[One Week Later] [Noon]
It was raining.
Jake and Rosa sprinted down the sidewalk in bright yellow raincoats that made them look more like rubber ducks than detectives. A wiry guy in a hoodie, clutching a backpack, splashed through puddles ahead of them.
"Stop! NYPD! Stop running, Jason!" Jake shouted, nearly slipping on the wet pavement. "Oh come on! Why is every chase either uphill, in the rain, or both?"
Rosa, unfazed, vaulted over a trash can. "Maybe because you keep wearing dress shoes."
Jake took a quick look at his soaked shoes while running. "They're waterproof! Well, they were until five seconds ago!"
Jason darted around a corner, nearly colliding with a pretzel cart. Rosa didn't slow down. She lunged forward and tackled him straight into a pile of trash bags, sending garbage flying in every direction. The perp yelped as she twisted his arm behind his back and slapped the cuffs on.
"Gotcha," Rosa said flatly as she cuffed him quickly. She quickly read his rights.
Jake arrived seconds later, panting dramatically and pointing at the cuffed man. "Yeah, that's what you get for making me run in the rain. You happy?"
[A few minutes later]
They stood beside their unmarked van, Jason sitting handcuffed in the back seat, sulking.
Rosa crossed her arms. "Informant was right. He's been selling to college kids outside that bar on Kent."
Jake grinned. "Finally! After twelve hours in a car, twenty-four cups of coffee, and one emotional breakdown over Mario Kart mobile, we got him."
Rosa gave him a side glance. "You cried because you dropped your muffin."
"It was a good muffin," Jake muttered.
He then opened the backpack they recovered from the perp. Inside were several baggies of pills and gummies, along with a few small black pouches marked with a red pig symbol and the word "GIGGLE."
Jake frowned. "Okay, this isn't your average college party kit. Rosa, look at this."
Rosa leaned closer. "Weird logo. You think it's a gang thing?"
"Could be," Jake said. "Or maybe he's just really bad at marketing."
Jason looked nervous. "I... I don't know where that came from. Some guy gave me a few packs to move. Said there was more where that came from."
Rosa narrowed her eyes and gave him a death glare. "Name?"
"I don't know his real name," Jason said quickly. He folded easily. "He just called himself Pigsy."
Jake looked at Rosa. "Pigsy? As in the red pig on the logo? What is this, drug dealers by way of Looney Tunes?"
Rosa cracked her knuckles. "Let's get him back to the precinct. Then we can trace the symbol." Then she looked at her muddy boots, soggy clothes, and touched her hair. "Uurgg! I need a bath."
She closed the back door of the van.
Jake said. "Can we stop for a hot dog on the way back? I'm starving."
The rain was starting to fall even harder now.
"In this rain?" Rosa said.
"Rosa, hunger knows no weather."
...
[1 hour later.]
After taking the drug seller to the precinct and filling out the reports, Jake and Rosa went home.
[Ray's house]
Rosa locked the door behind her. Her hair was plastered to her face, her raincoat was dripping, and her boots made that awful squelch noise with every step.
She muttered to herself, "Rain, mud, idiot drug dealers, and sleepless nights. I love my job."
She took off her shoes, socks, and raincoat near the door and threw them into the basket for proper cleaning later.
Her stomach growled loud enough to startle her. "Alright, stomach. I hear you. Calm down."
First things first, a nice bath.
Rosa walked to the bathroom.
She stripped out of her soaked clothes and tossed them straight into the laundry basket. Fifteen minutes later, steam billowed out the door as she walked out wearing a loose T-shirt and sweatpants, hair blown dry. The caffeine buzz from the stakeout was wearing off, leaving behind the kind of exhaustion only detectives and new parents knew well.
She went straight to the kitchen, ready to raid the fridge for whatever edible thing existed inside. Something caught her eye: a bright yellow sticky note stuck to the door.
It read, in Ray's neat handwriting:
"Hungry? I guess you are. Made some chicken dumplings and soup for you. Just heat for a few minutes and it's ready to go. Love you."
Next to it, another smaller note:
"P.S. Don't steal my leftover pudding. I'm watching you (emotionally, not literally). Haaa... Ok. Fine. Just one spoon."
Rosa stared at the notes for a second, and despite herself, a slow smile spread across her face.
She took the container of dumplings and soup from the shelf and set it on the counter. "He actually made dumplings," she said quietly. Then, almost to herself, "Of course he did."
She heated the food and leaned against the counter, arms crossed, watching the steam rise from the bowl. Her mind wandered: Ray cooking, Ray writing those little notes, Ray remembering that she probably hadn't eaten properly after a long stakeout, Ray didn't get to kiss her this morning due to the stakeout.
She smiled again, smaller this time, the kind that came from a quiet place. "Damn it, White," she said softly. "You're making me soft."
Rosa grabbed a spoon, sat down at the table, and started eating. The soup was warm, perfectly spiced, and somehow tasted like comfort. Just how she likes it.
She took another sip and said to herself, "Yeah. Totally worth it."
Rosa took out her phone and sent Ray a quick text: Love you & Love your cooking. It's tasty.
---
Meanwhile, at the Nine-Nine, Amy Santiago was in crisis.
