So I've finally finished something longer than a oneshot! This fic is eight parts, and I'll post one every day. And I promise I'll try to write something happy soon! (Perhaps after I finish the Halloween-themed fic I have in mind… XDD)
The bell has been ringing all afternoon.
Apparently, kids in this part of town think that ringing the doorbell on the fire station and running makes an extremely funny Halloween prank, and the Fireman has been up and down most of the evening answering the door on the off-chance that one of the callers is genuine.
Now, however, it's approaching midnight, and he's beginning to wish that he didn't have an obligation to respond to every peal of the bell. He's tired, and every time he opens the door more cold air rushes into the already chilly building, and—
The bell rings again.
Sighing, he gets to his feet and shuffles over to the door. He really is getting too old for this. Why can't teenagers just do something responsible with their time, like handing out candy to trick-or-treaters, or working at the Haunted Forest in the park? Does playing petty pranks on a weary public servant really afford them that much entertainment?
He opens the door, and the frigid wind immediately slaps him in the face. It's a proper Halloween night out - dark, gusty, and wild, the moon yellow and waxing towards full; the kind of weather which makes October thirty-first feel like more than just a date on a calendar, makes it feel like a night on which ghosts really might roam through the chilly autumn air. Nobody should be out on a night like this.
Of course, as expected, nobody is - and he is just about to close the door when he looks down and sees the bundle of blankets on the doorstep. It's small and silent, but it's moving faintly and regularly (breathing) as the wind dances with the edges of the thin white cloth and sends leaves scurrying past it.
Kneeling down, he lifts the blanket tentatively and sees - eyes. Huge, curious gray eyes, set in a tiny face framed by wild, fluffy black hair.
The Fireman looks both ways down the street, trying to catch a glimpse of whoever left the tiny bundle, but there's nobody in sight. Glancing down at the baby again, he sees that it has one of its hands partway into its mouth, drool coating its fingers, and is still staring up at him with those wide, mysterious gray eyes. There is nothing with it except the dirty white blanket in which it's wrapped, plain except for - he notices as he reaches down - the letter L in one corner. Hesitantly, he gathers the small bundle, lifting it to his chest, and retreats back into the warmth of the station.
The Fireman holds him at the beginning.