Summary: Amy kind-of sort-of Dies, and everything falls apart.
So I think maybe by now I can list “inflicting emotional pain on Jacob Peralta” as a marketable skill? Anyway, I decided the best way to deal with exam stress was to pull out that horrifying old prompt that I believe @natashwarma once gave me into a legit fic. Never did I think something would be worst than single dad au, but well. I’m delivering a blanket apology with this thing pleasedon’tkillmeokaybye
Rosa, her fingers wound tightly
around the back of the plastic chairs in the meeting room and her voice short
and brooking no argument, actually opposes the whole idea at first.
So does Captain Holt, even if
he maybe isn’t as vocal about his objections as Rosa is.
“What?” she snaps, the first
time it’s brought up. “That’s insane.”
“Don’t be stupid,” she growls,
the second time it’s suggested. “We’ll figure out another way.”
The third time, she doesn’t
even bother with pleasantries.
She stands with her hands
curled up tightly at her sides, the outsides of her knuckles brushing against
the hems of her jacket sleeves, not completely sure why she’s so angry that
they’re even considering this and watching
as Amy talks in that eager, animated way of hers, explaining to Captain Holt
why there is literally no
other way they can pull the sting off.
On the one hand, Rosa gets it; Amy
doesn’t want to sacrifice a month’s worth of undercover work and intel. Work
and intel for Rosa’s case, the one the higher ups got tangled up with because
it bled into larger investigations and for Christ’s sake, Rosa was the one who suggested Amy for the job.
On the other hand –
Rosa watches as Holt agrees
with her; slowly, finally, convinced by Amy’s determined stubbornness and the
FBI agents’ voices of reason. Rosa watches, hands still curled at her sides and
the tightness of her chest threatening to spill through into her voice, because
this can’t – she won’t –
“Diaz?” Captain Holt’s voice is
calm – not quite gentle, she thinks,
and realizes that he knows if he tried gentle
with her right now she’d get angry, the tightness not just spilling through but
exploding, blazing. (He’s not wrong.) “It’s your call.”
Rosa swallows and pretends her
voice isn’t getting caught in her throat. “Fine. Whatever.”
For those who believe in God, most of the big questions are answered. But for those of us who can’t readily accept the God formula, the big answers don’t remain stone-written. We adjust to new conditions and discoveries. We are pliable. Love need not be a command nor faith a dictum. I am my own god. We are here to unlearn the teachings of the church, state, and our educational system. We are here to drink beer. We are here to kill war. We are here to laugh at the odds and live our lives so well that Death will tremble to take us.