Not because of a crime. Not because Holt had assigned another twenty-page report. No, this was worse> Ray was sitting in the break room with a brand-new binder.
The cover was new, the pages crisp. And Amy could smell that 'new binder scent' from across the bullpen like some kind of stationery bloodhound.
She peeked around the corner, pretending to drink her coffee. Her eyes narrowed, her brain running through all 248 possible reasons someone might be writing in a binder that wasn't on her desk.
Gina, sitting at her usual spot with her phone, didn't even look up. "You're doing the creepy binder-stare thing again, Santiago."
Amy froze mid-sip. "What? No, I'm just… appreciating proper documentation habits."
"Sure," Gina said flatly, scrolling through her phone. "Because nothing says normal coworker like whispering 'what's in the binder' under your breath for the last ten minutes."
Amy hissed. "I wasn't whispering!"
Gina smirked. "Then maybe the binder whispered back."
Amy shot her a glare but couldn't resist another glance. Ray was calmly flipping through the pages, writing something down with a black gel pen—a black gel pen.
Amy gasped quietly. "That's a 0.5 millimeter precision tip. He's using it on fresh paper. Gina, this is serious."
Gina finally looked up, deadpan. "You sound like you're jealous of office supplies."
Amy leaned closer, lowering her voice. "You don't understand. New binders don't just appear in precincts. They're requested. Catalogued and approved. And that binder looks like—"
"Love," Gina interrupted, eyes suddenly interested.
Amy blinked. "Excuse me?"
"I've seen that face," Gina said, pointing lazily at Ray. "That's not paperwork energy. That's boyfriend energy. I bet he's making a scrapbook or something for Rosa. Probably has glitter hearts and moody quotes about knives."
Amy's eyes widened. "What? No! Ray doesn't strike me as a scrapbook guy. He's too…"
Before she could finish, Gina cut in, "Hot?"
"Yes. What? I.. I mean, mysterious. Maybe it's a tactical dossier. Or a behavioral study. Or, oh my God... What if it's a new training manual?!" Amy somehow stuttered but managed to calm her nerves from the sudden Gina Bomb.
Gina gave her a knowing smile. "Wow. You made romance sound like a filing cabinet."
"Ha-Ha. Very funny," Amy gave her a mock smile. "Now shut up and let me focus."
At that moment, Boyle walked by holding a sandwich the size of his head. "Hey, what are we talking about?"
Amy straightened. "Nothing! Ray's binder." She just couldn't hold it.
Boyle stopped mid-bite. "Oh! You mean the one labeled 'Operation Rosa's Parents Meet'?"
Amy's coffee nearly went down the wrong pipe. "What?!"
Boyle nodded cheerfully. "Yeah! I saw the cover earlier when I was microwaving my lunch. I think he's going to meet Rosa's parents soon and is doing his research."
Amy blinked rapidly, her brain buffering like an old computer. "Operation… Rosa's Parents Meet?" she repeated, her voice high-pitched enough to make nearby detectives glance over.
Boyle nodded, sandwich crumbs falling like snow. "Yep! It's written right there on the binder. All caps. Ray's handwriting too. You can tell by how confident and neat it looks. I don't want to say this, but his handwriting is better than yours."
'So hot! Better than me? I want to see it... smell it.' Amy forced a smile that looked more like she was trying to stop herself from screaming. "That's… great. Totally great. Meeting parents after only a few months together? Totally normal. Perfectly fine. Definitely not fast at all." She took a long, robotic sip of her coffee.
Gina squinted at her. "Wow, Santiago, that sounded so natural. Like a robot pretending to feel joy."
Amy ignored her, eyes darting toward Ray, who was calmly highlighting something with surgical precision. Her heart did that annoying clench again, thanks to that one regret she couldn't get over.
She cleared her throat. "I mean, isn't that a little fast? It's only been, what, a few months? Statistically, meeting the parents before the nine-month mark increases relationship pressure by forty-two percent."
Boyle frowned. "Amy, that's the kind of statistic that murders romance in its sleep."
"It's the kind of statistic that prevents heartbreak," Amy shot back, too quickly. "Not that I'm anti-love or anything. I'm very pro-love. Just… cautious."
Boyle leaned against the counter and he looked like immersed in a fantasy world of his own. "You can't measure love in months, Amy. Sometimes it just hits you, like a perfectly toasted meatball sub—you don't plan it, you just savor it."
Amy blinked. "That analogy was weirdly passionate."
Gina tilted her head. "I'm gonna be honest, I stopped listening after 'forty-two.' But I think Boyle's saying that Rosa's found her person."
Amy gave a small, tight smile. "Yeah. I know. I'm happy for her. Truly." Her eye twitched slightly. "I mean, it's great. So fast. But great."
Boyle beamed. "Exactly! You know, one of my cousins met his girlfriend at a funeral and proposed three days later. Now they run a bakery together. Tragic start, happy ending."
Amy blinked slowly. "That… sounds unhealthy."
"Love doesn't care about healthy," Boyle declared proudly. "It cares about timing, and destiny, and..." He pointed his finger at Ray. "A nice binder for planning."
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[24 advance chs] [No double billing.]
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