Author's note

Just btw, in this story I'm conflating the Figgis mob with the Ianucci's, since they serve basically the same plot function. So essentially all the same stuff happened (obvs minus Jake) involving Pimento and Bob and that storyline.

"Amy?"

It had been a long day for the detective. It had been a long year. In a sense she was relieved, but there were still nagging doubts. Sure they had the Iannucci mob bang to rights now. It was only a matter of time before they were all brought to justice. But that didn't give her the years back. It wouldn't bring him back from the dead.

Peralta was currently sat in the interrogation room, handcuffed to a table. His bag had been placed in the evidence locker, the drugs inside it, all the proof the NYPD needed to conduct a full-scale raid of Ianucci warehouses. The 99 as one of the key arbiters of the investigation were now kicking around the precinct, filling out the last of their paperwork so the taskforce could begin their mass arrest. SWAT teams all around Brooklyn, all round New York city in fact would be kicking down doors, busting through windows and blasting through walls in a matter of hours. It was the end for this crime family, at least.

Amy had, of course, scythed through her paperwork, if anything faster and more precisely than usual. But she took no pleasure in it. She just wanted it to be finished, so she could go and have a cigarette. She didn't even stop to help anyone else, even as Scully looked up at her mournfully from beneath his mountainous stack of forms. She went to the break room and out the door that lead to the rooftop courtyard, watched intently by most of the members of her precinct.

She went to the edge of the roof, looking out over the streets below, as her cigarette burned weakly in the winter sun. It was cold, but she didn't so much care. Secretly she rather liked smoking on a rooftop in the cold weather. It made her feel like she was in one of those bleak Scandinavian crime dramas. She'd been there for hardly a minute when Charles poked his head out the door to see if she was ok.

"Hey Ames, if you need someone to talk to, I'm happy to, but just know that this temperature makes my pores go all kinds of screwy so…"

"Don't worry about me Charles, I'm good."

He looked at her for a couple of seconds, confirming tacitly that he did not believe her, but nevertheless he closed the door and went back to his desk. Whatever was going on in her brain was not something he or his pores were qualified to deal with.

One by one the rest of the squad also came to check up on her, except for Hitchcock and Scully who in a rare moment of tact, sensed that their presence would do more harm than good. Terry came first brandishing large yogurt pots and a couple of spoons.

"Probably not the best time to make this pitch, but can I interest you in a stress relief technique that doesn't give you emphysema?" he said holding out one of the pots. She smirked at him, and took it gratefully.

"Hitchcock and Scully said we could use their deck chairs but I don't really want my butt touching anything theirs have, you feel?"

She nodded, putting out the cigarette so she could open up her yogurt.

"So," continued Terry, "I swiped a couple of bean bags from the break room." She smiled. Terry was such a dad, and such a kid at the same time. They plopped down together and ate in silence for a minute or two, looking out at the city.

"We got 'em Sarge, didn't we? It wasn't some dream was it? I didn't hallucinate the whole thing?"

"Nope. Once we fill out all the warrants and transfer them to task forces, they'll be good to take down that whole damn nest of rats."

She nodded, looking down at her yogurt. It was delicious but for some reason she couldn't seem to enjoy it the same way Terry did. Well no one enjoyed yogurt quite like Terry but still.

"So why don't I feel something? I should feel, well I don't know what, but it shouldn't be… this," she motioned at her general person. "I don't feel anything. Just like I need to sleep for a week."

Terry didn't really know what to say. He could relate though. "Then maybe you just need some time off. I know for a fact you haven't taken a personal day since you got here, and you haven't had any vacation in a year. Time to cash in. Go home in the evening and don't think about police work just for a bit."

She laughed mirthlessly, "What else do I have to think about?"

Terry looked stunned, but then realised that when you have a spouse and kids, it's a hell of a lot easier to take your mind off the job. "Aw dude, I'm sorry," He started, before she interrupted him.

"No, it's fine. You're right. I don't know what I need right now, but it's definitely not another case. It's just… we've worked so goddamn hard. And now we've won. But what do we get? Commendations, promotions sure, but none of that matters, because the one thing I want is the life they took from me, and that's something I can never get back." She meant that quite literally, Terry knew. He'd been the one who'd found them there on the floor of warehouse, the one who'd had to hold Amy down, to stop her from charging the mobsters in a blood fury, armed with nothing but her teeth. He'd had to help Amy sort through his stuff.

So, he knew exactly why she was struggling to find the positives in this situation. He pulled her into a hug which she gratefully accepted. "I don't even feel sad anymore. I just don't feel anything," she said into the warmth of his absurdly toned pecs.

"Terry." Rosa's gruff voice intoned from behind them. "Your wife's here." Terry looked up from the embrace and nodded at his colleague. He had hardly seen Sharon or the kids in the last few months, as things with the mafia had started to heat up. She had been as understanding as she could but had told him the second they broke the case she would take him home, and he was only too happy to go. He hated to leave Santiago alone though, and as he rose to return indoors he exchanged a meaningful look with Rosa.

