Chapter Text
“Ugh!” Amy shut the drawer of the filing cabinet as fast as she’d whipped it open, the cold clang of hollow metal ringing through the room. “Peralta!”
“Yes, Detective Jam-for-Files?” she jumped at his voice, smug and struggling to maintain a semblance of calm. Amy, for her part, wasn’t exactly in a meditative mood, either; glaring at Peralta now, standing inches away from him, she struggled to keep composure, her only motivator being that Captain Holt’s office was just beyond them.
She’d never let the Captain see her lose control.
On purpose, at least.
“Peralta,” Amy repeated, her voice shaking as it walked the thin line between civility and rage, “Would you like to explain why you filled the entire cabinet with strawberry jelly?”
“Raspberry jam, actually. Which I thought would have been implied in ‘Jam-for-Files’. You’re slipping, Santiago.” Peralta winked, his arms resting jauntily on his waist. Amy gritted her teeth.
“Just answer the damn question.”
“Well, I guess you could say I thought it would be a sweet ide—Ow!” Peralta clutched the back of his head suddenly, his face twisting in pain. Amy looked up, trying to find the source of the disruption, and her blood ran cold.
Rosa Diaz was standing behind Peralta, her hand still raised in the air as if she were readying to hit him again.
“R—Rosa…” Amy stammered, heat rising in her legs, her chest, her cheeks, “What are you doing?”
“I hate bad puns almost as much as I hate bad pranks.” Rosa’s voice was non-chalant, her gaze steady as it glided coolly from Amy back over to Peralta. “If you’re gonna mess with Amy, do it right.”
“Or, you know… Not at all.” Amy added with a cautious laugh, her stomach flipping more erratically with every word.
“Yeah…” Rosa didn’t laugh back, only looked at the other woman with an unreadable expression, “Or not at all.” With that, she let her hand fall back to her side, smiling with contempt as Jake relaxed in front of her, and sauntered away from them, away from Amy. Amy watched Rosa go, watched the bouncing of her curls and falling, heavy steps of her feet as she made her way back to her desk, dropped back into her chair and began to slam at the keyboard, and sighed.
Rosa was incredibly cool. Had always been.
And Amy never would be.
“Seriously, though,” Peralta snapped Amy out of her thoughts, drawing them back to the jam-filled cabinet, “I thought it would be fun to eat the jam right out of the jar for lunch with you, but Scully kept finding it in the fridge, so I had Charles sanitize the cabinets and then I put the jam where I was sure Scully would never look.”
“What?” Amy snapped in Peralta’s direction without looking, her eyes still fixed within Rosa’s general area.
“I said—“
“Oh my god, Peralta!” she put up a hand to silence him, “That doesn’t even make sense. Now will you quiet down?”
“Yeah,” his voice dropped, becoming low and mellow, “Whatever. You know, you’d probably get a better vantage point from your own desk, where you’re supposed to be working and all.”
“You’re right.” her hand fell, and she looked away from Rosa long enough to turn a small smile at Jake, “I would get a better vantage point.”
“What are you even looking at?” Jake’s question sounded curious, but Amy had known him long enough to sense the irritation edging his voice.
“Nothing,” she answered quickly and smoothly, her smile widening as she began to walk towards her desk, “Nothing at all.”
When had lying become so easy, so instantaneous?
Leaning back into her chair, Amy wiped the question from her mind, knowing that the answer didn’t really matter. What did was that she was still safe, still undercover. Still able to see Rosa without being seen herself.
Exhaling deeply, she reached over and switched on her monitor.
It was around lunchtime when she looked up again, so absorbed in her work that even Rosa couldn’t tear her away from her computer.
Three more files to process, four more stacks of paperwork to do, and she would be satisfied.
Two more.
One more.
Okay, maybe just one more. It was like an addiction, to Amy; the thrill of chasing words and facts across her screen, the euphoric high of sending in yet another file to the Captain’s drop-box, bagging up a bad-guy for good. With every step she completed in the paperwork, a little more order was restored to the precinct; what better way to derive pleasure than in cleaning up crime, one signature at a time?
Still, even heroes like herself needed time off, and so at exactly twelve every day, Amy took her lunch-break. Leaning back in her chair, Amy rubbed her eyes, letting them wander away from the glare of her computer and surveying the goings-on of the station. Boyle, also prepping for his lunch, was thumbing through his bib-drawer, trying to decide if navy or powdered-blue better matched his tie. Terry, never one to wait for food, had taken his lunch at eleven and was settled back into his work, the empty shell of a yogurt-cup resting on his stack of files, keeping them steady. Gina, for her part, was staring at Amy, giggling every so often; Amy scrunched her face, hoping that Gina would get the message but knowing she wouldn’t.
And then there was Rosa. Amy couldn’t look for very long, at first, only cast fleeting glances before looking down at nothing, her heart in her throat. Rosa wasn’t even doing anything, only reviewing some case-files for a drug bust she was working on with Peralta, and yet still, Amy was hyper-aware of her movements, taking stock of everything Rosa was doing. Rosa looked up, and Amy snapped her gaze down again, trying not to blow her cover.
Is she looking at me? Does she know?
Oh, God, she can’t know…
“Being productive, Santiago?”
“What do you want?” Amy looked up again to find Peralta hovering over her desk, smug smile plastered on his face. She grimaced; she was hungry, she was tired, and she was still unsure if Rosa had caught her in the act of creeping, which meant she was definitely not in the mood to put up with his shit. And it had been a lot to deal with lately; between the jam incident this morning, the random calls to his desk, and his other tired shenanigans, Amy had barely spent a moment without Peralta, even though they hadn’t had a case together in weeks. And every second he took from her, he took away from Rosa.
“Nothing,” he replied reproachfully, stepping back a little, “No need to get all irritated, it wasn’t like you were doing anything.” He was right, in a way; Amy softened, relaxing in her chair a bit as he continued, “Anyway, I know you’re about to take lunch now, so I was thinking you and I could go for pizza? Sal’s is back running.”
“Sal’s is disgusting,” Amy snapped matter-of-factly, “Don’t you read Boyle’s weekly e-mail blasts? It’s only seventh in mouth feel.”
“What? Why would anybody—“ Jake shook his head and sighed. “Fine, whatever. Don’t go out to lunch with me. Enjoy whatever boring gluten-free sandwich you packed for yourself, Santiago.”
“For your information, it’s a brie and turkey sub.” Santiago looked beyond Peralta, craning her neck to see where Rosa was sitting, check if she was watching the spat develop. Rosa loved conflict, and Amy was sure that the other woman had taken notice of what was going on between her colleagues. If she had, though, she left no indication; other than a few flitting glares and a tighter-than-normal grip on the stress-ball Terry had given her for Christmas, Rosa was completely focused on her work.
That was good, right? Sure, she hadn’t noticed Amy, but on the other hand, was that really what Amy wanted?
Yes.
Just not like this.
“Santiago? Santiago!” Peralta snapped his fingers in front of Amy’s face, forcing her back into reality. She swallowed.
“I asked what’s bothering you lately, you seem really distracted.” Peralta’s tone of voice was soft, caring, even, enough to make Amy cringe. She knew what was going on, knew what he wanted from her, what he was expecting, and it made her want to scream. Peralta wasn’t a bad guy, and Amy didn’t want to hurt him, not really; so why was he interested in her? Why couldn’t he get the message?
“Nothing.” the lie came out like it always did; smooth, quick, without feeling. Loud enough that everyone could hear, quiet enough that no one would suspect it. Staring at Rosa, Amy repeated herself, this time with more conviction. “Nothing at all.”