Two weeks had passed. Two weeks of an unusually quiet precinct, of an empty desk, of that fact that hung over the small group who knew: Jake had gone undercover.
No matter how stupid it was, Amy couldn't help to glance up once or twice ever few hours and briefly stare at the space that used to be occupied by him. Holt hadn't assigned his desk to anybody else yet and she was glad. Two weeks of an empty desk. Two weeks of a very full brain.
And at this point, which happened invariably when Amy found herself staring blankly straight ahead, when his last words to her seemed to echo weirdly inside her head, she would even hate him a little.
"I kinda wish something could happen. Between us."
At the recurring memory, she would force herself back to focus on whatever piece of paper would be in front of her, on whatever case needed solving, and her heart would ache a little because whatever she was working on right now would end, and she would get to go home in a couple of hours and be safe. Be Amy. But Jake? He didn't have that luxury anymore. The whole reason why many officers would refuse to take long term undercover assignments was precisely this. And even though she had told him what an amazing assignment this would be, the truth was that she wasn't sure.
Would he get lost after 6 months? Would he come back as a broken man? Would he come back at all?
She wouldn't go there, she had to remember over and over again. There was no point in her thinking along those lines. That would not help him. Or her.
So Amy would focus on the case again, breathe, and wish for the remaining 22 weeks not to go as slow as the first two because she could die.