The weight of the small USB in Frank's hand feels like a thousand pounds, threatening to drag him to the dirt. He clutches it tightly in his right hand, thumb brushing over the metal casing to confirm it's actually there.
He feels exhausted, as if he's just run a marathon, trying to navigate the strangest and probably one of the saddest interviews he's ever experienced. While he may not know why McNally left, or how or why she ended up with the Crows, he saw something in the young woman that leaves a taste of fear in the back of his throat.
Utter desperation.
Shouldering his way into the observation room, a fuming but leaning towards contemplative Boyko at his back, Best steps in and blinks when he's immediately accosted by the occupants.
"What the hell was that?"
"What's going on?"
"Can I talk to her?"
"Was she really at the bust?"
"I need to talk to her!"
The last demand emerges from Luke as he paces along the observation window, eyes wild. Frank frowns at his detective; while he knew that McNally and Callaghan had once been together, and that before Andy had vanished the two had been on friendly terms but he had been under the impression that was it. In fact, Best would've put money on garnering a reaction like so from Swarek before Callaghan.
"Can't do that Callaghan," Frank murmurs while maintaining steady eye-contact with the blonde detective, ignoring the rest of the questions that he has no answers for anyway.
"I'm one of the lead detectives on this case; I have a right to speak to a potential suspect," Luke fires back, anger colouring his tone. With it, some colour is brought back into his features, chasing away the ghostly expression he'd been wearing since Best had seen him step into booking.
Raising an eyebrow, Frank just stares him down, daring the blonde detective to test his authority once more. The staff sergeant's patients is running thin as it is; he won't stand for any more insubordination today. Annoyance and anger swirl together under his skin.
Luke, seeming to sense this, shuts his mouth seconds after he opens it again, furrowing his brow but stepping back.
The strangled sob that comes through the speakers from the interview room causes everyone to flinch, and turn their attention back to the window. Andy has hunched over and buried her head in her hands, and Frank notes the way Sam leans forward, hands twitching at his side. Clenching and unclenching, the only outward sign of turmoil given his blank face.
For a long time, the observation room is trapped in a stilted silence. Glances flicker between the rookies, Luke crosses his arms and sits back on one of the tables, and Sam remains staring at the window.
Eyeing the rest of the occupants, particularly the huddle of rookies in the corner, Frank sighs. "Alright, rookies, clear out," he orders, raising a hand to silence the imminent protests. "There's nothing you can do for your friend right now; go work on something else."
When Peck steps forward, steel in her eyes and ready to voice a complaint, Frank gives in a little. "We'll update you when we know something more."
There's a humming second of tension, where the four young officers stand defiant, before Peck shrugs and leads the way out of the room. As she passes Frank, he catches the gleam in her eyes; he can't tell if it's the sheen of tears or anger.
Nash is the last to file out; she spares one last look towards the one-way mirror and flinches at the sight of her lost friend huddled on the interview room table, before she rushes away after Diaz and Epstein.
When the door closes behind the four, Frank sighs and finally opens the fist that has clenched tightly around the USB.
"She slipped me this," he murmurs, displaying the small device to the three remaining occupants. Something close to understanding lights on Boyko's face as he takes it in, pieces clicking together. He feels a small bolt of shame at having missed the pass, having been so frustrated at Tommy McNally's daughter and her betrayal to think clearly.
"We need to see what's on it," Luke states flatly, a sharpness in his gaze that, under normal circumstances, Frank would be worried about.
"I agree, but we'll need to hook it up to the isolated computer in the off chance there's malware on it," Best says, slipping the USB away into his pocket. "Even though I don't think she would intentionally sabotage the stations network, I also didn't think we'd ever find ourselves in a situation like this, so any argument you may have is void," Frank adds, eyeing Luke carefully.
Luke nods in agreement and Boyko opens the door of the observation room, ready to lead them all deeper into the station to where the iso-computer is kept, used exclusively to search USB's and electronic documents alike when they're recovered from suspects or crime scenes. Luke follows the Staff Sergeant and Best starts to follow, pausing when he notices Sam hasn't moved an inch.
"Swarek, let's go," he orders, doing his best to keep the ever-present frustration out of his voice.
Jolting, Sam turns to look at him and Frank aches for his friend, for the haunted look in his eyes.
"I'm good here," Swarek says finally, before turning back to stare out the observation window.
"Sammy," Best starts, torn between friendship and leadership in that moment.
"Please Frank," is all Sam whispers, still refusing to look away from the hunched figure in the interview room.
Outside the door, Luke and Boyko exchange a glance, before they return to watching Best, waiting to see what the Sergeant will say.
Friendship wins out.
"Okay Sammy," Frank murmurs, before stepping out of the observation room and closing the door. He says nothing to Boyko or Callaghan, and simply leads the way deeper into the station, the USB in his hands feeling heavier and heavier with each step.
…
When the door opens and he slides in, she is both surprised and not at all.
Surprised, because she had figured Frank would try to keep him away from her, but not, because it's Sam, Sam who is very very good at getting his own way, some way or another.
She doesn't look up from the piece of lint she's begun to tear methodically apart between her fingers, little bits of fabric drifting to the ground like lost pieces of snow, but her shoulders tense. Out of the corner of her eye, she knows it's him, knows in a way that is part instinctual, part simple knowledge of the man, how he stands, how he moves. Knowledge that surges back like an angry reminder of once again, just how much she's lost.
He moves slowly into the room, the door clicking shut behind him, and pulls out the chair Frank had just recently abandoned. Deliberately, he drags it backwards until it's flush with the wall, before he sits himself down. The move of distancing himself hurts, a bloodless slice across her heart.
She deserves it.
With shaking resolve, Amy claws Andy back from the surface, where the other is threatening to burst free and potentially ruin this slap-dash plan, and gags her.
Amy needs to see this through.
The distance between them feels wider than several feet, a gaping chasm.
"Look at me," he growls after several humming moments, voice ragged and tattered.
Diving behind the walls of Amy that have let her survive this long, she does, unflinching and bold. Jutting out her chin, she meets his stare dead on.
A/N: Oh boyyyyy.
Hearts always, A.