"You thinking about Teddy?" She asked bluntly, plopping down next to her fellow detective on the beanbag. Amy took a moment before she nodded.

"Sort of. I'm just struggling to get my head round the situation. I almost can't believe it's all over. I guess I'm still trying to process everything that's happened in the last few years. All that we've… just everything you know?"

"I get it," Rosa replied before handing Amy a glass bottle. She took it almost greedily, she could definitely use a drink right now, but her natural Santiago-ness still shone through.

"How did you get beer into the precinct, and how is it cold?" she asked, before getting the bottle opener tool on her pen knife out to open it.

"I don't think you need the answer to either of those questions," Rosa said secretively, cracking the top off on the heel of her heavy-duty boots. Amy said nothing, only let the cold amber liquid tumble down her throat, before remembering she hadn't finished the yogurt. Eventually Rosa buckled under the silence. "I have a mini-fridge under my desk, don't tell Holt."

Amy grinned genuinely, for the first time in a while. It was amazing what you could get out of people simply by sitting there and letting them fill the gaps in the conversation. She was thinking of writing a paper on it, to submit it as a soft interrogation technique.

"Rosa, you should know me better than that. I know I'm a stickler for the rules, but I'm also not a snitch."

"I know," she replied smiling.

Amy took another sip of the beer. "How's it going for you then? You must be pleased. Maybe Pimento will resurface."

Rosa chuckled, "Yeah, I don't know whether I'm gonna keep that going to be honest."

"What? You guys were going to get married, before he got chased away to Argentina."

"I know. I think we were both a bit blinded by how awesome the sex was. And I mean it was good, I've never met anyone so comfortable with being–"

"I mean we can just skip the details Rosa if you don't mind, I basically already had to see you guys shacking up everyday at work for a month."

"Haha. Yeah I guess we were a bit pda weren't we? I don't know, there was just this evening we had to ourselves, and after we'd done it for like the 5th time, we just started talking… it was weird."

"Yah that is weird," Amy said nonplussed.

"Turns out we actually have very little in common. He's just way too normal for me."

"Normal? Well that's one way of looking at it yes…"

"He's not someone I could see myself being with… on a permanent basis, and I don't believe in wasting my time."

"That's… actually really great Rosa. Like a super-healthy attitude."

"Huh. Thanks Ames," the detective sat back in her chair and took a large swig of her beer. "So… you sure your feeling okay?"

Amy took another drink before answering, "I should be happy right? We got those bastards, I can see them behind bars, where they can't hurt anyone but themselves."

Rosa only half-agreed, but knew this was a delicate situation. Slightly out of character, she tiptoed toward her point, "I mean sure, but… I don't know about you but if I'd had to go through… what you went through," she took another deep swig, "I'd want nothing more than to just put a boot through a mobster's face. It was bad enough when they chased Adrian away. If he'd actually died… I don't think anything would've stopped me, from doing something really, really… bad."

Amy nodded, "Uh-huh. That sounds pretty familiar. I don't know though, rage can be so tiring. At some point you've just got to accept certain things are out of your control, and the worst thing you could do is give into the hate, because… well because then they win ya know?"

"I get it. Jesus who's meant to be comforting who here," Rosa chuckled.

Amy looked her in the eye, "We all lost things. We've all been hurt by these guys. I think we could all do with a bit of comforting," she said, gently patting her fellow detective on her leather-clad shoulder. Rosa caught her hand and held it there giving it a small squeeze and flashing a rare smile.

They'd finished the beer. There was an elephant in the room, and Rosa knew that she was not in the least prepared to deal with it. That would be the captain's job she decided, before abruptly standing.

"Okay, this is more sappy bullshit than I'm paid to endure so Imma head inside." Amy grinned again, and mouthed a 'thank you' to her colleague and her friend. She leant back in beanbag and saw the sun already beginning it's descent over the horizon, lighting the sky with reds and pinks.

"Beautiful sunset isn't it?" came a deep timbred voice behind her. It was the Captain, although in this setting he felt more like the ghost of Christmas future.

She didn't turn around but then in her peripheral vision, which had been labelled the sharpest in the NYPD at a sight training seminar, she saw a glass of amber liquid. It was a very nice-looking glass, with its convex shape and the ridges carved into the middle. She took it carefully.

"It's a twenty-five year old Glenlivet single malt scotch whisky," Captain Holt intoned with his usual factual detail, "I thought it appropriate considering the weather, the season… and how much work you've put into your job in the last few months."

Amy nodded her gratitude before taking a sip. It was nice. It made her throat burn but in the pleasing way that scotch is wont to do. Normally she would be searching for flavours, for undertones but right now her brain just wasn't up to it.

She saw that Holt was still standing and patted the seat next to her expectantly, something she never would've done in a normal frame of mind. It was so… informal.

"I've never sat in one of these… bags of beans before," he said suspiciously but sensing the conversation couldn't continue with him still looming above her, he cautiously lowered himself to the seat. His face contorted slightly as his buttocks underwent this new experience, but he seemed to find it comfortable enough.

