Chapter Three - Get Up.
Hard to move mountains when you're paralysed,
But you gotta' try.
-x-
Tuesday, Jan 14th, 2014
Amy tightened her denim jacket around her shoulders, shivering from the chilly breeze that whipped through the empty Brooklyn streets. She tucked away a stray, brown hair that had fallen from her ponytail before shutting the back door to the first squad car, securing her two perps in place with their seat belts fastened and their hands cuffed behind their backs.
As the detective adjusted her badge that was hidden on her belt loop under her shirt, Amy looked to her colleagues from the Nine-Nine.
"Thanks for getting down here so quickly," she offered the two uniformed officers with an appreciative grin.
"Of course - and hey, nice collar by the way," the taller of the two replied, "Do you need a ride back to the precinct, Detective?"
The suggestion was a very welcomed one as Amy's features lit up and she almost answered with an immediate nod of her head. That was, of course, until she heard an annoyingly familiar voice calling her name from the top of the alleyway behind her.
"Santiago!"
Grumbling quietly under her breath, Amy took a quick peek over her shoulder. She resisted the cringe that dared to creep its way across her face before she glanced back at the two beat cops.
"Thanks for the offer," she began, subtly rolling her eyes, "But I'm actually in the middle of... a date..."
The last word that left her lips still stung with the poisonous taste of defeat as Amy sighed. She shared a last couple of words with her extended team mates before they took off in their separate cars back towards the Ninety-Ninth precinct.
And then, as she braced herself for whatever sarcasm he was sure to spew next, Amy looked over to Jake.
"Nice of you to re-join me," she prodded at her partner, "Where did you disappear to?"
"Hey, now, no need to make it sound like I completely ditched you. I waited until Blake and Murphy got here first, and besides, I was only gone for literally two minutes," he argued, suddenly digging around in the bottom of his pocket for something, "I wanted to go back for this!"
For the first silent second, Amy wasn't sure how to respond to the cheap, plastic ring and very obscene, very fake diamond staring back at her. Her mouth fell a part just slightly, and her head tilted to one side in confusion.
"It bounced down the gutter when I threw it away," Jake began to explain, "It was teetering on the edge of the drain at the end of the block, but I managed to grab it before it fell in. I mean, I jabbed my finger on the metal grating that was sticking out, so I will probably definitely need a tetanus shot later, but still!"
Trying not to encourage him with any kind of amused smirk or chuckle, Amy could only shake her head, "Wouldn't it have been easier to just go back to the same dollar store and buy me a new one?"
Jake was still for a moment, eventually shrugging his shoulders, "Well, yeah, I guess. But I bought you this one."
Instantly, Amy froze. For a terrifying moment or two, the detective didn't know what to say. Had the ever-cynically crude Jake Peralta actually just said something to her that was... kind of sweet?
"This is the one ring that symbolises every hideously embarrassing thing you've experienced with me tonight!"
Amy blew out a breath that was followed by a gentle laugh. Phew. False alarm.
Finally reaching forward to take the round piece of plastic from him and slip it back onto her wedding finger, Amy snorted at a new thought that crossed her mind, "I guess I may as well take it. God only knows if I'll ever get a real one of these."
"Well, yeah, not with that attitude," Jake scoffed without missing a single beat. But when Amy didn't return the same joking expression, and a dim sadness shadowed her brown eyes instead, the male detective felt a pang of guilt bubble deep in his conscience.
Sighing with just the slightest sense of disappointment in himself, Jake cleared his throat, "Seriously, though, you shouldn't worry about that stuff. I think you're gonna' make someone super happy one day."
As the faint twinge of hurt fell from her face, Amy's features widened in surprise. There was no mistaking the kind sentiment that had just left her partner's mouth for anything but exactly what it was.
The warning bells were ringing in her ears all over again as she hastily twirled around on the spot, tripping over her own footing as she began to stroll back towards Peralta's car. Deep down, though - as awkward as the sudden compliment may have felt, Amy couldn't deny the smallest, smiley blush that impulsively glowed in her cheeks.
