Chapter Text
He’d have to walk home in the rain.
Cullen stifled a groan and slammed his locker shut. Rain meant wet hair. And wet hair meant tight curls. He should never have given his umbrella to Krem.
“Do you want to join us?” Cassandra called, rapping her knuckles on the changing room door and peering inside. She was still dressed in uniform, and giving him a frighteningly stern look for someone who was inviting him out for takeaway with colleagues.
“Ah. Not tonight. I have -”
“Things to do.” she ended for him, reminding him that he’d used that excuse before, that she hadn't believe it even then, but was willing to accept the lie in any case. “I’ll see you tomorrow then. Don’t work too late into the night.”
She left him at that, off to join the others. Cullen pulled his coat on and tried to ignore the lingering guilt. Cassandra was the only reason he’d landed the job at the precinct, the only reason he now had an affordable flat in a nice neighbourhood. After the incident, she’d put his life back on track. Yet he wasn't acting as thankful as he should, or at settling down as well as she’d hoped.
Three months since moving to Haven and Cassandra was still his only friend. He wasn't even sure how to go about making them anymore. And forget about talking to women.
He laughed under his breath. Talking to women had never exactly been his forte. Best not to think about it, concentrate on the rain instead.
It had been dreary for days, and he gave the sky a curtesy scowl while exiting the police station. Cullen stalked down the street with long strides, soaked to the bone in a matter of minutes and with five blocks still to go.
When was the last time he’d talked to a woman anyway? He supposed there was Cassandra. But for reasons he couldn't fathom, that particular woman didn't seem to count. Sure, she made him nervous - like most women did - but it was due to an intimidating aura his friend proudly possessed, rather than his own feeble nerves with the opposite sex.
He avoided a puddle, then heard a splash five paces later. Cullen turned, hand inching to his gun, then after a few moments standing in the wet continued on with a shake of his head, blaming his paranoia.
Leliana and Josephine. They were definitely female. And he talked to them all the time. That surely counted. Though he’d never attempted to flirt with either one - the mere idea caused him to scoff, they’d no doubt find any attempts on his part hilarious - and realised he had no real desire to in any case. No, maybe they didn’t count either. But at least this meant he was not entirely without friends.
Then why didn’t you go get dinner with them?
He was released from his internal scolding by an itch on the back of his neck; and - not for the first time that evening - Cullen got the distinct impression that he was being watch. He turned again, and this time his hand really did fall to his gun, gripping the handle under his jacket until his knuckles turned white.
Breath held, he watched a cat dart from a nearby alley and run from the rain.
Despite his doubts, Cullen quickened his stride, practically jogging, and sighed when he finally made it to his apartment block; oddly relieved. He blamed that on the rain. After all, he was completely soaked to the bone and definitely in need of a warm shower.
His hands darted into pockets and hunted for his keys, that lingering feeling of not being alone making them impossible to find. After a few moments fumbling, his neighbour appeared behind the glass doors. Solas; a thin man with a completely bald head and a penchants for wandering around in his pyjamas. Cullen rapped his knuckles on the door, hoping he didn’t look too much like a vagabond and was recognizable.
“Hey! Would you mind opening the door?”
With an irritating casualness about him, Solas checked his pigeon hole and flicked through his mail, pausing at a newspaper and completely ignoring him.
“Solas? I’m your neighbour, I have the place above you. I’ve forgotten my keys!” Louder this time, with just the barest hint of anger cutting between his gritted teeth.
That feeling again. Cullen spun on his heels, checking the empty street, sure he had heard something; and did not turn back until he heard the door clicking open.
“It isn’t locked,” Solas said. He raised one thin eyebrow, regarding Cullen’s appearance with the smallest twitch of his lips. “You should carry an umbrella.”
“Yeah. Thanks. Thank you.” He shuffled in, glaring. Solas was already making his way up the stairs with a grunt, giving Cullen the rather blunt feeling that he didn’t consider him worth his time.
