Chapter Four - Self Help.
And it cuts like a knife,
It feels like a fight,
To take back your life.
-x-
Tuesday, Aug 29th, 2017
Day Five
Amy's hard-eyed stare remained glue to the wall directly opposite her. She barely even flinched when the door to her captain's office closed back into place and Raymond rejoined her.
The only movement she made was that of her fingers as she rolled the plastic ring between them where it sat in the pocket of her pantsuit.
Her brown orbs flicked over to the very corner of Holt's desk as he gently place Amy's steaming coffee mug down, gesturing for her to take a sip. Amy hesitated. But soon enough, the detective leaned forward, looking up at Captain Holt and nodding her head just once.
"Thank you, sir."
The three near-mute syllables from her were some of the only words to fill the small space since Amy first burst through Raymond's office door about ten minutes earlier.
The previous silence quickly swallowed them both up all over again, though, as Raymond slowly sat down at his desk. He closed the lid to his laptop, taking his hand to his face and rubbing his chin in deep thought.
After another moment or two, Raymond raised a curious eyebrow at Amy.
"Roughly sixteen hours to make a decision that could potentially affect your next fifteen years," he stated simply, "That's not like you."
A small smirk popped up in the corner of Amy's lips.
"Let's be honest, sir. I haven't exactly been acting like myself at all over the past five days."
Raymond was quick to match the irony in Amy's expression. He certainly couldn't disagree with her there. But the point she made didn't particularly quell any of his concerns.
"Santiago. While I understand I stressed the urgency that came with you deciding whether or not to go through with this operation, I feel obligated to question if perhaps, all of a sudden... you're thinking irrationally?"
"I'm not," Amy immediately snapped back, "I know I've been super heated this past week, and I've been letting my work suffer because of it, and I haven't wanted anything to do with the case, and I know it sounds crazy..."
She stopped for a short second to take a breath.
"But I was only acting that way because I was so mad. Because I'm still so hurt," she admitted quietly, "And I mean... I just faced some super, harsh realisations last night that told me deep down I've been taking all that hurt out on him... on Jake, like, somehow I've been wanting to hurt Jake as much as he hurt me. But that's not fair on him. And it's not fair on Rosa, either."
Nodding along with each new argument she offered, Captain Holt fell to hesitation. Did he believe everything his detective was telling him? Maybe. Certainly a lot more than he had believed her initial proclamation when she exploded through his door that morning.
Raymond only hoped that Amy understood the pain she was feeling wasn't ever meant to cause her as much heartbreak as Jake intended - or so the wise captain suspected.
"I know you're hurting," he conceded, "And I know it's no business of the squad's, and certainly no business of mine, but knowing how reckless and impulsive Peralta can be, I don't believe his intentions were ever to cause you so much anguish on purpose, I think that - "
"I know," Amy suddenly cut back in. She noted the confusion that slumped into her captain's face as she forced her way through a second, small grin, "I know, sir. Jake never really did master the art of subtlety."
The lame attempt at humour left the detective with a whispered chuckle. She pushed through all the tormenting memories in her mind of that evening in her boyfriend's holding cell as she properly gathered her thoughts.
"I understand exactly what Jake was doing. He thought that me waiting for him out here was him being selfish. So when I wouldn't let him press pause on us... he decided the only thing he could do was break my heart for real," she spoke carefully, snorting under her breath, "Little did he know how much it was actually going to work..."
The soft sympathy remained in her captain's eyes as Holt looked on at Santiago with pride in everything she had finally been able to admit to herself. For a short second after that, his expression faltered.
"And... your promotion?"
Amy held down a shudder as she shook her head clear of any thought even remotely linked to her Sergeants' Exam, "I'll re-take the test. In three years. Or, um... whenever I come back."
"That was never part of the life calendar."
"The life calendar... isn't important," Amy spoke, choosing to leave out the details of her prize possession's ultimate demise. She soon turned quiet again for a moment or two - one hand tightening around her coffee mug, and the other clutching with absolute desperation at the tiny ring hidden in her pocket.
As she ran the end of her finger along the inside of the plastic band, the detective suddenly leaned forward, placing her coffee back on her captain's desk and clearing her throat.
"It isn't important," she repeated, "Nothing else in my life is as important as this. Because I'm not living the life that I want if Jake's not in it."
The words felt like a light-bending epiphany as they slowly left her lips. She swallowed down a sob in the back of her throat and quickly wiped the tiniest tear from the very corner of her eye.