"Thanks, Jake."
"Yep. Somewhere out there is a nerdy, obsessive-compulsive little suck-up waiting to be bossed around by you for the rest of his life."
The shy hue of pink immediately drained from Amy's face. As tempted as she may have been to swing her foot out and sweep Jake's legs out from under him as he walked, the detective knew she really had no right to be shocked.
Jake Peralta complimenting her on something other than her work? Sure - when hell freezes over.
But still, the smile remained on her face. In fact, it only continued to grow as she laughed at him and rolled her eyes again.
"Thanks, Jake."
Trying her best to ignore the smug chuckles rumbling from his stomach, Amy took a quick glance down to adjust the ring on her finger. When she caught the image of her watch face sitting on her left wrist, the detective groaned again. Almost midnight.
Amy cringed, speaking through gritted teeth, "So, as much as I hate to remind you - shouldn't we be heading into Times Square for whatever grossly humiliating event you've planned so this nightmare can finally end?"
Jake faltered slightly as he glanced up to peer at Amy where she was still walking just ahead of him. He could tell that her annoyed tone was all in good fun, despite every ridiculous detail of their so-called date thus far. Between the strictly allocated bathroom breaks and the straight up ugly, blue prom dress he had made her wear, Santiago really had been such a gracious loser all night long.
But the detective could also see the weighted reluctance in each of his partner's steps and the way her shoulders were slouched back in exhausted defeat. And for one teeny, tiny, minuscule moment - Jake hated to think that he was the reason for all of Amy's misery.
"Uh, actually, Gina texted me before. Her and Boyle and Diaz are still at Shaw's if you just wanna' head back there and get one last drink instead?" he asked gently, "On me?"
The tiniest crease fell between Amy's eyebrows as she frowned at him. She waited for him to snicker at her or nudge her with a joking elbow or spring some kind of punchline on her, but instead, as she continued to gaze curiously up at her partner, all she could see in Jake's expression was a soft, genuine smile.
"Oh," she answered simply, "Uh, sure. Yeah, sure, that sounds cool."
"Cool," Jake repeated blankly, "Cool, cool, cool..."
His muted ramblings, while very typical, were almost enough to force another awkward wedge between them. Suddenly clearing his throat and reaching for the passenger door of his beat up old car, Jake opened it for Amy, gesturing to the seat.
"M'lady."
The charming tone accompanying the three, simple syllables made Amy halt on the spot for a moment - a long moment in which she eventually found herself having to forcefully tear her gaze away from his.
The pearly whites of her teeth shone through her polite smile as Santiago chose to merely nod her head once and then climb into the car. Her heart timidly thumped in her chest in time with Peralta gently shutting the door - her eyes falling back to the ring on her left hand.
And as Jake slowly paced around the front of the car, past the hood and over to the driver's side, he took a deep breath, making a quiet promise to himself.
He was not becoming completely obsessed with her.
Monday, Aug 28th, 2017
Day Four
Santiago was really starting to wish the rest of the squad would stop staring at her.
Each time she reached across her desk for her stapler, or searched through her filing cabinet for a particular binder, or stood from her chair to retrieve a document from the printer, she could sense a different set of eyes absolutely piercing her. She felt like she was an animal in a zoo.
And, honestly - all this because she had come back to work so soon after her ordeal with Gina, Holt, and a certain teenage vandal only three days ago? As if any of her colleagues were in the position to be so judgemental of her.
As she checked and double checked the stack of paper she was feeding through the fax machine, Amy sensed a figure frozen in its place out of the corner of her eye. She shot her vision back down, grumbling to herself as she plucked her papers back from the tray of the printer. And as she took a first step over towards her desk - sure enough, Boyle was standing right there. Standing, and staring at her.
"Something I can help you with, Charles?" she muttered through gritted teeth, nudging her team mate with a not-no-subtle elbow as she brushed by him.
