It had been weeks since Bella had left, and the Swan house was empty. Charlie had been home only occasionally, - day and night duty had become one big patrol. He'd lived almost entirely alone for a few years before that, but he got used to the thought that his daughter would be with him for a few more years. Now she was gone, and it wasn't that Charlie was sad, it was just that he needed time to get used to the fact that he couldn't come home and watch a baseball game with Bella. He missed the company.

His stomach rumbled. Charlie, who had just begun to doze, rubbed the bridge of his nose and looked out the window of the police car. Pushing down on the gas pedal, he gripped the steering wheel and turned onto the road, heading in the direction he'd planned. It took him about five minutes to get to the shop. Charlie just got out of the car, when suddenly there was a shouting sound, and a chubby pastry chef walked out of the donut shop. He held the red ear of a child in ragged clothes with his hand, dragging him down the steps. You knew Swan - had met him more than once at the Department and in the back of his police car. Almost always it was something petty: theft, larceny. Every time Charlie tried to help you, he broke the rules a few times and let you off with just a scolding and a hopeless plea not to steal anymore. He knew you were doing it not out of whim.

The pastry chef dragged you to Charlie, describing to him how you had tried to steal a donut from the window. He didn't interfere, listening, and then opened the car closing the door as soon as you were in. You didn't hear what he said to the pastry chef, what they talked about, you just sat there, watching through the window as Charlie went inside the store.

The door slammed again, bringing you back from your thoughts to the present. Charlie sat down in the driver's seat with a grunt, holding a box of donuts and shoving them into your hands.

— Let's just say you paid for them.