"I love him. I want him home. Him and Rosa."
In the immediate quiet that followed, Amy swore that the sound of a pin being dropped from the roof all the way down to the Brooklyn streets below could be heard from anywhere in the building.
She used every ounce of willpower she had to not turn her intimidated eyes away from Captain Holt's as he continued to stare right through her. Detective Santiago could see all too clearly how much the cogs in his brain were suddenly turning. She knew how her captain worked. And she knew that right then and there, he was deciding whether or not to trust that she was truly ready to do this.
As the older police officer took his hand away from his face and slowly came forward in his chair, Raymond nodded just once at Amy.
"Alright. Let's get to work."
Given all that had transpired over the last five days, Charles was certain that nothing about walking into the precinct that morning had the ability to surprise him.
That was, of course, until he spied a tall take-out cup sitting on his desk beside his keyboard.
As a confused frown collapsed into his brow, Charles sort of spun around on the spot and allowed his eyes to scan the bullpen. Nearly every seat he spotted was empty, as was the kitchen, the break room, and the briefing room. Not that any of that was too unusual - it was only about eight-forty in the morning, after all. Boyle had been taking a note out of his captain's book and arriving a little earlier to work, and leaving a little later every evening to go home.
There simply weren't enough hours in the day that Charles could use trying to win Jake and Rosa their freedom back.
The ever haunting thought continued to drum in the back of the detective's mind as he took a step towards his desk with a shrug of his shoulders. When he picked up the coffee cup and his eyes fell on the small, yellow sticky-note attached to the lid, Charles felt his chest freeze for a second.
A. xo
And then, as if on cue, Boyle heard the door to the copy room click open. When Santiago stepped into the hallway and reappeared in the bullpen, the older detective glanced up at her in surprise.
She held his uncertain eye contact for a moment or two, until Amy finally turned the very corner of her lips up and shot him an apologetic smile. She didn't say anything. She didn't need to. As soon as Charles mirrored the soft grin in her expression, Amy knew that her friend had forgiven her for her crazy outburst the day before. In all honesty, Boyle was just relieved to see Santiago much more neat and tidy and put together than she had been since the very last moment of the trial all those days ago.
Little did he know, of course, his co-worker had sneaked back home to shower and change and freshen up before re-arriving at work - still beating everyone else despite her early morning meeting with Captain Holt.
Charles placed his satchel on his desk chair and took a quick sip of his coffee. Just as he cleared his throat and considered parting his lips to speak to Amy, the two were suddenly interrupted by the robotic voice of their captain.
"Santiago?"
Her name was the only sound to escape him before Raymond vanished back behind his office door as swiftly as he had appeared.
Remaining in her place for only half a second, Amy turned her head back towards Charles. She offered him another friendly smile and heaved her shoulders in a small shrug, before once again joining Raymond in the private confines of his office.
With the door closed and the blinds drawn, Charles felt a curious frown dip into the crease between his eyes, before simply shaking off the thought and sitting down at his desk. There was nothing particularly strange about the subtlety of it all. Even if Amy had managed to pull herself together with more success than she had all week, she was still clearly going to need as much added support as Raymond was willing to offer her.
So almost an hour later when Amy didn't even join the squad for their morning briefing, Charles was still none the wiser.
The two empty chairs in the centre of the briefing room still shot a dull shiver up the spines of all those who worked on the fourth floor of the Ninety-Ninth precinct. The constant reminder of Jake and Rosa's absence was more than enough to keep everyone solemnly silent as Sergeant Jeffords entered through the double doors and approached the small lectern.
"Alright, squad, listen up," the sergeant began, straightening out his notes, "Captain Holt has asked me to lead this morning's briefing, so - "
"Uh, wait, why?" Gina asked with immediate scepticism, "What have he and Amy been dishing about all morning?"
"Well, seeing as I assumed it was none of my business," Terry replied with a knowing stare in the assistant's direction, "I didn't ask."
"Okay, fine," Gina snapped back, folding her arms over her protruding stomach, "I'm just sayin' - Holt shouldn't have to hand out any kind of preferential treatment. I'm sure there's some kind of life-sucking TED Talk on anger management we could just make Amy watch instead."
"C'mon, Gina, give her a break," Charles spoke, swivelling around in his seat to glance at his step sister, "Yes, Amy's a little on edge right now, but she's trying to do better. I'll have you know this morning she apologised to me for her harmless slip of the tongue yesterday."
