Sam is a fantastic character. I don't own him (or any of the Rookie Blue) I'm just borrowing him for the story.
As she makes her way up the snow-covered staircase, she gets a strange sense of dejavu. How many times had she run up these same stairs, coffee in hand, skipping every other step in hopes of actually arriving at parade on time?
That seems like a lifetime ago. And now here she is, back in front of the building that she once knew so well, running up the familiar steps. As familiar as this whole scene feels, she's painfully aware that this situation is far from the good old days. The building may be the same, but she's definitely not the same person who used to run up these steps. There's a different urgency spurring her forward, and she marvels how this situation can feel so familiar and yet the circumstances are so different. Still, she can't help but appreciate the full-circled nature of this moment.
Her hand closes around the cold handle of the outside door, and, despite the hurry that she's in, she finds herself frozen in place, unwilling to go inside, yet unable to turn away. Her heart beats painfully against her ribs (whether from running or fear, she'd rather not know).
As she shoves the door open, the warm, dry air of the precinct rushes across her face, warming her frozen cheeks. Here we go.
She spots an unfamiliar face behind the front desk. Thinking that she might have more success with an unassuming rookie than a vet, she quickly makes her way over to the petite black woman. After a quick glace at her name tag, the woman gets her attention.
"Hi, Officer Nash. Is Sergeant Boyko around?" She hopes that her voice sounds calm, that her smile is disarming. But it's been so long since she's needed to be charming, she worries that she's out of practice.
Apparently she's not too out of practice because the young rookie picks up the phone and selects a button.
"One second Miss…"
Thankfully, before the mystery woman has to fill in the blank, someone comes around the corner and distracts the rookie from her train of thought.
"Traci, I need Epstein's ID number. Can you tell me which squad car he's in today?"
She's just about to thank her lucky stars for the welcomed distraction until she sees who provided it.
Jerry.
Shit.
His head's still bent over a folder, and, on instinct, she lowers her head in hopes that her long hair will cover her face before he recognizes her.
"One second, Detective." Traci emphasizes the last word, clearly in opposition to his use of her first name. "Ma'am. Sergeant Best isn't answering his phone. I can tell him that you stopped by if you just give me your name and number."
By now Jerry has looked up from his file, and both he and Traci stare at her expectantly.
"I can, um, wait." She replies, face still obscured by her long brown locks.
Jerry takes in the woman. Something about the way she's standing and avoiding eye contact is off. He looks at her further, and notes her snow soaked jeans and grey U of T hoodie that's too light for the recent snow fall in Toronto. And suddenly, it's like a firework goes off in his head. He can practically feel his synapses firing as he recognizes the petite brunette in front of him. What. The. Hell?
She can feel Jerry's eyes on her and she knows that he's turned his undivided attention to her. And, without even looking at him, she knows that she's been made.