Not exactly a warm welcome home, and he wondered how many strings Cassandra had to have pulled to get him a place in the same building. Huffing, he crossed the lobby and began the slow trek up the stairs. They twisted at two right angles, and – as unlucky as he was – Cullen lived on the second to top floor. By the time he made it through the threshold and into his flat he was panting, tired and worn and extremely wet.
Though he had the excuse of just moving in, Iron Bull had apparently lived in this space for years, yet the boys had hardly furnished the place at all. A couch, two chairs, and then a drum set where the tv would have traditionally been. No paintings on the walls, no curtains hanging from the rails. Bull clearly didn’t care and Cullen wasn’t one to notice in any case.
At least he had the place to himself for once, until Bull returned in a few weeks with his merry crew of misfits in tow. He groaned at the thought of eternal band practise starting yet again, and glared at the drums that were sat neglected and gathering dust before making a beeline to the bathroom.
He’d only managed to strip his sticking coat to the floor and get his shirt over his shoulders when the phone rang, and he struggled to pull the wet material off his head, banging into the kitchen doorframe.
“Hello?” He said. Half into the phone and half into his shoulder, somehow getting tangled around the phone cord as well and nearly choking. “Rutherford speaking.” Cullen pulled cord and shirt off completely, face red even though whoever was on the other end couldn’t possibly see his struggle. “Hello?”
Someone breathing, then the clear click of the phone being put down.
Years of dealing with the backend of society sent his warning signs up. And nerves jittered, but after staring at the phone for five minutes his need for a shower beckoned anew, and Cullen turned away.
There was a rap on the door before he’d even left the kitchen, and this time he leapt at the sound, cringing.
It wasn’t rent time already, was it? No. No. Varric wouldn’t be collecting until the end of the month. Stop being paranoid. Always so paranoid. Though he couldn’t help but feel this had something to do with the phone call. Throat turned dry, his palms clammy. Policemen weren’t exactly popular, and he could think of more than a few people he’d pissed off.
His mind raced to figure out who it could possibly be as he made his way to answer. Trying to keep positive. Someone for Iron Bull? Cassandra come back early to drag him out after all? No. Who else then? Samson? Definitely not.
His hand hesitated on the handle, nerves making his fingers twitch. Gun was on the coffee table. Phone in the kitchen. It was fine, he was safe. Just answer the god damn door.
Cullen swung it open to face an empty corridor, blinking like an idiot. Kids playing pranks then? Of course. It explained the phone call as well, and he rolled his eyes,
Then the shrill cry of baby sent his blood to ice.
No. No. No. No. He looked to the ground praying for nothing, and instead stared at a bulging sports bag, and a car seat on the floor, complete with crying baby. Or maybe crying wasn’t the right word for it, shrieking was a better term. Pudgy face red as the little thing tried it’s hardest to rattle his ear drums.
Really panicking now. There were only two apartments on each floor, and Cassandra lived across from him. Cullen may be an unreliable friend, but he was absolutely positive she didn’t have a baby.
She did have a roommate though. One he had yet to meet. Who was to say her roommate didn’t have a baby? Except for the fact this was a child free building and Cassandra didn’t seem the type to babysit. Cullen ignored those facts. “Okay. Just… be quiet for one second. Maker, please stop crying.”
The wails grew louder if anything, and with one foot he ever so gently pushed the car seat a few inches away, so it was technically closer to Cassandra’s door than his own. There. Baby had been left on their doorstep, not his. Meaning that after getting this elusive roommates attention, said baby would no longer be his problem.
Crying intensified. He bent down and patted the baby on the head, wincing when this seemed to upset it even more.
“Sorry, sorry! I’ll get your mum. This is fine, everything’s fine, just be quiet. Shhh, shhh.” He leant up and bashed on the door, even though it was nearly 1am. He’d never even seen Cassandra’s roommate and now he was waking her up in the early hours of the morning. Way to make a first impression.
No answer. He knocked again, rising to his feet. Rain, baby, and no response was all adding up to turn his mood from bad to worse.
“Who’s there?” Someone called behind the door, sounding worried more than anything.