"Harmless slip of the tongue?" Gina repeated with a snort of disbelief, "Well, that's great for you, Boyle, but I never got my apology."
"For what?"
"Did you see that death glare she shot at me and my little unborn superstar yesterday? No-one would dare look at Beyoncé like that when she was carrying Rumi and Sir," she explained to muffled groans throughout the room, "And all that after I was actually nice to her last week?"
Charles raised a stern eyebrow, "She's going through a lot."
"So are the rest of us, Charles," Gina exclaimed with bite, "And no matter what she thinks, she's not the only one feeling screwed over by this whole damn situation. How was it that I over-heard you describing what it feels like to be separated from Jake?"
Charles' answer was immediate as his tone remained flat, "Like ten thousand sharp needles being stabbed through each of my vital organs from my tongue to my genitals by the devil himself."
"So then, dear brother, who's side are you really on?"
"That's enough!" Terry suddenly boomed from his commanding post. His squad all jumped in their seats in simultaneous surprise as the sergeant shook his head, "You should all be ashamed of yourselves. All this talk of taking sides and who's on whose team."
A few pairs of timid eyes began to fall to the floor throughout the room. Terry watched on as they did - his muscular grip on the lectern loosening as he finally spoke with a soft sigh.
"We're all hurting. All of us. But now is not the time to be taking that hurt out on one another and playing the blame game. We need to be holding each other up, not dragging each other down," he urged, pausing, "We're all a team - and we need to start acting like it. We owe it to Jake and Rosa."
The intense quiet that filled the briefing room flooded the thoughts of everyone and sent their brains awash with dreaded images of Peralta and Diaz locked away in their tiny prison cells.
When it came right down to it, Charles and Gina felt simply helpless. Their emotions mirrored one another's, and while they might have each been choosing to share them in the complete opposite manner, all they both truly wanted was for everything to go back to normal so that their colleagues, their friends, their squad, their family could be happy again.
They both knew Terry wanted the same, too. But with Amy's sanity supposedly hanging by a thread, and Captain Holt being locked up in his office twelve hours a day - someone had to step in as the stern, level-headed leader.
"Now, let's start by quickly running through the uniform officers' duties for the day," the sergeant spoke again, "And then Boyle, Hitchcock, Scully - we'll look at our next steps in tracking Hawkins and Langdon. Hopefully we'll have Santiago join us later today, too."
Gina could still sense a sour cynicism dwelling within her as she subtly rolled her eyes, "Doubt it..."
Charles shot a sad glance downwards at Gina's spiteful tone he had just managed to hear echo from behind him. He wasn't done with trying to convince her to give Amy a break - not by a long shot.
Because Terry was right. If they had any hope of getting Jake and Rosa back - whether that be in the next fifteen days, fifteen weeks, or fifteen years - they needed to work together.
They needed to be the unstoppable, well-oiled machine that the whole of Brooklyn knew they really were.
"Wait, wait, wait," Scully suddenly spluttered from his seat the back of the room, "...Where is Amy, anyway?"
"Scully!" Terry spat back at him in disbelief, "Have you not been paying attention to a single word any of us have said in the last five minutes! She's having a meeting in Captain Holt's office!"
The older office shrugged his shoulders curiously, "Well, what kind of meeting?"
"The secret kind," Terry responded through gritted teeth.
"Ha, ah I see how it is," Hitchcock chimed in with a nod of his head as he knowingly crossed his arms, "Well, if it's one of those kind of secret meetings, they really might want to think about keeping the blinds drawn."
And for the first time that morning, the entire briefing room could finally agree on one shared thought.
"HITCHCOCK!"
"Remind me again, Detective," Raymond spoke as he continued to pace across the floor of his office, "Which languages would you consider yourself proficient in?"
Amy frowned as she glanced up at her captain from the pile of papers and newly scribbled notes she had strewn all over his desk. At the plain curiosity evident in her face, Captain Holt cleared his throat as he went on.
"For your undercover persona?"
The crease in Amy's brow instantly deepened, "You don't want me to just be Cuban?"
Raymond dismissed the suggestion with a shake of his head, "The risk is far too great," he began to explain, "We need to ensure that whomever you are while undercover is somebody as far away from Detective Amy Santiago as possible. We know what Hawkins is capable of doing to good cops who infiltrate her operations."
