before she leaves.

When I reach the door that leads to the room that I recognize inside out with closed eyes by now, I knock two times and wait for Josephine to permit me. When her soft voice tells me to come in, I open the door.

The first thing I notice is how her eyes are puffy and red, and immediately all alarm bells are going off. Every single time I came here in the past seven days, outside of the first time when she was asleep due to the sedative they'd given her, she looked better than the day before.

Her color had returned to her face, and her eyes didn't look as pronounced. I'd even go as far as to say that she's gained a little weight over the past four days, although that might be because I want to see that.

But, she did look better, every single time. It's why I now know that something is wrong instantly. The contrast is just too big.

Mercy is sitting next to her on the bed. She is holding Josephine's hand, her thumb moving over the top of her hand soothingly. Daisy is sleeping in the see-through cot that is standing next to them, oblivious to the tears that are rolling down her mother's cheeks.

"What's wrong?" I demand while walking to the side of the bed where Mercy isn't sitting. I skip formalities completely, not greeting them properly.

This is exactly the reaction that I've only experienced when Josephine is concerned. From the day I barged into that apartment, I'm ready to kill if I see just one tear leave her eyes.

Josephine looks at Mercy hopefully, silently asking her to do the talking as a sob leaves her throat. Mercy catches on without asking and turns to me. Her eyes look at me, a sad expression on her face. She lets out a heavy sigh before she starts explaining.

"They've found a place for Josephine and Daisy."