"I don't know what to say," Rita said to James Essi, Chief of Detectives for NYPD as her mind raced in a hundred different directions while here eyes looked around her small office, the office that would soon belong to someone else.

"Well, I know exactly what to say," Chief Essi said, "Congratulations, Captain. It's well deserved. Frankly speaking, you've deserved Captain's money for the past five years. Everyone was just waiting for you to take the test."

"Thanks, Chief. I knew I was number six on the promotion list, but it's still a shock."

"I need you at 1PP as soon as you can get here, but we'll need you back at that desk just as quickly. You're a Captain as of right now, but the 15th Squad has too much on it's plate to change commanders. We'll talk about it more when things calm down."

Rita felt as if she would burst from pure joy, but she held it together long enough to finish her call calmly.

"I understand. I can be there in thirty minutes."

Rita stood next to her desk and looked at the desk phone that she had just delivered the news that was overwhelming her mind. She had made Captain and, joy upon joy, she had received a reprieve from saying goodbye to the men and women she had come to love like family. It might have been just that he had been on her mind recently, or maybe it was a measure of the joy Rita was feeling right then that caused the barriers she had erected years before to fall one after another, and the lines on her hands and arms to glow brighter than they had in years.

I made Captain.

She had not talked this way with him in many years, but it still came almost as natural as breathing, even though she had made the barest of connections, keeping to the shallows and avoiding the deeper waters that would allow her to see what he was seeing. But not so shallow that she did not feel the warmth as it began to settle on her, better than any hot bath she had ever had.

Rita had learned early in their relationship that even Aric needed a few seconds to compose his thoughts before sending those thoughts across the ether to her. It had taken her some time to learn that skill, a time during which her thoughts would pour out in one jumbled mess, the echo of which, reflected back to her from Aric, a source of personal humiliation.

"God, I sound like a fucking idiot," she had said as she buried her face in her hands after breaking the connection.

"You did fine. It's not an easy skill to learn. You'll get the hang of it, just give yourself time," he answered before resuming their connection.

You're used to having things come easily for you, and you're a perfectionist. It's not the best combination in the world. Be patient with yourself.

He had seen deep enough into her at that point that there was no point in denying the truth of his words. And she had seen deep enough into him that his reaction to her news was no surprise.

That's excellent news! You deserve it. I'm so happy for you. Do you know where you're being assigned?

She could see out her office window that John Irvin was glancing at her, no doubt wondering why she was smiling like a simpleton at nothing. Or maybe he could see the unexplained glow coming from her office from where he sat. She felt like she was wrapped in a soft, warm, blanket; and everything in her office seemed a bit brighter, every color more vibrant, every sound a bit clearer, more musical. She knew or, more correctly, Aric had told her, and she had believed him, that what she was experiencing was the result of elevated Dopamine and Oxytocin levels in her bloodstream.

"If you say so," she had replied, "I say it's your lovelight that warms me up and brightens everything around me."

"Eso que llamamos una rosa," he had answered before pressing his lips against hers.

Not yet. We have a handful of cases that the Chief of D's wants me to clear up before leaving, so I get to keep the squad for a while.

Rita became aware of traffic noise, and a voice making an announcement over a loudspeaker in a language she didn't recognize, and realized that she had gone farther than she had intended.

This is such wonderful news. I am so happy, and proud. You must be bursting at the seams.

Rita felt in that moment that she was on the verge of giving into her desire to drop the last barriers between them, and she was not sure what she feared more: that he would let her in, or that he wouldn't.

I was just so happy, and I needed to share it with someone. I'll let you go now. I have to tell my mom.

I'm glad you told me. I'm smiling like an idiot at nothing and people are looking at me.

Me too. John's giving me the evil eye. Gotta go. Bye.

It took all of her willpower not to say I love you.


"This is the first video," Joe Slovak said as he played the queued up video on his iPad. The timestamp was 7-15-22:00:50:23. The video scroll bar showed the clip was eleven seconds long.

"Just a few hours after the fire alarm," Rita said.

Joe Slovak played the video several times, each time it showed a short flatbed open air truck with a rear lift gate. In the middle of the bed was a dark cube with printing on the side and arrows to indicate which way was up and four multi-colored diamonds arranged in a familiar pattern.

"That's a HAZMAT container," Rita said.

"Well it is Long Island," Ray replied dryly.

"Hardy har har," Rita replied.

"So a few hours after somebody pulls a fire alarm on an illicit chemical facility in Manhattan someone's getting a HAZMAT storage container delivered to Long Island," Joe said.

"Somebody took something out of that lab before we secured the sight," Ray said.

"And then took it to Long Island? Why?" Joe asked his partner.

"Because, you know, it's Long Island. One more container of toxic shit, more or less. Who's gonna notice?"

"What is it with you and Long Island? What have you got against it?"

"You know...it's Long Island."

"Oh for fuck sake," Rita said as she rubbed her forehead with her right hand, which turned out to be a bad idea, because neither of the men failed to notice the much darker pattern of lines on her hand and arm.