Cullen tried to keep his voice even and friendly, crying accompaniment not helping him do a fantastic job. “I live opposite. You’ve left your baby in the hall.”
“What? Listen, my roommates a cop. In fact I’m calling the police right now.”
“No! Don’t do that. I am police. No, wait. I mean I’m a police officer.”
“What’s a police officer doing handing out babies?”
“I’m not -!” He groaned, glancing down to the car seat. That was exactly what he was doing. “I know your roommate. Cassandra? We’re old friends.”
“She’s never mentioned you.”
“You don’t even know who I am to mention.”
Silence, and he felt just a little smug knowing that he’d outwitted her. Though it hadn’t gotten the door open, so he supposed in a way she was still winning.
“Who are you then?” The voice asked.
“Cullen Rutherford. I just moved across the hall, Iron Bull’s my roommate.”
“Oh… she has mentioned you.” Definitely a defeated tone. He smiled, until another wail wiped it away. Maker, babies were loud.
“Will you open the door now? I think someone’s left a baby on your doorstep.” Liar. “I can see you through the peep hole.”
Her eye disappeared from view, and Cullen chuckled as the door opened a crack, still on its chain. Smart girl. He looked down and was immediately stunned. He hadn’t been expecting someone good looking, and stared for a few minutes while she glared up at him, a blob of paint marking her nose. Why was their paint on her nose? When was the last time he’d flirted with a woman again?
“Why is it crying? Children aren’t allowed in the block.” She craned her neck to stare down at the car seat. “And if you wake up Solas it’ll be your head on the line.”
“I um…” Words. Why couldn’t he think of any words? “I’m Cullen.” He snapped his hand out for her to shake, humiliation trickling its way down his back as she stared instead of taking it.
“You’ve said that already. I’m Ellana."
He repeated the name again and again in his head, swallowing.
“And it’s closer to your door.” She added.
Oh no, now there was one argument he was determined to win, and his foot inched the car seat even closer. “Like hell it is. Listen, this baby has been left on your door step and I – you – Maker. Can’t you just stop it from crying? Please?” Desperate now, almost begging. He was getting a headache. If there was one thing he didn’t need help getting it was headaches.
She gave him another long look, large eyes narrowing into distrustful slits. “You work with Cassandra?”
“For three months now.”
“Then why aren’t you out at that meal they have after the night shift?”
“Maker’s breath. Look, here.” He stuck his hand in his back pocket, finding his keys – typical – and his badge. “See? I’m a police officer. Plus your neighbour. I’m not a fishy person, honest. Now just… stop the crying.”
She closed the door on his face without another word, and for a few moments Cullen tried to think what he’d done wrong. Until he heard the chain being unlatched and the door was open anew, and Ellana appeared in full view. He took in her appearance, and immediately chortled. Paint not only marked her nose, but was splattered down her neck and all over her clothes, which were a pair of extremely unflattering, bright orange, overalls.
“What are you laughing at?” She sneered, bending down and unstrapping the baby from the chair. “I’ve been painting. I paint in these, okay?”
“I wasn’t laughing.” He lied. Cullen covered his hand over his mouth and pressed down hard; watching as she scooped the baby up and began to rock it gently on her shoulder. A natural. This was definitely her problem.
“Shhh. Baby, baby. Shhh, baby, baby.” She continued to coo, lips pulling into a dazzling smile. Until she gave him a side long glance, and the scowl she saved just for him was back on full force. “Yeah right. Why are you crying, baby? Shh now. Did the naked man scare you?”
He definitely wasn’t imagining the evil twinkle in her eye, and Cullen finally remembered that he wasn’t wearing a shirt. A blush blossomed on his cheeks in a hot rush, spreading down his neck and across his very bare chest. And now it was Ellana’s turn to laugh, cackling in her messy overalls as she bounced the baby on her hip.
“Maker’s breath. I was about to shower when someone knocked… I’ll be right back.”
“Wait! You can’t leave me with your baby!”