Nervously clearing his throat, Charles walked on tentative toes and stayed a step behind Amy as he followed her. A small frown collapsed into his brow when he spotted the open case file sitting on her desk.
"Oh," he exclaimed, picking up the manila folder and flicking through the first couple of pages, "You're still working on the Carlisle murder?"
"Well, the victim didn't miraculously come back to life, so the case is still unsolved so, yes," she hissed, snatching the file back from Boyle, "I'm still working on the Carlisle murder."
The surprise that swept across his face from her aggressive tone was obvious to everyone in the precinct, but still, Santiago remained unfazed. She bit down on her tongue, trying to prevent any further verbal attacks on him as Boyle daringly carried right along.
"Well... I just thought - I mean, I was only gonna' say, if you want a change of pace, I could give you the latest update on where the squad's at with our case against Hawkins..."
Charles swallowed a concerned lump he could taste in the back of his throat as he spied the speed at which Amy's knuckles scrunched up into a fist and turned twenty shades whiter than all the hair on his head. But given she hadn't snapped at him again, Boyle pushed past the nervous chunk that had dropped from his neck to his stomach and hurried through the rest of his thought.
"Because, ya' know, Sarge has been tracking her every move, and Hitchcock and Scully have been spending most days up at Flaxton Hills Farm, and - "
"And, what, Boyle?" Santiago spat with huffing sarcasm and renewed frustration, "You're all just feeling so optimistic, despite how little progress you've made, and you're certain that one extra set of eyes will surely foil her perfect plot?"
Charles found himself flinching slightly as Amy threw her case file to her desk and collapsed down in her seat with a thud. The squeaking of the wheels on her chair echoed through the now eerily quiet precinct as a poisonous amount of venom settled on the end of her tongue.
"The rest of the crime in this freakin' city doesn't stop just because Jake Peralta's not here to solve it..."
The familiar sense of numbness sank further down into Amy's core at the sound of her own words. That was the first and only time she had spoken his name since she last saw him. And yet, Amy felt no emotion. Not a single one.
Despite the hysterics that she had unleashed upon returning back to her apartment on Friday night, the rest of Amy's weekend had not been spent in the same self-pitying manner. The shredded remnants of her life calendar were sitting somewhere at the very bottom of Brooklyn Central garbage dump. Her heart, heavy with immense sadness, had now been hollowed out and replaced with nothing but pure anger.
Amy was done with wallowing. She wasn't miserable, she wasn't filled with regret, and she wasn't longing for him anymore. Now, Amy was just plain pissed off.
She had cried all the tears she had left for Jake Peralta.
"Wow, there's no children here today for you to hurl your abuse at, so now you're targeting your co-workers?"
Gina's sarcasm was unmistakable as her words sliced right through Amy's thoughts.
As she slowly swivelled around in her desk chair, Amy narrowed her fiery, brown eyes at the red-head sitting behind her. She sure as hell had been quick to retract any previous sympathy offered the other day. But Santiago wasn't surprised. After all, when it came to her and Jake, it wasn't Amy that Gina was ever immediate to side with, was it?
Curling her bottom lip down into a frown, Amy sensed a threateningly snarky insult cross her mind. Luckily for the detective, though, she was interrupted before she could deliver it.
"Santiago?"
Captain Holt's authoritative voice instantly shrunk any sense of courage Amy was feeling well and truly back down to size.
"A moment of your time?"
Despite the tone of his supposed question, Santiago could tell that Holt wasn't asking her, but rather, ordering her to relocate from her desk to his office. Although, as she could practically feel the feistiness of Gina's challenging glare that was locked onto her, Amy quickly figured that maybe any incoming battle with her captain would certainly be an easier war to wage.
Sliding over the threshold from the bullpen to the confined space of Holt's office felt like she was sliding out from under the microscope that Charles and all her other colleagues were keeping her under. The door clicked into place behind her as Amy managed to release a long sigh from her lungs and take her place in one of the two chairs in front of her captain's desk.
But of course, the moment of relief didn't last.