A daunting sense of understanding washed over Amy as her eyes flicked down to the set of mugshots of the five innocent officers that still lined Holt's desk.
The detective sighed, tightening the grip on her pen, "Well, a part from English and Spanish..." she hesitated, "Portuguese, French, enough Russian to get by, um - "
While there was no doubt that Amy still had an impressive point or two to add to her linguistic resume, the two Brooklyn officers were suddenly cut off in the middle of their conversation by the sound of Raymond's office door flying open.
What instantly followed was a purely detestable sound that rumbled from Captain Holt's stomach and echoed through his gritted teeth.
"Hello, Raymond."
Amy's eyes widened in surprise. Wuntch.
"Madeline," the captain replied with enough disdain to make Santiago squirm uncomfortably.
"Apologies for barging in here so suddenly," she spoke, her words dripping with obvious sarcasm, "I do hope I wasn't interrupting anything?"
"It's funny, Madeline, I failed to even hear you screeching through the skies or crash landing onto the roof of my precinct," Raymond spat back at her, "Tell me, how is Daenerys Targaryen?"
Amy slid further down into her seat, muttering to herself under her breath, "How does he even know that reference..."
"What's even funnier is you likening me to such a powerful creature and seeing it as an insult."
"Yes, well, perhaps tell that to your over-grown talons and repulsive dragon-breath."
Finally bolting upright in her chair and springing to her feet, Amy awkwardly tried to gather the papers around her in pursuit of a hasty exit, "Uh, sir, should I, um - should I just leave the two of you to it?"
"No, I'm sure that's quite alright, Detective," Raymond answered, deadpanning back towards Madeline, "I doubt Chief Wuntch will keep us too long when she has to retreat back to her coffin before the sun reaches its highest point of the day."
"I wouldn't be so sure about that," Madeline quipped, embracing her enemy's latest insult, "In fact, I highly suggest you take what I've come to discuss with you with the upmost seriousness. Less you want any more life being sucked out of your precinct."
Amy sensed her heart skip an uncertain beat at the foreboding tone in Madeline's voice. Though, Raymond, of course, remained stern-faced. That was, until, the wrinkly, old blonde before him opened her mouth to speak again.
"But, first - how do I know you're not wearing a wire?"
Immediately, Amy's expression dropped.
"O-okay, I'm just, uh, I'm just gonna' go," the detective stuttered, scrambling for all her papers before making a mad dash from the confined office back to the open space of the bullpen.
Wuntch watched with keen interest for a second or two as she spied a couple of documents fall from Santiago's arms to the carpeted floor. And then, the older woman turned back to Holt with a coy grin.
After an excruciatingly long nine and a half minute pat-down (a new record, mind you), Raymond finally felt Madeline wrench him back around to face her. The intensity in his eyes matched that of his arch-rival's.
"So, tell me, Madeline, why is it that you've decided to grace my precinct with your mind-numbing presence this morning?" Holt asked, stuffing his hands in his pockets as he about-faced, turning his back to her, "Perhaps you're in need of some advice for a new police mascot? I'd, of course, be the first to nominate yourself as a candidate, but I don't believe the snake is a common staple of New York."
Wuntch resisted any typical reaction to the smug tone in Holt's voice that was all too familiar to her. She remained firm-footed in her place - her shoulders back and her chin confidently facing upwards as she let his words simply wash over her. And then, a smirk appeared across the Police Chief's mouth.
"I hear you have a Melanie Hawkins problem?"
The hustle and bustle of the busy New York streets below his precinct seemed to come to a complete standstill as Raymond felt his spine stiffen in its place at Madeline's words.
The captain's jaw was left gaping in an uncertain form of shock before he cleared his throat and relaxed his surprised demeanour as best he could. Taking a single step to his right to turn back around and face her, Raymond raised a curious eyebrow.
"And why would a potential dispute between myself and Lieutenant Hawkins be any concern of yours?"
The knowing grin remained plastered to Wuntch's face, "Raymond, do you know who originally held command over Hawkins and the rest of her squad before she was promoted to lieutenant?"
His dumbfounded silence told her all she needed to know as Wuntch screwed her fist up into an aggravated ball, "It was me. That was my squad - it had been for years."
Captain Holt's eyes widened with disbelief, "Your squad? How is that even conceivable - why are you only informing me of this now?"
"One of the only little known facts about me, I suppose. Melanie made damn sure of that," Madeline explained through gritted teeth, "She was my sergeant, directly under my command, until she decided she no longer agreed with the way I chose to run my operations. She concocted a clever little plan to get me promoted and shipped off to PR while she snatched up the position of lieutenant for herself."