He ignored her and darted back into his flat. Cullen found his shirt on the kitchen floor and pulled it on, still damp and extremely uncomfortable. He glanced at the phone then froze. Someone had called him. Someone had made sure he was home before knocking on his door and leaving that baby behind.
His head suddenly felt extremely dizzy, and he had to take a few moments to breathe, leaning on the counter top. Okay, maybe this was his problem. But Ellana didn’t know that did she? He could trick Cassandra’s roommate into being a temporary babysitter of sorts, just while he tried to find the mother. Just while he tried to sort this all out.
There were a lot of questions he needed the answers to. But if Cullen knew anything it was that this was definitely not his baby. It was absolutely impossible, and he was oddly thankful for his recent dry spell. He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d flirted with a woman! Let alone…
He cleared his throat and tried to stop blushing. Turning the sink on and splashing some cold water onto his face didn’t help much, yet he rubbed furiously anyway.
One step at a time, Rutherford. First order of business: setting up his free babysitter.
Mind-set, he returned to the corridor. Only to find it empty of its previous occupants, including the bag and car seat. Panic settled in his gut. A strange protectiveness crawling over him, one that he hadn’t known he’d possessed until a few moments ago. Concerned for Ellana, the baby, or both, he wasn’t quite sure.
He needn’t have worried though, as Cassandra’s door had been left a jar, and when he poked his head inside he found both her roommate and his – not his, definitely not his, the - baby inside. Ellana was kneeling on the floor, baby on the couch, her back to him as she changed a stinking nappy. Cullen found himself staring at her hair. It was longer than he’d previously thought. Nearly reaching the nape of her back in honey brown waves, just a little darker than her skin.
Another part of him considered escaping. They were clearly fine for now. He could go shower, make some important phone calls. It wasn’t abandoning her technically, she knew where he lived.
He took a step back.
“She needed changing. That’s what all the crying was about. Whoever left her at least included some diapers.” She said, apparently having heard him enter. Escape now impossible.
“I hadn’t even noticed she’d stopped crying.” He stepped closer, looking around. The girls had done a much better job of decorating, in that they had actually bothered to decorate. The open living room was cosy with couches and chairs, a coffee table, even a tv. The kitchen looked messy, with pots and pans piled in the sink, but probably had some actual food in it, which was more than he could say for his own kitchen.
Not only that, put the walls were absolutely covered in paintings. Enough to almost be overbearing. No space was left untouched, and huge canvases were splattered with plaint. Sometimes seeming like random, colourful, patterns. Sometimes creating clearly intentional shapes – a dog here, a woman in a dress there, a couple hung over the TV, a pot of flowers had been painted by the window.
“Are you an artist?” He asked, doing a slow circle as he took it all in.
“Pfft. No. Barista by day. Bar maid by night. Artists usually manage to sell at least one painting.” The bitterness hung heavy in the air, and he averted his eyes back down to the baby, changing the topic to the most obvious choice. “How do you know it’s a she?”
“I just changed her nappy, duh. Plus she’s wearing pink. Hadn’t you noticed?” He shrugged, she scoffed. “Some cop you are.”
Pride prickled his skin, and Cullen got started with his plan. “Indeed. Anyway, seem as we don’t know whose doorstep she was left at, I suppose it’s both our problem. It’s only fair, I guess. I don’t want to just leave you with this. So you can keep her safe while I make a few phone calls?”
“No, I’m not going to do that.”
He paused. Not the answer he’d been expecting.
“Excuse me?”
Ellana rose to her full height, as if she needed it to argue with him, but it still meant she only reached his shoulders. A chair would do it. “She was left at your doorstep, obviously. You said someone knocked on your door?”
“Urm… yes?”
“Then shes obviously meant for you. Anyway, who leaves a baby with a random woman? It’s not like I have a bunch of kids running around that I don’t know about.”
“Well I don’t!”
“You obviously do.”
They were silenced by that shrill wail he was coming to hate so much, and said baby began to cry anew, kicking her arms and legs in the air.
“Your problem.” Ellana said, crossing her arms and giving him a ‘don’t fuck with me’ look.
Cullen’s throat closed completely. This was definitely his problem.