It wasn't long until Amy noticed that Raymond was still yet to actually say anything to her. She followed him carefully with her eyes, her curiosity peaking more and more as he pulled the blinds over his office window, slowly circled his desk, and sat in his seat. The lid of his laptop opened gingerly as the older officer ran his fingers over a couple of keys. And then, Raymond reached into the breast compartment of his jacket.
The crease in Amy's brow deepened as her eyes zeroed in on a small, slim thumb drive her captain retrieved from his pocket and plugged into the USB port of his laptop.
The detective thought about speaking - her tongue brushing her lips and the slight sound of the start of a sentence even leaving her mouth. But any deliberation within herself was quickly cut short as Captain Holt suddenly turned his laptop around one hundred and eighty degrees to face her.
His peculiar silence prolonged as he watched Amy's eyes scan over the words and numbers typed on the document before her. She read the first couple of sentences quietly in her head, but soon enough, Amy felt her voice begin to echo from the back of her throat.
"Seven priceless sculptures from the Museum of Fine Arts in Boston, an estimated two hundred thousand dollars worth of diamonds from Anderson Jewellers in East Hartford, four paintings from the Andy Warhol Museum in Pittsburgh..."
Amy could sense the cogs in her brain slowly beginning to spin. She stared up at her captain in utter confusion, unable to connect the dots before her, "What is all this?"
Calmly folding his hands over on the desk, Holt let the question hang in the tense air of his office for a second or two before clearing his throat.
"This particular list of data details a number of high-profile heists in our surrounding states that were allegedly carried out by multiple crooked teams on the force," he explained, pausing, "...Crooked teams led by Lieutenant Melanie Hawkins."
Amy's stomach heaved at the sound of Hawkins' name.
"But - " Amy stuttered, still uncertain of what any of this meant, "But, that's impossible. That can't be right, I mean, Hawkins works for the NYPD, she can't also be heading teams in Connecticut and Pennsylvania and - "
"Well, no, not officially," Holt cut back in, "But let's say, hypothetically, Hawkins had managed to track down the right candidates and shared with them her technique and her success in the Golden Gang robberies. It could be argued that even the straightest of detectives would be tempted to pledge their allegiance to her and her plans."
Santiago was sure her face was starting to drain of all colour by now. A thousand different questions began swirling through her mind. Was any of what Raymond was telling her even the least bit true? How the hell had Melanie been able to get away with so much for so long?
Her next question, Amy spoke aloud.
"How did you even get access to this info?"
"Samuel Miller - Diaz and Peralta's attorney," he answered, holding down a slight snicker at the shock in Santiago's face, "Off the record, of course."
Amy nodded her head up and down just once, still not in complete understanding. She squirmed sort of uncomfortably in her chair as Raymond gathered his thoughts a little further.
"Unfortunately he's not the only member of his institute who has tried and failed to put Hawkins away in the past. Each of the robberies listed in this data set could not be successfully linked back to either her or her team and have, therefore, been stricken from the record," he went on, taking another breath, "Though, of course, that doesn't mean that we can't use it as a fresh lead to find any new evidence."
The overload of information was beginning to suffocate Amy in her chest as she wearily tried to read further down the screen of her captain's laptop, "Well... well, I mean, it could be a start? Maybe. Like, maybe you have enough here to re-launch an investigation, but where's the value in looking at other cases from out of state when - "
Before her hurried ramblings could reach a volume audible beyond the glass window of his office, Holt held up a silencing finger to cut his detective off. He was frozen in that position for what felt like a lifetime, until Raymond retracted his hand and reached for the very bottom drawer of his desk, slowly pulling it open.
When he slid a manila folder across the tabletop to her, Amy sensed a nervous shiver race up her spine.
She almost didn't want to look at it. But then again, she almost didn't want to look back to her captain, either. And knowing any attempts at rolling her eyes into the back of her head and simply disappearing were impossible, Amy soon decided to reach one, shaky hand out towards the cream coloured cardboard.