"Start the second clip," she said after folding her arms and tucking her hands out of sight.

The second clip was longer owing to the amount of traffic, which consisted of one mobile crane, two long flatbeds with loads completely covered with vinyl sheeting, and one Ford F-350 Super Duty filled with men.

"Huh," Rita said as Joe replayed the footage again.

"Well said," Ray said.

"So about twelve hours after the first 911 call," Rita said, "and we think these are connected because of what?"

"Because the same woman called them both in, and because of the next clip, which she also called in."

"As a point of interest, how many 911 calls does she usually make in a year?" Rita asked as Joe was bringing up the third clip.

The third time stamp was almost four hours after the second, and the large letters and logo on the side facing the camera needed no explanation.

"Holy shit," Rita said.

"Yeah," Ray added.

"Someone takes samples from that lab, but doesn't know what they have."

"But they want to find out." Joe said, continuing Rita's train of thought.

"So they call in a mobile lab," Ray added.

"But they need to keep whatever it is, and themselves, safe until the lab rolls in."

"So the find a hazmat container to stick it in until the lab gets there."

Rita was silent for a moment.

"Then they work all night, and we get an anonymous, untraceable, message in the morning telling us what's in two of those containers, and we move everyone back two more blocks?"

"Fits the evidence we have."

Rita ran the fingers of her right hand through her hair, which once again got the attention of her two detectives. Her left hand was once again in her left pocket, curled around her new Captain's shield, and it was at that point that she realized she had not told anyone the news.

Rita looked out at her squad room, which against all recent odds, and the fact that it was a Saturday, was filled to overflowing with her detectives, temporary and permanent; the men and women she would have to leave once their major cases were resolved.

Joe Slovak and Ray Quinn looked at their boss quizzically as she silently stood up and walked out of her office.

"Can I have everybody's attention?" She called out as she stopped in the middle of the squad room, "I have an announcement."


"I called him," Rita said quietly after telling Connie the news about her promotion, and accepting her best friend's congratulations.

Connie, who had only moments before been quite vocal as she shared in Rita's joy, went dead silent for a moment.

"Yeah, huh?" she replied just as quietly.

"Yeah. You know. Just to let him know. Nothing more than that."

"Nothing?"

Connie had taken to calling it tantric sex even though she hadn't the slightest idea what it was like. And as close as Rita was to Connie, there was no fucking way Rita was going to attempt to describe what it was like when Aric made Rita feel like every molecule in her body was having an orgasm even though they were a continent apart.

"Nothing. We just talked. He said he was happy for me."

"Well, I'm happy for you too. You should have made Captain ten years ago."

"Well, so should you, so we're even," Rita replied.

"No, I took ten years off raising kids. I don't have anywhere near the time-in-grade."

"You came back. That counts for a lot in my book."

There was a moment of silence, which Connie broke.

"I'm not calling you sir."

"Oh, fuck you."

John Irvin paused writing in the card that he would give to Captain Rita Ortiz later that day, and looked up at the sound of her laughter.

"Your bash is tonight?" Connie asked.

"No, we have the thing in a little over thirty hours. I'm not taking any chances. We'll do it after things settle down."

"Maybe then you'll know where you're going."

"Maybe. Too much to think about between now and then. You're still on for tomorrow night, right?"

"Wouldn't miss it. It can be our own private bash."

"Taking down bad guys. My kind of party."


Slovak/Quinn: big ass WMD

Archer/McGuire: flight crew murders

Woodruff/Kilik: DVD stakeout

Gideon/Espinoza: Rasmussen murder/everything else

Rita looked at the short list she had written on her dry erase board, the deceptively short list that was turning into a shitload of overtime, eight detectives, one Lieutenant, now Captain, and one PAA working Saturday and probably Sunday as well racked up quite the OT bill, but was also delaying a painful parting.

She was still staring at it when Slovak/Quinn entered her office.

"911 call," Joe said.

"Jesus fucking Christ," Rita replied.

"Guess what just drove by the old crack pot's property again?" He asked her as he handed her his cell phone, which showed a slightly blurry picture of a still from a Ring camera display.

"Guess they finished their investigation," Rita said as she stared at the poor quality image of the mobile lab, it's still image pointing in the opposite direction it had traveled only a day before.

It was then that Ray Quinn noticed something interesting.

"What's Rasmussen murder mean?"

"Dump job. The stiff had a license and credit card for Daniel Rasmussen. Why?"

Ray and Joe looked at each other.

"What?" Rita asked.

Joe grabbed his iPad and started searching for an image in the folder labeled Avenue C WMD.

This is what," Joe said as he handed the device to Rita, the picture he had found taking up the full screen.

"Son of a fucking bitch," Rita said as she stared at the picture of the lab coat where it rested on a concrete floor, the identification badge still clipped to the pocket, the name and picture crystal clear.

"Houston, we have a problem," Ray said.