Chapter Text

Lucy Chen is less than the width of a human hair away from throwing her closest friends into a barrel.

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A FEW HOURS PREVIOUS…

“Please?”

Lucy sighs and adjusts her phone so that she can hold it between her ear and shoulder as she re-arranges the items in her shopping cart.

“This is only because we’re friends, Marlo.” She warns the woman on the other end of the call. “What kind of prenatals do you usually get, anyway? I—” She’s cut off by the symphonic shriek of Marlo’s toddler and the scream of her (demonic) chihuahua. 

“As long as you get the twenty-dollar bottle, I can pay you back when you get here!” On cue, Marlo’s sentence is punctuated by a horrifying wet splat that earns an audible groan from the woman and a flinch from her severely uncomfortable friend. “I have to go deal with that. Bye!” Is all the warning Lucy gets before the call disconnects and her eardrum is decimated by a cheerful beep. 

“Fucking hell.” Lucy sighs. 

Lucy has never been pregnant. 

Lucy is not currently pregnant.

Lucy might be pregnant someday, but that day is not today. 

Hence, Lucy has never purchased prenatal vitamins.

It would be unreasonable to expect Lucy to know exactly what to get just by walking up to the shelf, right?

Right.

Lucy contemplates calling Angela or Nyla. They have both been pregnant— that is a fact. The odds of either detective knowing which kind of prenatal Lucy should get for Marlo is approximately 376%. 

Lucy sighs again, and she is blessed with the old man picking through a crate of apples across from her scoffing. Lucy whips her head around at him and he meets her eyes with a sneer. “What? At least I don’t wear diapers.” She snipes, revelling shamefully in the way the elderly man’s left hand immediately goes to his hip to tug down his shirt. She hadn’t even noticed the white of the incontinence brief peeking out from the waistline of his trousers, but now she feels vindicated. Lucy marches off with her shopping cart with nary a glance back. 

As she reaches the aisle containing supplements and natural remedies, Lucy stops the rusting wheels abruptly (the screech emanated by the crumbling gears is reminiscent of a person getting shot in the foot) and slaps a hand over her mouth. 

“Oh my gosh,” she mutters, letting that same hand descend to rest on her throat. “Did I just verbally assault an old man?”

You did, Lucy’s inner monologue trills gleefully.

The snort that comes out of her next is stupendously indecorous.

At least there were no elderly folk around to hear that, we don’t want you escalating to assault and battery.

Lucy rubs a hand over her face. 

Pull yourself together. You’re a police sergeant. You’ve survived, like, multiple serial killers. You’ll be fine.

She nods furiously in agreement.

Slowly, ambling on at a pace a snail would laugh at, Lucy approaches The Shelf.

Would Marlo want the gummies or the tablets?

A vivid image of twenty-something Marlo and Lucy passing a bag of weed gummies back and forth between themselves at a college party flashes through Lucy’s mind.

Tablets it is.

Her options are now limited, but not by much. America loves pregnant women, after all. 

Should I get the one that says it’s good for conception, pregnancy, and breastfeeding, pregnancy and breastfeeding, or just pregnancy?

It’s not like Marlo’s kid will grow three heads just because Lucy chose a certain kind of prenatal supplement, right? Surely they wouldn’t even be on the shelf, if that were the case.

Lucy makes a mental note to look into how good healthcare in the United States is when it comes to female bodies, particularly pregnant bodies (she will spend the night sitting by the toilet, swaying side-to-side and dry-heaving once she does this).

She picks up a bottle that claims to be a complete multi-vitamin and multi-mineral supplement, but when she turns it around to look at the list of ingredients and components, iron is missing.

Lucy’s pretty sure iron is important for fetal development, or something like that. She spends the next few minutes selecting bottles at random and trying to make an informed decision.

“Acidolopodiphilopodopolous—Acidildo—Adiciphilo—” She attempts to pronounce the name of… something.