Its contents were flimsy at best - Amy could tell as she lifted the near-empty folder from the table. When she turned the cover over and flipped through four individual mugshots, the detective felt the frown deepen in her face.
Finally flicking her eyes back up to meet Holt's, she followed his gesture as he hinted for her to lie the four photos out across his desk. Raymond pointed his index finger to the first one.
"Detective Luke Bryant," he spoke, making his way along the line of pictures, "Detective Andrew Webster, Detective Phillip Collins, and Sergeant Melissa Ambrose."
Amy matched each name to each devastated expression on the faces in the mugshots, starting to feel her heart race a little. And then, Raymond caught her direct eye contact again.
"All of them tried to stop Hawkins. All of them were framed by her."
The revelation was like a punch to Amy's gut as she felt all her breath leave her at once. Holt offered her no reprieve as he carried straight on.
"All of them were wrongfully sent to prison. All of them have been taken away from their parents, their siblings, their friends, their spouse," he stopped again, punctuating his next phrase with a knowing tone, "Their boyfriend or girlfriend."
The guilt crashed down onto Santiago's shoulders like a tonne of bricks. No matter how much she had managed to convince herself that there wasn't a single person on the planet whom could understand what she was going through, it was a whole other level of awful to now be hearing that there were, in fact, multiple people experiencing her exact same hell.
"These officers weren't the last," Raymond snapped back in over the top of her dismal daydream, "And unless we do something to put a stop to Hawkins, Jake and Rosa won't be the last, either."
Amy's heart skipped a beat. Jake. Jake who must have been terrified and heartbroken. Jake who, at the same time, had ruined Amy's life and crushed her soul.
Quickly stopping the back and forth debate in her mind before she could spiral into a new fury, Santiago swallowed a lump in her throat.
"Do you have a plan?"
Holt's expression remained firm as he nodded his head, glancing back to the screen of his computer, "I do. Mr. Miller has a colleague in an out of state precinct close to where a team of these dirty cops are operating. There's been suspicious eyes on them from surrounding cities, and building speculation that they may strike again soon."
Amy was almost scared to ask, "Whereabouts are we talking?"
"Michigan. I want to send a detective in, undercover, to Detroit to work alongside the team of officers and uncover their plot," he answered her, "We can't risk getting so physically close to Hawkins again now that she's familiar with our squad. The further away from Brooklyn our operation takes place, the better."
There was a single moment of further silence. And then, Raymond's next words made Amy's chest drop to the pit of her stomach.
"I want to send you undercover to Detroit, Santiago."
The panic that settled within her was immediate. Panic, along with a million other heart-stopping emotions of disbelief.
No, her first thought was. No, no, no - there was no way on Earth Amy could possibly go through with what her captain was asking her.
Hadn't Holt been paying attention to the cases Santiago had been adamant about working since that accursed Thursday last week? She hadn't even touched Diaz and Peralta's file because... well, because it was Jake.
And because Amy wasn't miserable, she wasn't filled with regret, and she wasn't longing for him.
"Sir, I - "
"You don't have to give me an answer right now," he interrupted, blatantly ignoring the wary tone in her voice, "This is not a decision that I want you to take lightly. Our end game with this operation, aside from bringing Hawkins to justice, is to get Peralta and Diaz out of prison. Even if it takes fifteen years."
The detective felt her jaw fall open and plummet to the floor.
"Fifteen - " she spluttered, "Captain Holt, I cannot possibly - "
"I'm sorry, am I hearing you doubt yourself, Detective?"
Amy narrowed her brown eyes as she gazed through straight daggers at her captain. Did he honestly believe he could manipulate her that easily? Perhaps in any other normal circumstance, yes. But these circumstances were far from normal.
"Yeah," she spat plainly, "Yeah, I am."
Holt raised a challenging eyebrow, "Surely you don't need me to reaffirm that you are my best detective."
"Who is far too close to this case."