An ironic smile settled into Raymond's expression for a moment as he shook his head, "Oh, so that's where you learned that dastardly little trick," he quipped, "Why are you actually telling me all this? Is this the part where we sympathise with each other and decide to work together to take Hawkins down for good?"
Madeline remained completely still for just half a second. And then, she simply shrugged her shoulders.
Raymond narrowed his eyes at her, "You can't be serious?"
"How about we drop all the subtleties and political correctness, Raymond," Wuntch offered, "Hawkins framed your detectives and threw the both of them in prison. There's no way either of them are guilty - Diaz isn't that stupid, and Peralta's too much of a goody two-shoes."
Captain Holt's mind was suddenly racing at a mile a minute, but he didn't dare verbalise a single one of his thoughts. He knew how dangerous it was to speculate the integrity of one of New York's finest lieutenants, even in the safe confines of his office, and especially in the presence of no-one other than Police Chief Madeline Wuntch.
Clearly growing tired of his ever-lingering distrust, Wuntch rolled her eyes, allowing them to fall all the way to the floor where Santiago had let slip a couple of documents in her earlier haste. Curiously, the older woman reached down, picking up the slim pile of papers and instantly flipping them over.
A solemn frown settled into Madeline's face.
"Sergeant Melissa Ambrose," she spoke simply, placing the mugshot down on Raymond's desk to face him, "How long as she been inside for now? Two years? Three?"
Holt hesitated before matching the sombre tone in his colleague's voice, "Three and a half."
There was a moment of silence before Wuntch licked her bottom lip to speak again, "Her son was only four when she was arrested, correct?"
Raymond sensed the uncharacteristic sadness sink deep into his chest.
"Yes."
The quiet understanding between the two veteran detectives spoke volumes as they stared down at the heartbroken expression in the old, faded mugshot. Holt would be damned if he was going to sit back and watch one week inside turn into multiple weeks or months or years for his two detectives.
"What do you want, Madeline?"
The question seemed to throw her for a split second as the Police Chief merely raised an eyebrow at her nemesis.
"If I agree to you providing your assistance to our joint cause," he specified, "What exactly are you looking for in return?"
The wicked grin that tugged at the corner of Madeline's lips was instantaneous. There truly was nothing sweeter than a well earned pay off.
"Well, now, you see," she began, crossing her arms as she paced around the chair in front of Raymond's desk, "That's actually the easiest part."
Raymond remained awfully dubious, with good reason, as he waited for Madeline to turn around and laugh in his face and spout off demand after impossible demand. What would she ask for this time around? Raymond's money? His complete resignation from the force? For him to confess to Diaz and Peralta's accused crimes himself?
Or maybe, as it turned out, it really was going to be a whole lot easier than all that.
"Melanie Hawkins has spent years laughing behind my back and spitting in my face as she parades herself as the leader of a squad that was truly mine," she began to explain, "And, yes, perhaps it may have been a blessing in disguise seeing as I'm now the one with more power than she could ever dream of holding. But none of that is a worthy enough substitute for the revenge I still owe her."
Her words were thick and filled with threatening promise as Raymond kept a careful eye on Madeline's every move. She took a second step towards him, her unshaken confidence still as firm as it had been when she stepped foot in the Ninety-Ninth precinct that morning. Holt had been on the receiving end of that menacing glare of hers more times than he could count. Surely he had to have even the slightest inclination of what she planned on saying next.
And yet, Wuntch's proposition only continued to completely surprise him.
"So, here's what I propose. I'm willing to go along with any hair-brained scheme you and your detectives can come up with. But when you catch her, Raymond," Madeline sniped, punctuating her counterpart's name with a sharp prod to his chest, "It's not going to be you filing the arrest report, or receiving praise for your genius, or standing at a podium with congratulations from the mayor. It's going to be me."
Her mouth curled up in another snarl, "I want that dirty, conniving, drug-abusing worm to know that I'm the one who ruined her career, like she tried to ruin mine."
There were a few beats of suspicious quiet that filled the air of the captain's office as he fell to total speechlessness. Raymond was almost afraid to move a single muscle or make a single sound at the risk of Madeline reverting her petty demand for something much more sinister. A frown dropped into his brow with careful hesitation.
"...That's it?"
