"I thought you had Amy over there, once?" "Yeah, it was fun. I moved the next day." In which Amy Santiago tries to find out how Rosa got her scar. Set before the start of the series.
—
It was one of those things which you wouldn't notice about Det. Diaz until you got a bit closer (something which only perps really had the opportunity to do, and only while experiencing quite a bit of pain as a result) or spent a long time looking for. It wasn't that Amy had been looking for it, exactly, it was just that once she noticed, it was hard to ignore the thin sliver of skin neatly carved out of the dark, often-furrowed right eyebrow of her colleague.
It was mostly because Diaz sat diagonally across from her. She was right in her line of sight if Amy were to look into the middle distance, the way one usually would whilst contemplating a more challenging case. It wasn't that she was staring at Diaz. Diaz was just a permanent resident of the space where she liked to stare.
The thing was, once she noticed the scar, curiosity got the better of her. Well. She was a detective, after all. There was definitely a story behind that curved little patch of reinforced skin. A motorcycle spill during a high speed chase with an arsonist? Perhaps a near-miss during a knife fight? Amy had to guess that if it was Peralta, she would have already heard the tale of guts and glory about a thousand times over by now, despite her being the newest officer in the precinct, and she was rarely prone to hyperbole.
Unlike Det. Peralta, Diaz was private, to put it lightly. From what she'd gathered, the 99th Precinct as a whole weren't entirely sure whether Rosa Diaz was even her real name. Amy knew that she liked leather and drove a motorcycle and that was about it. That being said, she probably didn't know any of her colleagues as well as they knew each other. She was fresh off the streets from being a beat cop (thank God that was over, there was so much more structure in a detective role) and the 99 was her first promotion (of many. Hopefully.)
She knew that Charles was recently divorced, but that was mostly because every now and then he would suddenly start weeping over something new that his now ex-wife had broken in a fit to manipulate him. (The latest was a very expensive teapot he'd had imported from Okinawa, handcrafted and worth a few months wages if his sobbing was to be believed.)
She knew that Sgt. Jeffords was married, and seemed to really, really like yogurt.
She knew probably too much about Peralta and his abysmal yet unfalteringly upbeat attempt at adulthood.
She knew Capt. McGinley would let you do anything as long as you gave him a hamburger.
She even knew Gina, the PA who had said the words, "Mm, okay, no," then walked in the opposite direction when Amy had initially tried to introduce herself, was going to bring out a personal fragrance called 'Gina In A Bottle' when she eventually found fame.
Hitchcock and Scully … well, she knew they were pretty damn repulsive.
Not having a super close working relationship with her colleagues wasn't a big deal, she was focused on becoming Captain before she turned twenty-seven. She wasn't here to make friends, she was here to do a job. A job that was often incredibly difficult with such a joke of a Captain, but still. She didn't have any real desire to befriend anyone in the 99, she had Kylie and a few friends from college she still saw every now and then, as well as a group from Puzzle Camp who met for drinks once a month. But for the first time she felt herself genuinely intrigued to the point of annoyance about one of her colleagues. She wanted to know where that scar came from. Must be a hell of a story.
Amy decided to ask Peralta. He worked on a lot of cases with Diaz and cringed less than the other detectives when talking with her in the break room.
"Hey, Peralta," she started, pulling him from his reverie as he stared at his computer screen.
"'Sup, Santiago? You want a bite of my breakfast burrito?"
She shook her head, trying not to look too scandalised at the sugary monstrosity which her colleague was now waving at her in, what she could only assume was supposed to be, a tantalising manner, "I had a bag of jellybeans earlier, thanks."
Peralta shrugged as though to say, 'your loss' and took a huge bite. "So, what's up?" he said around the mouthful.
"How did Rosa get that scar?" she dropped her voice to a low whisper, trying hard not to look conspicuous and failing badly.
"What, the one on her eyebrow?" He glanced over towards the cop in question, chewing thoughtfully. Diaz was taking the statement of a rather petrified-looking kid in a snapback accused of shoplifting, unaware of their conversation. "Dunno. She probably got it fighting a shark or something," he smirked, much to Amy's disappointment.
He must have noticed Amy's expression, she thought, because he added almost apologetically, "She already had it when I met her in the Academy."
"Oh," she said, her own eyebrows knotting together as she watched Diaz thump her fist down on her desk, causing Snapback Kid to start panic-confessing.
He chucked the last quarter of his 'burrito' into his top drawer, planting his elbows onto his desk and leaning forward with a larger-than-average toothy grin.
"Whyyyyyyyyy?" he drawled.
"I was just … y'know … curious," she finished lamely.
"Snoresville," Peralta said and turned back to his computer.
Amy made a small, indignant noise and scowled. She glanced to the side, Diaz was putting SK in handcuffs and reading him his rights.