"Speaking of your work ethic and that of your colleagues, I'll be writing the entire squad up for commendations, Hitchcock and Scully included," her eyebrows raised at the last part. He understood her confusion, "I understand your confusion Santiago, but for two veteran officers, they have gone far beyond their remit in this operation – you all have done far more than should be expected of cops, even by the high standards you already set. It's the least you deserve."

She tried to force a smile at that. "Thanks. Coming from you that means a lot." She meant that. A few years ago Amy would've been cartwheeling around the roof, by now.

"I though you'd be cartwheeling around the roof by now. You realise that the next time a post opens up you will almost certainly be on the shortlist for captain?"

"What can I say? I guess my priorities have changed."

Holt nodded sagely, "Years fighting the mob'll do that to you."

"Plus, I mean that really isn't why we put in all that work you know? We did it because…"

"Don't worry Santiago, I know you would give me your all regardless. But there are times I wonder."

Amy frowned, "Wonder what? That we might go bad just cos we don't always get medals?"

Holt smiled, "A contraction and you dropped the 'be' from 'because'. That must have really riled you." It both delighted and upset her that he could read her so well. "You remember Bob don't you? Bob Annnderson?"

"The FBI dirt bag who nearly sold us to those mob bastards? Yeah I remember him all too well."

"Whatever he may have become, when he was younger, he was one of the most dedicated investigators I ever had the pleasure to work with. He never stopped. And I firmly believe that, at least to begin with it was because he genuinely wanted to help keep people safe from punks like the Ianucci's. But people took him for granted. Things go wrong on the streets, crimes happen and people blame anyone but the criminals because the criminals can't be seen. They'll blame kids, old people, immigrants, police, agents. I think that Bob just wanted someone to properly appreciate the work he was willing to do. Who knows? Maybe we could learn a lesson or two from the mob. How to keep your employees happy for one."

Amy was stunned, and Holt noticed her expression.

"Am I saying I don't love my job? Of course not. And I know you love yours. But it's a hard job especially for people like us. So from time to time people need a handout or two. Why do you think I let Rosa keep her beers in that minifridge under her desk? Because it helps her get through the rough days. Cops need that sometimes, because we don't always get the gratitude we deserve. And the last thing I want is for you to feel like your work isn't appreciated. Isn't noticed. The last thing I want is to let you down."

They both took another pull of the scotch.

"It's good," Amy said, not really capable of much more expansion than that. "Thank you, sir. I'd never want to let you down either."

"I know Amy." Holt shuffled around slightly, "As cautious as I was to begin with, I think I'm really starting to like these beadbag things," he said. Amy stifled a giggle. "I think I might need to show these to Kevin, they are quite something."

Amy couldn't help herself. She laughed long and hard, her scotch sloshing around her cup, thankfully not spilling as it had clearly been quite expensive. For the first time in a long time, she felt even vaguely normal, as if things had reset to before all the craziness started.

Things stopped seeming so normal seconds later, however.

Holt cleared his throat, "There was another matter I thought I should discuss with you." By the tone of his voice, Amy had already guessed where the conversation was going, and it was not a direction she wanted it to go.

"I think you know the subject to which I am referring," he said suggestively.

"Does it start with a J and end with an 'acob Peralta'? What about him?"

Holt was slightly taken aback. Her response had been rather more caustic than he was expecting. Then again, he wasn't quite sure what he was expecting.

"You two were partners for a long time, and quite close friends as I recall. He was… unfortunately sucked into the mob while undercover and you saw him for the first time in several years, this very morning. Do you understand why I thought I should make you aware of the score before things were set in motion?"

Perhaps it was the alcohol, perhaps it was a lack of food and sleep, but most likely it was both. Amy began to speak very freely, "Look, whatever we were matters jackshit now. Sure we were good partners, great partners even. And we were close, of course we were, but do you know what? That closeness kind of went away. A few years apart will do that to you, oh that and the fact that he's a piece of human garbage who jumped at his first chance to join a mafia family."

"Santiago, that's enough Peralta was –"

"Look I get it. Undercover missions are hard and dangerous and they take their toll. But we just spent the last 6 months of our lives giving our blood sweat and tears to taking down the very organisation he betrayed us for. I'm sorry if I seem a bit unsympathetic but I lost too much fighting him to feel sorry for him right now, and you of all people should know that. Right now, nothing will delight me more than knowing that he and all the rest of those rats are going away for a long old time. I know you were trying to slow walk me through it because you thought maybe I might be upset at the thought of an old partner going to jail, but trust me, all I wanna know is how many years he's getting and where he'll be so I can find him and tell him what a piece of shit he is."

Holt was silent for a long time. Amy, her rant expired, sank back into the bean bag, feeling a flood of emotion rising to her face. She wouldn't cry though. She'd spent far too much time doing that.

"Actually, I was going to inform you that Peralta, of course following a psych eval, will be fully acquitted for his actions over the past few years and released under observation. I was hoping he would rejoin the 99 and the squad, you included would be part of his rehabilitation.

Amy thought she'd been stunned before when she'd seen Jake. Now she was properly floored.

"What?"