His uncertainty made Madeline chuckle, "That's it," she confirmed, "I know my word isn't taken for gospel around here, least of all by you, but it really is that simple. You get your psycho ninja warrior and your little pet project back - and all I want is the credit."
If Raymond hadn't been so wary of her, he would have moved to pinch himself. Instead, the captain remained frozen where he stood behind his desk, his orbs sharply narrowed and his jaw hanging slightly open. Madeline simply rolled her eyes again. She supposed she couldn't blame her nemesis for his obvious suspicion. But she also knew that Raymond, more so than anyone, should have completely understood her desperate need to cut her adversary down in such public fashion.
After all, she had only tried to do to Holt exactly what Hawkins had done to her.
Sometimes the most subtle and calculated forms or revenge were all that was needed to truly satisfy a years-long grudge.
"Do you have a plan?" Madeline questioned, choosing to ignore Raymond's doubtful gaze.
Taking every extra moment of prolonged silence he could afford, Captain Holt carefully continued to examine the supposed sincerity offered by Chief Wuntch.
Did he trust her? Not a chance.
But was he willing to work with her if it meant bringing Peralta and Diaz home? Absolutely.
"I may be begun to initiate some form of a plan, yes..." he explained tentatively, "You may or may not be aware of this, but Hawkins has multiple crews of dirty cops working for her all over the country."
Madeline nodded her head in confirmation, "She's leading something much bigger than the state of New York can handle."
"Which I why I've proposed to place a detective undercover in one of her out-of-state syndicates. To uncover as much dirt as they possibly can and tie it back to Hawkins and all the false arrests she's made against each of the offices affected," Raymond cleared his throat as he went on, "All I'll need for right now is a legitimate excuse to remove the chosen detective from their active duties so they slip into their undercover role unnoticed."
With a second nod of her head, Wuntch hesitated the captain's request, "I can easily have them removed from the precinct. No questions asked," she confirmed, "Although, I am curious as to who you've selected to undertake this mission? I can't see Jeffords leaving his family for an extended period of time, and Boyle might not exactly be syndicate material?"
Raymond fell back to a stern quiet. He tried as desperately as he could to not allow his facial expression to give away any of the concerns or thoughts dancing across his mind. It sure sounded easy enough. But when his dark coloured eyes flicked over to the door of his office for only the most micro of milliseconds, Madeline narrowed her accusing glare at him.
"Oh, you must be joking? Santiago?" she scolded with an evil sneer, "Not that I particularly care to keep up with the incestuous nature of your precinct, Raymond, but couldn't that be considered a conflict of interest?"
Trying all he could to keep his emotions out of his voice, Captain Holt's tone was unwavering as he shrugged his shoulders, "I believe you'll find the conflict has been temporarily resolved."
Madeline snorted, "So, what, she dumped him? How are you so sure she even cares enough to save her convict ex-boyfriend?"
For the very first time in all their years as both colleagues and enemies, an immediate response failed to escape Raymond as he simply stated right through Madeline.
Maybe it was the incorrect assumption she had made about his detectives and their break-up, or maybe it was the insane weight of pure stress and anxiety he had been shouldering for the past five days, or maybe it was simply the image of Amy's heart-broken exterior that had taken up a permanent residency in his mind - but whatever it was, something in Raymond's face revealed to Madeline that she truly had this all wrong.
"Oh," she spoke in realisation, "Oh, wait just one second. He broke up with her?"
The blank slate that was Raymond's features gave Madeline the only answer she needed.
As an ironic chuckle echoed loudly from the back of her throat, Chief Wuntch shook her head in disbelief and turned back around, reaching for the brass door handle to Captain Holt's office.
This so-called ingenious undercover mission of his was certainly about to get a whole lot more interesting.
"Oh, Raymond," she hummed with another belittling laugh. Her eyes met his with a wicked grin before she slipped out of his office, "I do hope you know what you're doing."
Chapter title and lyrics by Good Charlotte.
First of all, hey!
Second of all, I'm sorry. I literally have zero excuses for why this update took so long. I just hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it!
Thirdly, holyyy molyyy, didn't we all go through something with that whole FOX, NBC, cancel, un-cancel mess of a twenty-four hours a few months ago. I've never felt so much whiplash, BUT more importantly, I've never felt so much happiness to have a TV show revitalised. :)
Any thoughts, predictions, favourites, comments, reviews are always greatly appreciated!
Till next time guys,
Reneyyyyyyyyy x