"But who is also someone that I wholeheartedly trust is capable of putting her personal feelings aside for the sake of her precinct and her colleagues," Holt snapped back, not missing a beat, "And I also know that no matter the deep sadness you're feeling or whatever angry facade you're trying to project - I know that you care, Amy. You care about this case, you care about Diaz, and you care about Peralta. So much so that you can and will use that to push yourself until you've brought Hawkins down - for good."
Amy was speechless. Her head was spinning. It was like she was filled with a thousand and one loud thoughts, but no matter what she tried, no words could leave her mouth. What the hell was she even supposed to say?
"Now, Santiago, do you trust me?"
That was an easy one.
"Yes," she managed to murmur, clearing her throat as she tried again, "How much of this plan is- is even, like, set in stone?"
"The most difficult part is going to be securing legitimacy of your departure from the Nine-Nine. To ensure that no-one asks any questions," he explained, "From there, you'll be granted some time to spend with your family before leaving for Michigan, however, you won't be able to reveal to them the details of your assignment. Just enough to let them know it could be some time before you see them again."
A shudder crossed her as Amy nodded her head, remaining wordless.
"We're still not completely aware of the exact gravity of the situation in Detroit, but given the potential longevity of this case and the risks associated with cops getting too close to Hawkins and her crew, I'll be remaining in sporadic contact with you throughout."
The detective's heart rate slowed a little at this detail. But still, it only silenced one of the million other alarm bells ringing between her ears at everything else she was hearing.
Amy nervously licked her bottom lip, "How much time can I have?"
For the first instance in their whirlwind, five minute conversation, Captain Holt's expression softened, "I can give you a week. Though, the sooner we're able to execute our commencement of this operation, the better," he added, leaning towards her slightly, "Take the rest of the day off. You should go home and process everything we've discussed this morning."
Amy sighed, exasperated, "Sir - "
"It's not an order. Stay if that's what you really want," he spoke before she could argue with him, "This is just me advising you that perhaps you'll find you're able to make a much more informed decision with a clear head."
Amy's manicured nails drummed against the wooden arm of her chair as she hesitated. She dreaded to think of whatever toxic conclusions the rest of the Nine-Nine would jump to if she were to suddenly leave the precinct for the second workday in a row.
But hell, did the shredded pieces of what remained of her pride and dignity really even matter anymore?
"Okay..." she replied tentatively, "Okay, I'll leave the Carlisle case with Sarge and then go home and think about everything, and I guess... I guess, I'll just let you know," she murmured halfheartedly, "Thank you, sir."
She was sort of surprised when her legs didn't turn to jelly and collapse out from under her as she stood up. It took a second or two for her brain to send the right message to her feet, but soon enough, Amy was able to take a first step back towards the bullpen.
Holt watched her as she left, quietly replaying snippets of their conversation to himself in the back of his mind. And then, as he focused on the reference to Sergeant Jeffords she had just made, Raymond's eyes widened in realisation.
"Santiago, there is one more thing," he began, tapping his pencil against the desk once or twice as she slowly turned back around. The captain sighed, "I'm sure you're aware that early next year is when you'll receive the results of your sergeants' exam."
The last two words that left him made Amy's heart skip a shallow beat as Raymond went on.
"I'm also rather certain that a failing grade isn't anything you need be concerned with," he trailed off, pausing for a moment, "But in saying that... a passing mark requires you to attend a promotional ceremony with the commissioner before commencing in your new role. And, well... no promotional ceremony means - "
"No promotion."
All her hopes and dreams may have well as gone up in a puff of smoke with the sentence she spoke. Part of her didn't want to believe it, but as her expression locked on to the solemn stare in her captain's eyes, that was all Amy needed to confirm what she already knew to be true.
Her long, hard, gruelling seven years as a detective flashed across her mind in what felt like a wasted millisecond as Amy reached for the handle of the office door.
"Understood, sir."
As these last two words left her ever so quietly, all of Amy's muddled and messed up thoughts slowly began to come together piece by tiny piece in her over-worked brain.