“It’s pronounced Acidophilus.” A voice beside her proudly proclaims. Lucy’s soul just about leaves her body when she turns to see Smitty standing next to her, dressed in floral-print swim trunks with his face on them, an Eras Tour hoodie, and crocs with snow plow attachments on the toe of each shoe.

“I’m not pregnant!” Lucy cries. She nods her head to affirm her statement.

“What’s that?” Smitty yawns. “Ya gotta speak up, Chen.”

“I’m not pregnant,” She insists, a bead of sweat dripping down from her hairline. 

“Oh,” Smitty says. “No worries, didn’t think you were.” He winks and sashays off into the maze of capitalist glory surrounding them.

Lucy tries to pick up the next bottle to read its label, but it falls back onto the shelf when her sweaty hands try and fail to procure it for her. She wipes them on her jeans.

Deciding to trust fate because Lucy’s decision-making appears to have been beaten out of her, she closes her eyes and snatches a bottle at random.

CONTAINS ALL VITAMINS AND MINERALS REQUIRED FOR MATERNAL HEALTH AND PROPER FETAL DEVELOPMENT! The package boasts. As an added bonus, it’s eighteen dollars. Lucy has successfully stayed within Marlo’s twenty dollar limit, but at this point, she doesn’t really care. She’d buy Marlo the entire aisle if it meant she could be swallowed by the earth, never to show her face anywhere ever again.

Lucy retreats from the hellish shelves and proceeds with her shopping route.

She’s just reaching the place where they keep the organic lip balms and toothpastes when she sees Detectives Nyla Harper and Angela Lopez in the flesh, laughing by the hairbrushes.  

You’re fucked. 

Lucy’s inner monologue sighs, resigned. 

Lucy is frozen where she stands as the two women begin to look her way…

Only to be pulled backwards by a large body. She’s about to scream when a beefy hand claps over her mouth. 

“Fear not, Lucy Chen, most radiant of female law enforcement officers!” Comes the jovial, all-too-familiar voice of none other than…

“Ja! It is I, Skip Tracer Randy! I am here to rescue you from your mütterlich dilemma!” He exclaims in the loudest whisper musterable. Lucy whirls around to face him. 

“Can you rescue me from my mooter-leek dilemma with a little less… tempestuousness?” She hisses, freeing her body from his overexuberant hold.

He nods sadly. 

“What are you even doing here?” She inquires with much trepidation. 

He displays his teeth in a manner that could be considered by some to be a smile and holds up a jar of protein powder. “I am training to compete in the Tour de France with twenty kilograms of anfangsmilch strapped to my back to raise cash monies for destitute mothers!” He informs her with much enthusiasm. 

Lucy blinks.

“That’s… actually really wonderful of you, Randy.” She says, stunned. Her phone buzzes in her pocket, but she chooses to ignore it. 

“Ja, I know, I know.” He replies impatiently. “Now that I have ein kind of my own, I am passionate about this very important cause. Bye bye, Lucy Chen!” Skip Tracer Randy is gone just as quickly as he appeared, vanishing like a child’s magician.

“You have a kid?” Lucy asks the now-empty aisle weakly. Shaking her head, she grabs a random pack of Burt’s Bees and moves on. 

Ten minutes later, she’s loading her groceries into the trunk of her car when a warm hand is laid on her shoulder. 

“Allow me, ma’am.” Miles Penn says calmly. “Shouldn’t be lifting all them heavy bags in your condition.”

“My condition.” Lucy slowly repeats, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah, you know, y—” He gestures vaguely at her, ceasing the motion when her lethal stare registers in his brain. 

“I can handle my own bags, Penn. Go home.” She orders, voice cold as ice. “Whatever condition you think I’m in, I can assure you; I am perfectly capable of carrying out my own business.”

The young officer blanches and nods, turning on his heel and leaving Lucy’s field of vision. 

Something is afoot… 

Her inner monologue says suggestively. 

She rubs her eyes to block it out, finishes loading her purchases, and pulls out of the parking lot.