—
Two weeks later and Amy was in Shaw's, nursing a beer which, in all honesty, was doing nothing other than making her feel spaced out. She hadn't really planned on drinking with her colleagues but it had been a rough couple of weeks. Her apartment building's laundry room had flooded, she'd been having trouble with a string of B&Es that she was convinced were related and she'd broken her favourite pen. It was McGinley's birthday. He was already passed out in one of the booths wearing a "50 Today" sash and a tiara. The squad had dwindled down to a handful, most of them playing a pool, while Gina was hitting on the cute barman Hank was training.
"You look bored, Santiago. Want in on the tournament?" the contralto washed over her like a wave and she looked up to see Det. Diaz glaring down at her.
She stammered, the beer had made her head foggy and formulating a reply suddenly seemed outside the realms of her capability.
"You," Diaz barked at the bartender, stealing his attention from Gina (a fact which he looked overtly relieved about.) "Gimme a bottle of your cheapest, strongest whiskey and two glasses."
Amy sat up a little straighter as the bartender replied, watching Diaz pour out a couple of measures into each shot glass. "I uh, I don't drink whiskey, really. And I'm not very good at pool." That last part was actually a lie, she was excellent at most games, especially ones where a working knowledge of physics and geometry gave you an edge. Pool was just angles and force in motion.
"Shut up and drink, dummy," Diaz said, though she said it with the barest hint of a lopsided smile.
It was hard to argue, so Amy downed the shot and bit back a cough at how much it burned. When she turned, Diaz was sitting on the stool next to her, leaning back with her elbows on the bar, her long legs stretched out in front of her, ankles crossed. The position made Amy very aware of the other woman's breasts. She was glad for the whiskey, it provided an excellent cover for how flushed she was becoming.
"So, I heard you were asking where I got this," Diaz's long, tanned finger pointed to her temple, a sardonic salute at Amy.
"I wasn't-I didn't, I-I-," Amy suddenly felt like she was yelling. She tried to compose herself and ended up sighing, shoulders sagging. "How did you find out, did Peralta nark on me?"
Diaz blinked at her and deadpanned, "Gina overheard you asking Jake and told me about it." Behind Diaz, Gina waved at Amy enthusiastically, spilling half her Cosmo and looking completely unapologetic.
"God damnit," Amy murmured. She shot Diaz a small smile, looking slightly hopeful, "I didn't mean to pry. Is it a secret?"
The lopsided smile grew and Amy found herself nervously grinning back at her colleague.
"Yes, it's a secret," Diaz said, and knocked back a shot without flinching, pouring herself another. She gestured to Amy with the bottle and nudged her hand aside to top her off with another shot as well. Her hand was warm. "But since you're new, I'll cut you some slack and not beat you with my bike helmet for nosing around in my business." The lopsided smile looked decidedly more predatory than it had moments ago.
Amy was too stunned to answer, she just grabbed her shot from the bar and downed it messily.
"Last orders, ladies," said the barman, who had finally managed to escape Gina's relentless flirting. Gina was now bellowing distracting phrases at Boyle who was losing badly at pool.
Money was exchanging hands, and suddenly Amy was aware that they were standing outside.
"You stay far, Santiago?" Diaz had smuggled the bottle of whiskey out under her jacket and took a surreptitious swig of it. "Wanna share a cab?"
The rest of the squad had piled into Boyle's car, he had elected to be the designated driver, saying he had to be up at the crack of dawn to get to the farmers market, anyway. They were standing outside the bar, and Hank was closing up behind them. He shouted a 'goodnight' after the shutters slammed into place and strode off to his car. Amy was very aware of the fact that they were alone together.
"Ah, shit," Amy exclaimed suddenly and she sat down on the sidewalk abruptly, the alcohol making it hurt less than it probably would have had she been sober. "I completely forgot. My apartment building is flooded, I was supposed to make plans to stay at Kylie's tonight so they could fix up the ground floor. It completely slipped my mind with the Captain's birthday and everything." Amy pulled out her phone, it was nearly 1am. Kylie was a deep sleeper and most definitely in bed by this time on a Thursday. Well, technically Friday now.
A sigh. "You can crash at mine. You don't look like you'll remember the journey anyway. C'mon," Amy felt a warm arm slip around her waist, then suddenly she was hoisted to her feet.
"Thanks, Diaz, but I really don't want to impose," Amy could feel herself flushing at the contact. Stupid booze. Stupid eight months since she'd last gotten laid. Stupid hormones.
"Calm down, Santiago, don't get your pantsuit in a twist."
Amy ducked her head gratefully as the other woman stepped back, pulling out her phone to book an Uber.
"And you can call me Rosa, if you want."
—