She had to admit, for the first time in the last week or so, Amy was actually relieved to be going home from work early that day. As much as she despised the thought of being trapped between the four walls of her apartment all on her own, she knew it was what she needed to do.
The detective had one hell of a long night ahead of her.
Tuesday, Aug 29th, 2017
Day Five
Anyone who truly knew her would agree that living with such an immature man-child for close to a year had made Amy slightly more accustomed to her space not being so obsessively tidy all the time.
But at the end of the day, germs were still germs. And Amy still visibly cringed when she woke up that morning to a sticky line of drool dangling from her mouth.
Groaning out loud to herself, Amy quickly sat up, suddenly very awake as she wiped her lips with her hand and rubbed the back of her neck.
She had woken up cold, having forgotten to set the morning timer on her apartment's heating system. She had also woken up hungry after another night of being physically unable to eat anything for dinner. And finally, she had woken up with a sharp pain in her lower back.
But Amy would spend a million awful nights on her uncomfortably firm couch if it meant getting to avoid her double bed for as long as possible.
The detective huffed out a sigh, rubbing her weary eyes and frowning at yesterday's mascara that instantly stained her skin. Her stomach grumbled under her tank top, guilting her and coercing her to consider actually eating something other than the packeted mints in the bottom of her purse that morning.
The wooden slats of the floor were chilly on her bare feet as Amy reluctantly rolled off the couch and took the short stroll from the living room to her kitchen. She popped a single piece of bread in the toaster before a second, mute sigh escaped her and she slowly spun around to make her way towards the bathroom.
She hadn't decided whether she was going to work or not that day. She hadn't thought about it. She hadn't really thought about anything.
The absolute slimmest sense of disappointment in herself shot across her chest. She hated to think that she was wasting Captain Holt's time by not even attempting to consider what he had asked of her yesterday. But thinking about her proposed assignment meant thinking about Jake.
And no matter how hard she tried, Amy simply couldn't bring herself to think about Jake.
Avoiding the image of her bed and most other things in her room as she scurried through to the en suite, Amy narrowed her eyes at her reflection in the mirror. Her brown orbs rolled in irritation and her hand crept up to her neckline at what she saw. The detective had fallen asleep the night before wearing one of her older, cheaper necklaces - evident by the green tinge of a copper stain in a faint line around her neck.
She mumbled a silent swear under her breath as she walked back into her room, flicking her vision over to the digital clock on her nightstand. Still only a little after six, she thought to herself. She had a good hour or two yet until she had to decide whether or not to grace her precinct and the rest of the world with her presence that day.
Focusing back on the copper chair around her neck, Amy took a moment to eye to tall chest of drawers sitting by the wall closest to the bathroom. She tried as desperately as she could to ignore the fact that the majority of the clothing neatly folded away in it belonged to you-know-who, and instead reached for her jewellery box that sat on top of the wooden set. She dragged the gray, velvet box towards the edge, opening the lid before taking her hands to the clasp of her necklace.
It might have been from the lack of nutrition, or the lack of consistent shut-eye, or the lack of pretty much anything else, really - but Amy soon found herself cursing out loud when something about her food and sleep deprived sense of coordination caused her elbow to knock the box clean from its place. Her carpeted floor was an instant mess of spilled earrings and rings and bracelets and whatever other pieces of dangling jewellery.
Hanging her head back with a loud groan, Santiago scraped her fingers through her hair in frustration. All she wanted was one day where the tiny, inevitable annoyances of life didn't add to the mountain of stress she was already feeling. All she wanted was to be comfortable enough to be alone in her apartment and sleep in her own goddamn bed again.
All Amy wanted was feel like she was in control. In control of at least... something.
For now, all she had to be in control of was clean up duty as she knelt down to the ground and turned her jewellery box upright. She dumped everything back inside, not particularly caring if all her necklaces tangled together. She leaned forward, reaching for a single earring and a couple of other smaller pieces that had rolled under the chest of drawers.
And then, Amy froze.
Time came to complete standstill as her jaw parted slightly and her heart skipped a dozen uncertain beats. Her eyes were suddenly as dull as the fake diamond that stared back at her. The cheap plastic she dared to take in her shaking hand felt even harder than the defensive wall she had built around herself over the last five days.
As she fell back to sit properly on the floor and leaned against the end of her bed, Amy danced the one dollar ring between her fingers. She didn't want to think about her ex. She didn't want to think about all the things he had done and said to hurt her. But as she continued to gaze down at the piece of plastic that had been hidden in the bottom of her jewellery box for all this time, the memories of Jake that filled Amy's mind were totally beyond her power.
She remembered him dropping to one knee in the middle of the bullpen on the final day of their bet and holding the ring case out to her. She remembered the obnoxious pieces of coloured confetti that had been caught in her hair, and the smug smile that sat on Jake's face when she grumbled her reluctant agreement to go on 'the worst date ever' with him. She remembered all the hell he put her through, and how he had loved every damn minute of it.
She remembered the final rule he had made for the night. That no matter what happened, she wasn't allowed to fall in love with him.
Only somewhere between the two of them throwing peanuts into each other's mouths on their rooftop stakeout, and him crumbling before her and kissing her for the first real time in the evidence lock-up all those months later - Amy had done exactly that.
A silent tear pooled in her eye and rolled down her cheek. And then it hit her. It hit her hard. The realisation smacked her unapologetically across the face and knocked out every single sense of stubborn denial she had been forcing herself to feel.
Amy was miserable, she was filled with so much regret, and by God was she longing for him.
Quickly wiping away the single tear with the back of her hand, Amy sprung from the floor to her feet. She tore from her closet the first pantsuit she could find and stuffed the ring deep into the beige coloured pocket as she got changed. Without even bothering to brush her teeth, or clean the rest of the mess on her bedroom floor, or eat the wholemeal toast that had popped up from the toaster, Detective Santiago snatched up her car keys and bolted through the front door of her apartment.
This wasn't over. Not by a long shot.
The elevator dinged at seven a.m. on the dot as the doors parted and Captain Holt stepped out into the bullpen. The scene before him was quiet and empty - the last of the night shift workers having left just as he arrived.
He nudged his way through the small wooden gate, crossed the tiled floor towards his office, and unlocked the door with the key that hung on his belt.
It was a cold New York morning - one that lead him to close his office door behind him and promptly turn up the thermostat. He walked in silence towards his desk, sitting down in his chair, placing his briefcase at his feet, and lifting the lid to his laptop.
Raymond had been coming into work two hours early every day since his detectives had been sentenced for their false crimes last Thursday. The captain wanted to take any and every opportunity he could to work on their case and free them from the hell Melanie Hawkins had trapped them in.
There was only one other member of his squad who Raymond knew was aware of his pre-nine o'clock arrivals - just in case their torturous new reality ever caused them to need him for anything in a more private setting.
And yet, as he heard the chiming of the elevator echo in the open space behind his closed door and pulled blinds, Raymond still looked up in confusion as that very, one person came aggressively barrelling into his office at full pace.
Captain Holt frowned at Detective Santiago. And between all her exhausted huffs and puffs, and what sounded like a reluctant sob wobbling it's way up her throat, Amy opened her mouth to speak.
"I'll do it."
Chapter title and song lyrics by Shinedown.
Okay okay, so I realise at the end of the last chapter I mentioned my hope to not be away for too long between updates this time... I'm also now realising that I probably need to stop making promises.. :)
Buttttt, hopefully the newly added drama in this latest chapter will be enough to earn me some forgiveness! I'd love to hear what you all thought here, and also any predictions for what will happen with Amy and her mission and whether she'll actually go ahead with it! Please feel free to favourite and leave reviews! They give me life!
Hope you enjoyed! I know I am still very much loving writing this one, and will be back sometime soon with the next update :)
Till next time guys,
Reneyyyyyyyy x